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In the middle of my third Hollywood picture The Magician, the earthquake hit Hollywood. Not the real earthquake. Just the talkies.

quote by Conrad Veidt
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Book Of The Duchesse

THE PROEM

I have gret wonder, be this lighte,
How that I live, for day ne nighte
I may nat slepe wel nigh noght,
I have so many an ydel thoght
Purely for defaute of slepe
That, by my trouthe, I take no kepe
Of no-thing, how hit cometh or goth,
Ne me nis no-thing leef nor loth.
Al is y-liche good to me --
Ioye or sorowe, wherso hyt be --
For I have feling in no-thinge,
But, as it were, a mased thing,
Alway in point to falle a-doun;
For sorwful imaginacioun
Is alway hoolly in my minde.
And wel ye wite, agaynes kynde
Hit were to liven in this wyse;
For nature wolde nat suffyse
To noon erthely creature
Not longe tyme to endure
Withoute slepe, and been in sorwe;
And I ne may, ne night ne morwe,
Slepe; and thus melancolye
And dreed I have for to dye,
Defaute of slepe and hevinesse
Hath sleyn my spirit of quiknesse,
That I have lost al lustihede.
Suche fantasies ben in myn hede
So I not what is best to do.
But men myght axe me, why soo
I may not slepe, and what me is?
But natheles, who aske this
Leseth his asking trewely.
My-selven can not telle why
The sooth; but trewely, as I gesse,
I holde hit be a siknesse
That I have suffred this eight yere,
And yet my bote is never the nere;
For ther is phisicien but oon,
That may me hele; but that is doon.
Passe we over until eft;
That wil not be, moot nede be left;
Our first matere is good to kepe.
So whan I saw I might not slepe,
Til now late, this other night,
Upon my bedde I sat upright
And bad oon reche me a book,
A romaunce, and he hit me took

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poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Cleanness

Clannesse who so kyndly cowþe comende
& rekken vp alle þe resounz þat ho by ri3t askez,
Fayre formez my3t he fynde in for[þ]ering his speche
& in þe contrare kark & combraunce huge.
For wonder wroth is þe Wy3þat wro3t alle þinges
Wyth þe freke þat in fylþe fol3es Hym after,
As renkez of relygioun þat reden & syngen
& aprochen to hys presens & prestez arn called;
Thay teen vnto his temmple & temen to hym seluen,
Reken with reuerence þay rychen His auter;
Þay hondel þer his aune body & vsen hit boþe.
If þay in clannes be clos þay cleche gret mede;
Bot if þay conterfete crafte & cortaysye wont,
As be honest vtwyth & inwith alle fylþez,
Þen ar þay synful hemself & sulped altogeder
Boþe God & His gere, & hym to greme cachen.
He is so clene in His courte, þe Kyng þat al weldez,
& honeste in His housholde & hagherlych serued
With angelez enourled in alle þat is clene,
Boþ withine & withouten in wedez ful bry3t;
Nif he nere scoymus & skyg & non scaþe louied,
Hit were a meruayl to much, hit mo3t not falle.
Kryst kydde hit Hymself in a carp onez,
Þeras He heuened a3t happez & hy3t hem her medez.
Me mynez on one amonge oþer, as Maþew recordez,
Þat þus clanness vnclosez a ful cler speche:
Þe haþel clene of his hert hapenez ful fayre,
For he schal loke on oure Lorde with a bone chere';
As so saytz, to þat sy3t seche schal he neuer
Þat any vnclannesse hatz on, auwhere abowte;
For He þat flemus vch fylþe fer fro His hert
May not byde þat burre þat hit His body ne3en.
Forþy hy3not to heuen in haterez totorne,
Ne in þe harlatez hod, & handez vnwaschen.
For what vrþly haþel þat hy3honour haldez
Wolde lyke if a ladde com lyþerly attyred,
When he were sette solempnely in a sete ryche,
Abof dukez on dece, with dayntys serued?
Þen þe harlot with haste helded to þe table,
With rent cokrez at þe kne & his clutte traschez,
& his tabarde totorne, & his totez oute,
Oþer ani on of alle þyse, he schulde be halden vtter,
With mony blame ful bygge, a boffet peraunter,
Hurled to þe halle dore & harde þeroute schowued,
& be forboden þat bor3e to bowe þider neuer,
On payne of enprysonment & puttyng in stokkez;
& þus schal he be schent for his schrowde feble,
Þa3neuer in talle ne in tuch he trespas more.
& if vnwelcum he were to a worþlych prynce,
3et hym is þe hy3e Kyng harder in her euen;

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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Steamheaters

She wants a love...
She can take into her arms.
Hold her with her charms.
And sing love songs,
To allure
And captivate!
Heating...
Without setting off the alarm!

