But one sets of grandparents lived on Davidson Avenue in the Bronx and one lived in Manhattan and I had an aunt and uncle in Queens, so in my heart I was a New Yorker.
quote by Jason Alexander
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Related quotes
An Open Letter To NYC
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen
Brownstones, water towers, trees, skyscrapers
Writers, prize fighters and Wall Street traders
We come together on the subway cars
Diversity unified, whoever you are
We're doing fine on the One and Nine line
On the L we're doin' swell
On the number Ten bus we fight and fuss
'Cause we're thorough in the boroughs and that's a must
I remember when the Duece was all porno flicks
Running home after school to play PIX * 1
At lunch I'd go to Blimpies down on Montague Street
And hit the Fulton Street Mall for the sneakers on my feet
Dear New York I hope you're doing well
I know a lot's happen and you've been through hell
So, we give thanks for providing a home
Through your gates at Ellis Island we passed in droves
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen
The L.I.E. the B.Q.E
Hippies at the band shell with the L.S.D.
Get my BVD's from VIM
You know I'm reppin' Manhattan the best I can
Stopped off at Bleeker Bob's got thrown out
Sneakin' in at 4:00 am after going out
You didn't rob me in the park at Dianna Ross
But everybody started looting when the light went off
From the South South Bronx on out to Queens Bridge
From Hollis Queens right down to Bay Ridge
From Castle Hill to the Lower East Side
From 1010 WINS to Live At Five
Dear New York this is a love letter
To you and how you brought us together
We can't say enough about all you do
'Cause in the city were ourselves and electric too
Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten
From the Battery to the top of Manhattan
Asian, Middle-Eastern and Latin
Black, White, New York you make it happen
Shout out the South Bronx where my mom hails from
Right next to High Bridge across from Harlem
To the Grand Concourse where my mom and dad met
Before they moved on down to the Upper West
I see you're still strong after all that's gone on
Life long we dedicate this song
[...] Read more
song performed by Beastie Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Manhattan
Summer journeys to niagra
And to other places aggra-
Vate all our cares.
Well save our fares!
Ive a cozy little flat in
What is known as old manhattan
Well settle down
Right here in town!
Well have manhattan
The bronx and staten
Island too.
Its lovely going through
The zoo!
Its very fancy
On old delancy
Street you know.
The subway charms us so
When balmy breezes blow
To and fro.
And tell me what street
Compares with mott street
In july?
Sweet pushcarts gently gli-ding by.
The great big citys a wonderous toy
Just made for a girl and boy.
Well turn manhattan
Into an isle of joy!
Well go to yonkers
Where true love conquers
In the whiles
And starve together dear, in chiles
Well go to coney
And eat baloney on a roll
In central park well stroll
Where our first kiss we stole
Soul to soul
And my fair lady is a terrific show they say
We both may see it close, some day
The citys glamour can never spoil
The dreams of a boy and goil
Well turn manhattan
Into an isle of joy!
Transcribed by todd peach
(from this specific recording)
Guy from bath england sent me this more complete version:
Verse
Summer journeys to niagra
And to other places aggra-
Vate all our cares.
Well save our fares;
[...] Read more
song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tamar
I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.