He wants a love...
No other one has had.
When it is 'his' booty...
He likes it slow not fast!
And he's glad no one has had,
To touch his booty's ass!
If that has to happen,
He knew he would be sad!

And...
'What' they want...
Maybe a bit too soon.
They need more memory moments.
Before beginning to cast eyes on that 'fullmoon'!
As they lay naked on the basement floor...
Sighing and grinding in lovebird swoons!

'WHAT? '

Steamheaters drip...
Just 'getting it'!
They both are wet,
From the basement water!

Steamheaters kiss...
With sexiness.
He sucked her tits,
'Til her husband caught her,
With his best friend...
'getin' it! '

'Uh...
For clarification,
Will you say that again, please? '

You want it sung?

'No,
I just want it heard.
I may have misunderstood!
What I thought your blurted,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Picture Picture by Tanya Markova

Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture ohh...

Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture ohh...

Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture
Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture

Picture picture ohh...

Nang gabing masilayan ka...
Dala-dala ko pa
Ang aking lumang camera

Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture

Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture

Picture picture ohh...

Campus gig noon at nag-aya ang tropa
Maraming bebot ang nagsasayaw
Nang biglang mapansin kita

What a beautiful face
At kinunan kita
What a beautiful face
Angat ka sa iba

Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture

Picture picture ohh...
Picture picture

What a beautiful
What a beautiful face

I saw her face
Mukha syang taga-a a outerspace
Si Mang Roger ako'y kinalabit
Ang sabi
Halika na balot muna

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poem by Shi Yelami
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Magician

He said
You will look right into my eyes
Repeat every word that I say
You want some magic in your life
My love is the only way
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
His body moves behind my eyes
Obsession grows
Its a private show
Magic man with a sleight of hand
Disappearing right into my soul
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaa whoaa ohh
Hes here again
That magic man
My eyes wont turn away
Just like magnets pull me in
I cant forget his face
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaa whoaa ohh
Whoaa whoaa ohh
I walk right up and said
Take me take me take me
No pride no shame, enchanted
Call it a dream but dont wake me
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
No matter how fast he goes
Feels like slow motion
Hypnotize me frame by frame
Caught in my own dream paradise frozen
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaaa ohhh

song performed by Jefferson Starship
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Hollywood

Performed by george clinton
Composed by tracey lewis and dallas austin
San diego freeway northbound around
Culver city westwood into beverly hills
Uve gone hollywood
Im gonna look, I wont touch
Oh its live but then, thanks very much
Where the happening be at 2 night its hollywood
As I stepped out on my front porch
4 miles around I see
Hollywood the way she once was
Hollywood the way she be
As I step back upon my back terrace
Amongst the pretty leaves on my lemon tree
San fernando valley way below
Im struttin 2 the east side of hollywood
Im stompin on the west side of hollywood
Im steppin 2 the north side of hollywood
Im struttin 2 the south side of hollywood
Chorus:
Holly wants 2 go 2 california (livin in hollywood)
Holly would if holly could (livin in hollywood)
Holly she belongs in california (livin in hollywood)
Holly would if holly could (livin in hollywood)
Say u want 2 be in the moviestars
Bourgeois, intercontinental never know where u are
Uve gone hollywood
I was caught out on the beat
Without even a single piece of id
And the man said 2 me its who u know in hollywood
Hollywood
Im funkin on the north side of hollywood
Im kickin on the east side of hollywood
Im steppin 2 the west side of hollywood
Chorus
Holly wants 2 go
San diego freeway northbound around
Culver city westwood into beverly hills
Uve gone hollywood
Im gonna look, I wont touch
Oh its live but then, thanks very much
Where the happening be at 2 night its hollywood
Holly wants 2 go 2 california (california) (livin in hollywood)
Holly would if holly could (livin in hollywood)
Holly needs 2 be in california (livin in hollywood)
And she wants 2 shine (livin in hollywood)
Like the hollywood sign (livin in hollywood)
Oh, sure 7 fine (california) (livin in hollywood)
Hollys going 2 california (livin in hollywood)
Holly would, holly would if holly could (livin in hollywood)

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song performed by Prince
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Hit Me With A Rock

When I was a little boy
(when I was just a boy)
And my mother would call my name
(when I was just a boy)
Shed say I had to be in the house by seven
(when I was just a boy)
But Id stay out late at night
(when I was just a boy)
And when Id finally get back in
Oh, I know shed hit me, shed hit me
Shed sit me on her knees and whip me
Oh, shed hit me with a rock
Shed whip me with a rock, oh baby
Shed hit me (hit me with a rock)
Shed hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
And when I was grown to be a man
(grown to be a man)
The minute the boss would call my name
(grown to be a man)
And say I had to be in the office by seven
(grown to be a man)
Im a constipated man
(grown to be a man)
And when Id finally get back in
Oh, my bossd hit me, hed hit me
Hed tie me to a chair and whip me
Oh hed hit me with a rock
Hed whip me with a rock, oh baby
Hed hit me (hit me with a rock)
Hed hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
When I was grown to be president
(was the president)
The minute the congressd call my name
(was the president)
And said some papers had to be signed by thursday
(had to be signed by thursday)
Id fly away to pakistan
(was the president)
And the second that Id get back home
Oh, I know theyd hit me, theyd hit me
With leather and chains theyd whip me
Oh, theyd hit me with a rock
Theyd whip me with a rock, oh baby
Theyd hit me. (hit me with a rock)
Theyd hit me, hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)
Hit me, hit me, hit me
(hit me with a rock)

[...] Read more

song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
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Hollywood Swinging

Ahh now party people!
Now party people getting down!
Now you've got to put your hands together!
Just
Get on down and get on down and
Get on down!!
Alright!
Hey Hey Hey!
Come on now! Gotta sing it now...
What you got to say?
Oh, what you got to say now?
Hey Hey Hey!
Come On Now! Gotta sing it now...
What you got to say?
Oh what you got to say now?
Hollywood
Hollywood Swingin'
We got that, we got that, we got that
Hollywood Swingin'
Hollywood! (Hollywood now)
Hollywood Swingin'!
Oh! Now I got that swingin' Aheheh!
I remember
Not too long ago
I went to the theatre
And I saw the Kool & The Gang show
I always wanted (oh yes I did)
To fit into a band
I got to, I got to:
Sing my songs, sing my songs, sing my songs
And become a big piano playing man
So here I am, here I am, here I am...
Oh, in this Hollywood city
Yeah.. City of stars, movies, women and cars
Well I guess.. I guess I have to stay! Alright!
Hey Hey Hey! (Come On Sing It!)
What you got to say? What you got to say now yeah?
Hey Hey Hey! (Sing It Now!)
What you got to say? What you got to say now yeah?
Hollywood! (Hollywood Yeah)
Hollywood Swingin'!
Yo swing it like that!
Hollywood! (Hollywood now)
The Hollywood swingin'!
Oh.. Hollywood Hollywood Hollywood Hollywood now!
Hollywood Swingin' Oh a hey yeah!
Hollywood Hollywood Hollywood!
Now Hollywood Hollywood
Now they're all swinging in Hollywood!
Hollywood Swingin'

[...] Read more

song performed by Jamiroquai
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The Magician's Magic

The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.
A bag of tricks, a magician can do.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you wth this.
Or he can trick you with that.

The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
He can saw a lady in half.
He can split her in two.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
These are some things, a magician can do.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.

The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can saw a lady in half.
Then he ca split her in two.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.

The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
These are some things, a magician can do.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.
These are some things, a magician can do.

A bag of tricks, from the magician to you..