The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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My New Found Dad
I belong to a household
Which was considered rich and affluent
In the neighborhood
My grandfather, grandmother, mother and brother
Were at home
I used to hear my schoolmates talking about their dads
And I did not have one at home
An uncle used to visit our home regularly
All at home treated him with love and respect
Mother and that uncle used to spend a lot time together
My grandparents kept me and my elder brother
Away from them
I carefully avoided talking about dad
As I watched my elder brother
Getting beaten up one day
When he was insisting that
He should be taken to dad
I was comfortable with the friendly uncle
Who visited us regularly
And with whom mom too was pleased
My elder brother showed some dissent
Whenever I talked good of uncle
He came invariably with excellent gifts
He never once missed to be with us
In all celebrations
Let that be festivals, birth days, anniversaries
He would be there
He would see to that my birth days
Get very well organized
And he would bring his friends too, male and female
All went fine till I passed school final
And was about to enter a professional college
I purchased the application form
And got stuck when I was to write my father's name
Mom told me to ignore
Managed to get me admitted
After a dialogue with the principal
But this issue got deep into me
And was determined to establish my parenthood
Every day I spent at least half an hour
Discussing with my grandparents and mother
And when I entered second year
I got a clue that the uncle who visited us regularly
Is my father
I was shocked to hear the story of my mom
And of her broken marriage, out of which
Was born my elder brother
I came to know that
My mother developed relationship with this uncle
And I was the result of this
[...] Read more
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Today (Watch Me Shine)
Yesterday is just a dream I don't remember
Tomorrow, still a hope I've yet to endure
I'm out of time
I'm out of rhyme
I'm out of reason
Season's change and leave me out in the cold
The story's old
The tale been told by many a scholar
Got a fistful of dollar
And pocketful of love
God above if you hear me cryin'
I've tried to sell my soul
But no one's buyin'
Lord, strike me down now if I'm lyin' Bronx Style Bob: Lord strike me down (X3)
It's gettin' cold
It's time for dyin'
CHORUS
Come on and watch me shine
Like the world is mine (check it out) today
Come on and watch me shine (check it out)
Like the world is mine today
Watch me shine (check it out)
Then the man was free from sin
Bronx Style Bob: free from sin
Cast the first stone then began the violence
Bronx Style Bob: began the violence
Let the man whose words ring true
Speak on up till his voice breaks through the silence
Bronx Style Bob: through the silence
Let the ones who lose their way
Live to see just one more day in the sunshine
Bronx Style Bob: La-la-la-la-la-la-laaa
Let the one's who choose to stray
Recognize the price they'll pay
In their lifetime
Bronx Style Bob: in their lifetime (X2)
CHORUS
Sit in the way and wait for my roads to cross
You nail me down and you watch me bleed
Bronx Style Bob: watch me bleed
So lay my head against the earth
Plant my body like a seed
Bronx Style Bob: plant my body like a seed
You can't always get the things you want, love (check it out)
Bronx Style Bob: tell me what you want
You get what you deserve
Or maybe what you need
Bronx Style Bob: tell me what you need
So fill
song performed by Everlast
Added by Lucian Velea
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Second Book
TIMES followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
And looked before and after, as I stood
Woman and artist,–either incomplete,
Both credulous of completion. There I held
The whole creation in my little cup,
And smiled with thirsty lips before I drank,
'Good health to you and me, sweet neighbour mine
And all these peoples.'
I was glad, that day;
The June was in me, with its multitudes
Of nightingales all singing in the dark,
And rosebuds reddening where the calyx split.
I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God!
So glad, I could not choose be very wise!
And, old at twenty, was inclined to pull
My childhood backward in a childish jest
To see the face of't once more, and farewell!
In which fantastic mood I bounded forth
At early morning,–would not wait so long
As even to snatch my bonnet by the strings,
But, brushing a green trail across the lawn
With my gown in the dew, took will and way
Among the acacias of the shrubberies,
To fly my fancies in the open air
And keep my birthday, till my aunt awoke
To stop good dreams. Meanwhile I murmured on,
As honeyed bees keep humming to themselves;
'The worthiest poets have remained uncrowned
Till death has bleached their foreheads to the bone,
And so with me it must be, unless I prove
Unworthy of the grand adversity,–
And certainly I would not fail so much.
What, therefore, if I crown myself to-day
In sport, not pride, to learn the feel of it,
Before my brows be numb as Dante's own
To all the tender pricking of such leaves?
Such leaves? what leaves?'
I pulled the branches down,
To choose from.
'Not the bay! I choose no bay;
The fates deny us if we are overbold:
Nor myrtle–which means chiefly love; and love
Is something awful which one dare not touch
So early o' mornings. This verbena strains
The point of passionate fragrance; and hard by,
This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.