Magic-Song-Poem-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989,2009..
All rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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In The Middle

Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Use your eyes to look up
Use your ears to hear
Walk up to the corner when the coast is clear
And wait
And wait
Until you see the light turn green
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Use your eyes to look up
Use your ears to hear
Walk up to the corner when the coast is clear
And wait
And wait
Until you see the light turn green
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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The Avowyng of Arthur

He that made us on the mulde,
And fair fourmet the folde,
Atte His will, as He wold,
The see and the sande,
Giffe hom joy that will here
Of dughti men and of dere,
Of haldurs that before us were,
That lifd in this londe.
One was Arther the Kinge,
Wythowtun any letting;
Wyth him was mony lordinge
Hardi of honde.
Wice and war ofte thay were,
Bold undur banere,
And wighte weppuns wold were,
And stifly wold stond.

This is no fantum ne no fabull;
Ye wote wele of the Rowun Tabull,
Of prest men and priveabull,
Was holdun in prise:
Chevetan of chivalry,
Kyndenesse and curtesy,
Hunting full warly,
As wayt men and wise.
To the forest thay fare
To hunte atte buk and atte bare,
To the herte and to the hare,
That bredus in the rise.
The King atte Carlele he lay;
The hunter cummys on a day -
Sayd, 'Sir, ther walkes in my way
A well grim gryse.
'He is a balefull bare -
Seche on segh I nevyr are:
He hase wroghte me mycull care
And hurte of my howundes,
Slayn hom downe slely
Wyth feghting full furcely.
Wasse ther none so hardi
Durste bide in his bandus.
On him spild I my spere
And mycull of my nothir gere.
Ther moue no dintus him dere,
Ne wurche him no wowundes.
He is masly made -
All offellus that he bade.
Ther is no bulle so brade
That in frith foundes.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Testify

Come a little closer it's a feeling that I can't deny
I was weak, but I never thought I'd speak about the darker side
Is that a ten? I could repent on the side of the road
But, I kept on going yeah I headed for another load
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
I was laid upon the grave by a preacher's hand I cannot lie
And, I forsake many vows I made to be with you tonight
Could you be the salvation cause I never felt like this before
And, could you lend me your hand because I'm falling back on the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
On a road outside of nowhere, in the middle of the night
Well I guess I hit rock bottom and the dawn was not in sight
And a Tempest made of fire, onset the sky aglow
And a sweet young thing called out my name
And this is how it goes, she says...
Choir:
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf: And I got down on my knees
Choir :"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf (over the top of the choirs last two repititions):
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down

[...] Read more

song performed by Meat Loaf
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The Iliad: Book 13

Now when Jove had thus brought Hector and the Trojans to the
ships, he left them to their never-ending toil, and turned his keen
eyes away, looking elsewhither towards the horse-breeders of Thrace,
the Mysians, fighters at close quarters, the noble Hippemolgi, who
live on milk, and the Abians, justest of mankind. He no longer
turned so much as a glance towards Troy, for he did not think that any
of the immortals would go and help either Trojans or Danaans.
But King Neptune had kept no blind look-out; he had been looking
admiringly on the battle from his seat on the topmost crests of wooded
Samothrace, whence he could see all Ida, with the city of Priam and
the ships of the Achaeans. He had come from under the sea and taken
his place here, for he pitied the Achaeans who were being overcome
by the Trojans; and he was furiously angry with Jove.
Presently he came down from his post on the mountain top, and as
he strode swiftly onwards the high hills and the forest quaked beneath
the tread of his immortal feet. Three strides he took, and with the
fourth he reached his goal- Aegae, where is his glittering golden
palace, imperishable, in the depths of the sea. When he got there,
he yoked his fleet brazen-footed steeds with their manes of gold all
flying in the wind; he clothed himself in raiment of gold, grasped his
gold whip, and took his stand upon his chariot. As he went his way
over the waves the sea-monsters left their lairs, for they knew
their lord, and came gambolling round him from every quarter of the
deep, while the sea in her gladness opened a path before his
chariot. So lightly did the horses fly that the bronze axle of the car
was not even wet beneath it; and thus his bounding steeds took him
to the ships of the Achaeans.
Now there is a certain huge cavern in the depths of the sea midway
between Tenedos and rocky Imbrus; here Neptune lord of the
earthquake stayed his horses, unyoked them, and set before them
their ambrosial forage. He hobbled their feet with hobbles of gold
which none could either unloose or break, so that they might stay
there in that place until their lord should return. This done he
went his way to the host of the Achaeans.
Now the Trojans followed Hector son of Priam in close array like a
storm-cloud or flame of fire, fighting with might and main and raising
the cry battle; for they deemed that they should take the ships of the
Achaeans and kill all their chiefest heroes then and there.
Meanwhile earth-encircling Neptune lord of the earthquake cheered on
the Argives, for he had come up out of the sea and had assumed the
form and voice of Calchas.
First he spoke to the two Ajaxes, who were doing their best already,
and said, "Ajaxes, you two can be the saving of the Achaeans if you
will put out all your strength and not let yourselves be daunted. I am
not afraid that the Trojans, who have got over the wall in force, will
be victorious in any other part, for the Achaeans can hold all of them
in check, but I much fear that some evil will befall us here where
furious Hector, who boasts himself the son of great Jove himself, is
leading them on like a pillar of flame. May some god, then, put it
into your hearts to make a firm stand here, and to incite others to do

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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Patience

Pacience is a poynt, þa33e,
& quo for þro may no3t þole, þe þikker he sufferes.
&Thorn;en is better to abyde þe bur vmbestoundes
&Thorn;en ay þrow forth my þro, þa33e masse,
How Mathew melede þat his Mayster His meyny con teche.
A3t happes He hem hy3t & vcheon a mede,
Sunderlupes, for hit dissert, vpon a ser wyse:
Thay arn happen þat han in hert pouerte,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche to holde for euer;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat haunte mekenesse,
For þay schal welde þis worlde & alle her wylle haue;
Thay ar happen also þat for her harme wepes,
For þay schal comfort encroche in kythes ful mony;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat hungeres after ry3t,
For þay schal frely be refete ful of alle gode;
Thay ar happen also þat han in hert rauþe,
For mercy in alle maneres her mede schal worþe;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat arn of hert clene,
For þay her Sauyour in sete schal se with her y3en;
Thay ar happen also þat halden her pese,
For þay þe gracious Godes sunes schal godly be called;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat con her hert stere,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche, as I er sayde.
These arn þe happes alle a3t þat vus bihy3t weren,
If we þyse ladyes wolde lof in lyknyng of þewes:
Dame Pouert, Dame Pitee, Dame Penaunce þe þrydde,
Dame Mekenesse, Dame Mercy, & miry Clannesse,
& þenne Dame Pes, & Pacyence put in þerafter.
He were happen þat hade one; alle were þe better.
Bot [s]yn I am put to a poynt þat pouerte hatte,
I schal me poruay pacyence & play me with boþe,
For in þe tyxte þere þyse two arn in teme layde,
Hit arn fettled in on forme, þe forme & þe laste,
& by quest of her quoyntyse enquylen on mede.
& als, in myn vpynyoun, hit arn of on kynde:
For þeras pouert hir proferes ho nyl be put vtter,
Bot lenge wheresoeuer hir lyst, lyke oþer greme;
& þereas pouert enpresses, þa33tloker hit lyke & her lotes prayse,
&Thorn;enne wyþer wyth & be wroth & þe wers haue.
3if me be dy3t a destyne due to haue,
What dowes me þe dedayn, oþer dispit make?
Oþer 3if my lege lorde lyst on lyue me to bidde
Oþer to ryde oþer to renne to Rome in his ernde,
What grayþed me þe grychchyng bot grame more seche?
Much 3if he me ne made, maugref my chekes,
& þenne þrat moste I þole & vnþonk to mede,
&Thorn;e had bowed to his bode bongre my hyure.
Did not Jonas in Jude suche jape sumwhyle?
To sette hym to sewrte, vnsounde he hym feches.
Wyl 3e tary a lyttel tyne & tent me a whyle,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Hollywood Liar

Liar, liar, liar, hollywood liar,
Who are you, to crash my party, with your mediocre blues,
Your powder has no power over me,
Dont talk to my friends, the way you talk to the girls from the valley,
Youre just another liar to me,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
I can see right through your act, the way you lie to yourself,
About deals you know dont even exist,
Dropping all those names the way you think the game should be played,
Youre just another liar to me,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
(say) too mon to mon toul le jomey le very tey,
Too par too par, cullear, reason,
Unfortunately youre my neighbour,
But certainly not for long,
Huh, Im the writer of this,
Im the printer of that,
What you gonna do next?
How you gonna top that?
Distributor of this,
Editor of that,
What you gonna do next?
How you gonna top that?
How you gonna top that?
How you gonna top that?
(? )
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood,
Hollywood,
Hollywood,
Hollywood liar,
Kiss me?
(? )
Hollywood liar,
Hollywood liar,
I dont buy it baby!
You just get out of my party!

song performed by Grace Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Anelida and Arcite

Thou ferse god of armes, Mars the rede,
That in the frosty contre called Trace,
Within thy grisly temple ful of drede
Honoured art as patroun of that place;
With thy Bellona, Pallas, ful of grace,
Be present and my song contynue and guye;
At my begynnyng thus to the I crye.