Ah–there's my choice,–that ivy on the wall,
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Uncle Sam
Here they come again hop scotching up to my door
One by one again knockety knock knocking upon my floor
Swinging on my gate they gain entry by the yard
Pulling at my hair they scream paint your thoughts upon my card
But not tonight Ive got studies to examine
Tomorrow Ill be watching all the queens men
A talent contest on monday with my uncle sam
Who now takes up all of my time he gives me things to do
cause hes a wonderful man
But Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
To be with my uncle sam
Silly little sniggers from the women liberators
But Ill stand and hold my post
Polished buttons and erect Ill raise the flag
Ill show those women whos the most
But not tonight Ive got studies to examine
Tomorrow Ill be watching all the queens men
A talent contest on monday with my uncle sam
Who now takes up all of my time, gives me things to do
Hes a wonderful man
But Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
But not tonight Ive got studies to examine
Tomorrow ah ah ah
And tomorrow Ill be watching all the queens men
A talent contest on monday with my uncle sam
Who now takes up all of my time he gives me things to do
cause hes a wonderful man
Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
song performed by Madness
Added by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Toad Said
Uncle toad sittin by the old south gate
Waitin them boys they bin stayin out late
Uncle toad thinks theyre way out of line
Maybe they think he is past his prime
Uncle toad said better straighten up right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad lived in the wood out back
Lived in the shade of a utility shack
He looked in at the big brick housr
At the girls as quiet as a mouse
Uncle toad said you had best get it right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad tucked in the compost pile
Out by the back door look at him smile
He said kid stop drinkin that brew
Plan while ya can or the jokes on you
Uncle toad said better straighten up right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad sittin by the swimmin pool
Sits in the sun when the weather turns cool
Sits in the sun when the girls walk by
Maybe they think hes a little bit sly
Uncle toad said you had best get it right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
Uncle toad sittin by the cool mill race
All day long with a grin on his face
He said boys you had better not try
Kissin em girls cause I wont stand by
Uncle toad sittin by the wrought iron fence
Lookin at the moon like it dont make sense
We say toad heres lookin at you
Hopin you get your wish too
Sway to the left, sway to the right
When uncle toad spoke it was not a pretty sight
song performed by Gordon Lightfoot
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Old-Home Folks
Such was the Child-World of the long-ago--
The little world these children used to know:--
Johnty, the oldest, and the best, perhaps,
Of the five happy little Hoosier chaps
Inhabiting this wee world all their own.--
Johnty, the leader, with his native tone
Of grave command--a general on parade
Whose each punctilious order was obeyed
By his proud followers.
But Johnty yet--
After all serious duties--could forget
The gravity of life to the extent,
At times, of kindling much astonishment
About him: With a quick, observant eye,
And mind and memory, he could supply
The tamest incident with liveliest mirth;
And at the most unlooked-for times on earth
Was wont to break into some travesty
On those around him--feats of mimicry
Of this one's trick of gesture--that one's walk--
Or this one's laugh--or that one's funny talk,--
The way 'the watermelon-man' would try
His humor on town-folks that wouldn't buy;--
How he drove into town at morning--then
At dusk (alas!) how he drove out again.
Though these divertisements of Johnty's were
Hailed with a hearty glee and relish, there
Appeared a sense, on his part, of regret--
A spirit of remorse that would not let
Him rest for days thereafter.--Such times he,
As some boy said, 'jist got too overly
Blame good fer common boys like us, you know,
To '_so_ciate with--less'n we 'ud go
And jine his church!'
Next after Johnty came
His little tow-head brother, Bud by name.--
And O how white his hair was--and how thick
His face with freckles,--and his ears, how quick
And curious and intrusive!--And how pale
The blue of his big eyes;--and how a tale
Of Giants, Trolls or Fairies, bulged them still
Bigger and bigger!--and when 'Jack' would kill
The old 'Four-headed Giant,' Bud's big eyes
Were swollen truly into giant-size.
And Bud was apt in make-believes--would hear
His Grandma talk or read, with such an ear
And memory of both subject and big words,
[...] Read more
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Aunt Chloe
.
I remember, well remember,
.
That dark and dreadful day,
.
When they whispered to me, "Chloe,
.
Your children's sold away!" 1.
It seemed as if a bullet
.
Had shot me through and through,
.
And I felt as if my heart-strings
.
Was breaking right in two. 1.
And I says to cousin Milly,
.
"There must be some mistake;
.
Where's Mistus?" "In the great house crying --
.
Crying like her heart would break. 1.
"And the lawyer's there with Mistus;
.
Says he's come to 'ministrate,
.
'Cause when master died he just left
.
Heap of debt on the estate. 1.
"And I thought 'twould do you good
.
To bid your boys good-bye --
.
To kiss them both and shake their hands,
.
And have a hearty cry. 1.
"Oh! Chloe, I knows how you feel,
.