For hit ful depe is sonken in my mynde,
With pitous hert in Englyssh to endyte
This olde storie, in Latyn which I fynde,
Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite,
That elde, which that al can frete and bite,
As hit hath freten mony a noble storie,
Hath nygh devoured out of oure memorie.

Be favorable eke, thou Polymya,
On Parnaso that with thy sustres glade,
By Elycon, not fer from Cirrea,
Singest with vois memorial in the shade,
Under the laurer which that may not fade,
And do that I my ship to haven wynne.
First folowe I Stace, and after him Corynne.

The Story.

Iamque domos patrias Cithice post aspera gentis
Prelia laurigero subeunte Thesea curru
Letifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi

When Theseus with werres longe and grete
The aspre folk of Cithe had overcome,
With laurer corouned, in his char gold-bete,
Hom to his contre-houses is he come,
For which the peple, blisful al and somme,
So cry{:e}den that to the sterres hit wente,
And him to honouren dide al her entente.

Beforn this duk, in signe of victorie,
The trompes come, and in his baner large
The ymage of Mars, and in tokenyng of glorie
Men myghte sen of tresour many a charge,
Many a bright helm, and many a spere and targe,
Many a fresh knyght, and many a blysful route,
On hors, on fote, in al the feld aboute.

Ipolita his wif, the hardy quene
Of Cithia, that he conquered hadde,
With Emelye her yonge suster shene,

[...] Read more

poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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The Parliament Of Fowles

Here begynyth the Parlement of Foulys

THE PROEM

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne,
Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering,
The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne,
Al this mene I by love, that my feling
Astonyeth with his wonderful worching
So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke,
Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke.

For al be that I knowe nat love in dede,
Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre,
Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede
Of his miracles, and his cruel yre;
Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre,
I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore,
But God save swich a lord! I can no more.

Of usage, what for luste what for lore,
On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde.
But wherfor that I speke al this? not yore
Agon, hit happed me for to beholde
Upon a boke, was write with lettres olde;
And ther-upon, a certeyn thing to lerne,
The longe day ful faste I radde and yerne.

For out of olde feldes, as men seith,
Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere;
And out of olde bokes, in good feith,
Cometh al this newe science that men lere.
But now to purpos as of this matere --
To rede forth hit gan me so delyte,
That al the day me thoughte but a lyte.

This book of which I make of mencioun,
Entitled was al thus, as I shal telle,
`Tullius of the dreme of Scipioun.';
Chapitres seven hit hadde, of hevene and helle,
And erthe, and soules that therinnr dwelle,
Of whiche, as shortly as I can hit trete,
Of his sentence I wol you seyn the grete.

First telleth hit, whan Scipion was come
In Afrik, how he mette Massinisse,
That him for Ioye in armes hath y nome.
Than telleth hit hir speche and al the blisse
That was betwix hem, til the day gan misse;
And how his auncestre, African so dere,

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poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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How I Picture Heaven

How I Picture Heaven by Kenny Davis

How do I picture Heaven?
The great kingdom among clouds
His children, His saints
His angels, rejoicing loud

How do I picture Heaven?
This astonishing, glorious place
Where I pray to have the honor
To gaze upon his majestic face

How do I picture Heaven?
The street paved in gold
Worth more than the richest treasure
Even grander than I was told

How do I picture Heaven?
Beyond light-years away from earth
Beyond mere galaxies away from pain
Even much further away all of the hurt

How do I picture Heaven?
Many mansions made of pearl
Luster brighter than the stars
One that shines across the world

How do I picture Heaven?
Free of worry and strife
No more heartbreak and heart ache
Looking forward to this eternal life

How do I picture Heaven?
On every face, there is a smile
The joy amongst his followers
Can be seen for many miles

How do I picture Heaven?
Land of milk and honey
Sweeter than grain of a sugar cane
And every day is sunny

How do I picture Heaven?
Or should I say, “The land of honey and milk”
With everyone in their marvelous robes
Softer than Egyptian silk
How do I picture Heaven?
Land of joy and bliss
If you are to miss the train
Oh! What a party you would miss!

[...] Read more

poem by Kenneth Davis
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Drinking my own anger

I couldn’t hit the earth in my bouts of anger; as it
was the one which grew the food necessary for my
survival,

I couldn’t hit the wall in my bouts of anger; as it
was the one which sequestered my scalp against
tumultuous storm and rain; it was the one which constituted and
fortified my dwelling,

I couldn't hit the tree in my bouts of anger; as it
was laden with the fruits I nibbled in my times of
relish; imparted me with velvety breeze in the
sweltering night,

I couldn’t hit the mirror in my bouts of anger; as it
magnificently portrayed to me my pellucid and candid
reflection; and doing so I knew would exacerbate the
situation further; would make my own hand bleed,

I couldn’t hit mothers stomach in my bouts of anger;
for it was the singular pouch which had bore me for 9
months unrelentingly; the very sacred sac which was
responsible for my existence today,

I couldn’t hit the snake in my bouts of anger; for it
guarded my treasury of wealth unflinchingly all night
and day; and would viciously retort back the instant I
raised my fingers to strike,

I couldn’t hit the Sun in my bouts of anger; for it
was the sole source of light which maneuvered me in
the day; lit up my every morning with an enchanting
smile,
I couldn’t hit the child in my bouts of anger; for it
was all the energy I possessed; was the sweetest
little form of God running gleefully on this earth,

I couldn’t hit the waters in my bouts of anger; for
they were the ones who pacified my thirst several
times a day; blended my life with loads of mesmerizing
cool and shade,

I couldn’t hit the silver plate in my bouts of anger;
for it was the one in which I actually consumed my
food three times in a day; and insulting it could
probably result in not getting food even three times a
year,

I couldn’t hit the car in my bouts of anger; for it
was the one which transported me marathon distances;

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Rejected

She says she’s very sorry, as she sees you to the gate;
You calmly say ‘Good-bye’ to her while standing off a yard,
Then you lift your hat and leave her, walking mighty stiff and straight—
But you’re hit, old man—hit hard.
In your brain the words are burning of the answer that she gave,
As you turn the nearest corner and you stagger just a bit;
But you pull yourself together, for a man’s strong heart is brave
When it’s hit, old man—hard hit.

You might try to drown the sorrow, but the drink has no effect;
You cannot stand the barmaid with her coarse and vulgar wit;
And so you seek the street again, and start for home direct,
When you’re hit, old man—hard hit.

You see the face of her you lost, the pity in her smile—
Ah! she is to the barmaid as is snow to chimney grit;
You’re a better man and nobler in your sorrow, for a while,
When you’re hit, old man—hard hit.

And, arriving at your lodgings, with a face of deepest gloom,
You shun the other boarders and your manly brow you knit;
You take a light and go upstairs directly to your room—
But the whole house knows you’re hit.

You clutch the scarf and collar, and you tear them from your throat,
You rip your waistcoat open like a fellow in a fit;
And you fling them in a corner with the made-to-order coat,
When you’re hit, old man—hard hit.

You throw yourself, despairing, on your narrow little bed,
Or pace the room till someone starts with ‘Skit! cat!—skit!’
And then lie blindly staring at the plaster overhead—
You are hit, old man—hard hit.

It’s doubtful whether vanity or love has suffered worst,
So neatly in our nature are those feelings interknit,
Your heart keeps swelling up so bad, you wish that it would burst,
When you’re hit, old man—hard hit.

You think and think, and think, and think, till you go mad almost;
Across your sight the spectres of the bygone seem to flit;
The very girl herself seems dead, and comes back as a ghost,
When you’re hit, like this—hard hit.

You know that it’s all over—you’re an older man by years,
In the future not a twinkle, in your black sky not a split.
Ah! you’ll think it well that women have the privilege of tears,
When you’re hit, old man—hard hit.

You long and hope for nothing but the rest that sleep can bring,

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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