[...] Read more
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Aunt Tabitha
THE YOUNG GIRL'S POEM
WHATEVER I do, and whatever I say,
Aunt Tabitha tells me that is n't the way;
When she was a girl (forty summers ago)
Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so.
Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice!
But I like my own way, and I find it so nice
And besides, I forget half the things I am told;
But they all will come back to me--when I am old.
If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt,
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out;
She would never endure an impertinent stare,--
It is horrid, she says, and I must n't sit there.
A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own,
But it is n't quite safe to be walking alone;
So I take a lad's arm,--just for safety, you know,--
But Aunt Tabitha tells me they did n't do so.
How wicked we are, and how good they were then!
They kept at arm's length those detestable men;
What an era of virtue she lived in!--But stay--
Were the men all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?
If the men were so wicked, I 'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma;
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows?
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose?
I am thinking if Aunt knew so little of sin,
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt--it scares me--how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!
A martyr will save us, and nothing else can;
Let me perish--to rescue some wretched young man!
Though when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha 'll tell me she never did so.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Tale XX
THE BROTHERS.
Than old George Fletcher, on the British coast
Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast:
Kind, simple and sincere--he seldom spoke,
But sometimes sang and chorus'd--'Hearts of Oak:'
In dangers steady, with his lot content,
His days in labour and in love were spent.
He left a Son so like him, that the old
With joy exclaim'd, ''Tis Fletcher we behold;'
But to his Brother, when the kinsmen came
And view'd his form, they grudged the father's
name.
George was a bold, intrepid, careless lad,
With just the failings that his father had;
Isaac was weak, attentive, slow, exact,
With just the virtues that his father lack'd.
George lived at sea: upon the land a guest -
He sought for recreation, not for rest;
While, far unlike, his brother's feebler form
Shrank from the cold, and shudder'd at the storm;
Still with the Seaman's to connect his trade,
The boy was bound where blocks and ropes were made.
George, strong and sturdy, had a tender mind,
And was to Isaac pitiful and kind;
A very father, till his art was gain'd,
And then a friend unwearied he remain'd;
He saw his brother was of spirit low,
His temper peevish, and his motions slow;
Not fit to bustle in a world, or make
Friends to his fortune for his merit's sake;
But the kind sailor could not boast the art
Of looking deeply in the human heart;
Else had he seen that this weak brother knew
What men to court--what objects to pursue;
That he to distant gain the way discern'd,
And none so crooked but his genius learn'd.
Isaac was poor, and this the brother felt;
He hired a house, and there the Landman dwelt,
Wrought at his trade, and had an easy home,
For there would George with cash and comforts come;
And when they parted, Isaac look'd around
Where other friends and helpers might be found.
He wish'd for some port-place, and one might
fall,
He wisely thought, if he should try for all;
He had a vote--and were it well applied,
Might have its worth--and he had views beside;
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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The Victories Of Love. Book II
I
From Jane To Her Mother
Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,
[...] Read more
poem by Coventry Patmore
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My Last Afternoon With Uncle Devereux Winslow
1922: the stone porch of my Grandfather’s summer house
I
“I won’t go with you. I want to stay with Grandpa!”
That’s how I threw cold water
on my Mother and Father’s
watery martini pipe dreams at Sunday dinner.
... Fontainebleau, Mattapoisett, Puget Sound....
Nowhere was anywhere after a summer
at my Grandfather’s farm.
Diamond-pointed, athirst and Norman,
its alley of poplars
paraded from Grandmother’s rose garden
to a scary stand of virgin pine,
scrub, and paths forever pioneering.
One afternoon in 1922,
I sat on the stone porch, looking through
screens as black-grained as drifting coal.
Tockytock, tockytock
clumped our Alpine, Edwardian cuckoo clock,
slung with strangled, wooden game.
Our farmer was cementing a root-house under the hill.
One of my hands was cool on a pile
of black earth, the other warm
on a pile of lime. All about me
were the works of my Grandfather’s hands:
snapshots of his Liberty Bell silver mine;
his high school at Stuttgart am Neckar;
stogie-brown beams; fools’-gold nuggets;
octagonal red tiles,
sweaty with a secret dank, crummy with ant-stale;
a Rocky Mountain chaise longue,
its legs, shellacked saplings.
A pastel-pale Huckleberry Finn
fished with a broom straw in a basin
hollowed out of a millstone.
Like my Grandfather, the décor
was manly, comfortable,
overbearing, disproportioned.
What were those sunflowers? Pumpkins floating shoulder-high?
It was sunset, Sadie and Nellie
bearing pitchers of ice-tea,
oranges, lemons, mint, and peppermints,
and the jug of shandygaff,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Lowell
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Uncle Arthur
Strikes the bell for 5 oclock, uncle arthur closes shop
Screws the tops on all the bottles, turns the lights out, locks it up
Climbs across his bike and hes away
Cycles past the gasworks, past the river, down the high street
Back to mother, its another empty day
Uncle arthur likes his mommy
Uncle arthur still reads comics
Uncle arthur follows batman
Round and round the rumours fly, how he ran away from mum
On his 32nd birthday, told her that hed found a chum
Mother cried and raved and yelled and fussed
Arthur left her no illusion, brought the girl round, save confusion
Sally was the real thing, not just lust
Uncle arthur vanished quickly
Uncle arthur and his new bride
Uncle arthur follows sally
Round and round goes arthurs head, hasnt eaten well for days
Little sally may be lovely, but cooking leaves her in a maze
Uncle arthur packed his bags and fled
Back to mother, alls forgiven, serving in the family shop
He gets his pocket money, hes well fed
Uncle arthur past the gasworks
Uncle arthur past the river
Uncle arthur down the high street
Uncle arthur follows mother
song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Growth of Sym
Now Sym was a Glug; and 'tis mentioned so
That the tale reads perfectly plain as we go.
In his veins ran blood of that stupid race
Of docile folk, who inhabit the place
Called Gosh, sad Gosh, where the tall trees sigh
With a strange, significant sort of cry
When the gloaming creeps and the wind is high.
When the deep shades creep and the wind is high
The trees bow low as the gods ride by:
Gods of the gloaming, who ride on the breeze,
Stooping to heaften the birds and the trees.
But each dull Glug sits down by his door,
And mutters, ' 'Tis windy!' and nothing more,
Like the long-dead Glugs in the days of yore.
When Sym was born there was much to-do,
And his parents thought him a joy to view;
But folk not prejudiced saw the Glug,
As his nurse remarked, 'In the cut of his mug.'
For he had their hair, and he had their eyes,
And the Glug expression of pained surprise,
And their predilection for pumpkin pies.
And his parents' claims were a deal denied
By his maiden aunt on his mother's side,
A tall Glug lady of fifty-two
With a slight moustache of an auburn hue.
'Parental blither!' she said quite flat.
'He's an average Glug; and he's red and fat!
And exceedingly fat and red at that!'
But the father, joi, when he gazed on Sym,
Dreamed great and wonderful things for him.
Said he, 'If the mind of a Glug could wake
Then, Oh, what a wonderful Glug he'd make!
We shall teach this laddie to play life's game
With a different mind and a definite aim:
A Glug in appearance, yet not the same.'
But the practical aunt said, 'Fudge! You fool!
We'll pack up his dinner and send him to school.
He shall learn about two-times and parsing and capes,
And how to make money with inches on tapes.
We'll apprentice him then to the drapery trade,
Where, I've heard it reported, large profits are made;
Besides, he can sell us cheap buttons and braid.'
So poor young Sym, he was sent to school,
Where the first thing taught is the Golden Rule.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Cowboy From The Bronx
He's got sandy hair and steel blue eyes and
Dressed in black from head to toe and his main
Love is a cowboy show. He's a cowboy from the bronx.
He stands tall and straight and lean
And mean and he sure is a loving machine.
He's a cowboy from the bronx.
He loves rattle snake boots and big stetson hats
And he's sure hell in any spat.
He's a cowboy from the bronx.
He bought a guitar and learned to play,
He practiced hard night and day.
He's a cowboy from the bronx.
It took 10 years to become a star
That Bronx Cowboy and his guitar,
So when you go to a cowboy show and you see a man
In black from head to toe you can bet it's
A cowboy from the bronx.
poem by Dewey Nixon
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Old Aunt Mary's
Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,
In those old days of the lost sunshine
Of youth-- when the Saturday's chores were through,
And the 'Sunday's wood' in the kitchen too,
And we went visiting, 'me and you,'
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
It all comes back so clear to-day!
Though I am as bald as you are gray--
Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane,
We patter along in the dust again,
As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
We cross the pasture, and through the wood
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood,
Where the hammering 'red-heads' hopped awry,
And the buzzard 'raised' in the 'clearing' sky
And lolled and circled, as we went by
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And then in the dust of the road again;
And the teams we met, and the countrymen;
And the long highway, with sunshine spread
As thick as butter on country bread,
Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Why, I see her now in the open door,
Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er
The clapboard roof--! And her face-- ah, me!
Wasn't it good for a boy to see--
And wasn't it good for a boy to be
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
The jelly-- the Jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry and quince 'preserves'' she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare--!
And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
And the old spring-house in the cool green gloom
Of the willow-trees--, and the cooler room
Where the swinging-shelves and the crocks were kept--
Where the cream in a golden languor slept
While the waters gurgled and laughed and wept--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And O my brother, so far away,
[...] Read more
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Tale VIII
THE MOTHER.
There was a worthy, but a simple Pair,
Who nursed a Daughter, fairest of the fair:
Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd,
Heir to the kindness they had all obtain'd,
Heir to the fortune they design'd for all,
Nor had th' allotted portion then been small;
And now, by fate enrich'd with beauty rare,
They watch'd their treasure with peculiar care:
The fairest features they could early trace,
And, blind with love saw merit in her face -
Saw virtue, wisdom, dignity, and grace;
And Dorothea, from her infant years,
Gain'd all her wishes from their pride or fears;
She wrote a billet, and a novel read,
And with her fame her vanity was fed;
Each word, each look, each action was a cause
For flattering wonder and for fond applause;
She rode or danced, and ever glanced around,
Seeking for praise, and smiling when she found,
The yielding pair to her petitions gave
An humble friend to be a civil slave,
Who for a poor support herself resign'd
To the base toil of a dependant mind:
By nature cold, our Heiress stoop'd to art,
To gain the credit of a tender heart.
Hence at her door must suppliant paupers stand,
To bless the bounty of her beauteous hand:
And now, her education all complete,
She talk'd of virtuous love and union sweet;
She was indeed by no soft passion moved,
But wished with all her soul to be beloved.
Here, on the favour'd beauty Fortune smiled;
Her chosen Husband was a man so mild,
So humbly temper'd, so intent to please,
It quite distress'd her to remain at ease,
Without a cause to sigh, without pretence to tease:
She tried his patience on a thousand modes,
And tried it not upon the roughest roads.
Pleasure she sought, and disappointed, sigh'd
For joys, she said, 'to her alone denied;'
And she was sure 'her parents if alive
Would many comforts for their child contrive:'
The gentle Husband bade her name him one;
'No--that,' she answered, 'should for her be done;
How could she say what pleasures were around?
But she was certain many might be found.'
'Would she some seaport, Weymouth, Scarborough,
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Nightmare Avenue
Music :matthias jabs
Lyrics:klaus meine, mark hudson
Last night I went to kill
Some time at the famous grill
Where the tall eats the small
There were girls all over me
Thats my insanity
Dont call me ringo, call me paul
Im in heaven, Im in hell
Dont wipe that smile off my face
Cant you tell
I see faces in the weirdest places
Please, wont you take me down
Underneath you spell
Oh, oh Im back at midnight (alright)
I drop my keys, could you get em love
Oh, oh baby I might (he might)
I got the stuff to keep it goin on all night
Take me down nightmare avenue
Goin down nightmare avenue
I wanna take you too
Sharp as a sabres tooth
Back in my favorite booth
Im getting spanked with cold champagne
Id walk on a razor blade
If youre dressed like a french maid
I get my pleasure out of pain
Im in heaven, Im in hell
Dont wipe that smile off my face
Cant you tell
I see faces in the weirdest places
Please, wont you take me down
Underneath you spell
Oh, oh Im back at midnight (alright)
I drop my keys, could you get em love
Oh, oh baby I might (he might)
I got the stuff to keep it goin on all night
Take me down nightmare avenue
Goin down nightmare avenue
Drive me down nightmare avenue
Lay me down on nightmare avenue
Take me down nightmare avenue
Goin down nightmare avenue
Drive me down nightmare avenue
Lay me down on nightmare avenue
And Ive gonna take you too
song performed by Scorpions
Added by Lucian Velea
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