I think I definitely got scared by the second or third time a doctor told me I was dying.
quote by Daniel Johns
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Hand That Feeds
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Please, doctor, doctor, please
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Feel like an old diseace
Get your sweet ass off the floor
Doctor, doctor, doctor
I cant refuse any loose harted lady anymore
I scream your name into the crowd
You feel the flame, but yo aint proud
Mabye your attitude aint right
So all thats left for me to do is bite
The hand that feeds me
Feeds me
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Doctor, doctor, please
All things you put me through
What the hell you want me to
Do all the things that uncle john needs
I aint the dog that bites the hand that feeds me
In the middle of, with a spittle of
Et tu like birds of a feather
When another day, love another way
Push, shove, make love, play
Never never, never ever
Never ever, never ever
Na, na...
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Please do a-what you can
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Would you please give my life a hand
All the things you put me trough
What the hell you want me to
Do all the things that uncle john needs
I aint the dog that bites the hand that feeds me, yeah
Doctor, doctor, doctor
Doctor, doctor, please
(repeat)
song performed by Aerosmith
Added by Lucian Velea
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Soul Doctor
Well I woke up this morning
Took your advice
I dialed the number
And I let it ring twice
Then I hung up
Now I tried to do
Everything I could
To save our love
And make it feel good again
I cant fight it, theres nobody home
Hard hearted and all alone
I give you love, you aint giving it back
I cant take it
I need to see the soul doctor
Before the fever begins
You know Im searching for the soul doctor
When love is wearing thin
Doctor soul is in
Ive been kicked in the corner
Im down in the dirt
I cant feel a thing
But I know it ought to hurt
Now your shaking my spirit
Im breaking my back
Im too blind to hear it
So I over react to satisfaction
If I could get me some
I aint talking, theres nothing to say
Misunderstandin, your walking away
Maybe baby, its gonna take time, time, time
I need to see the soul doctor
Before the fever begins
You know Im searching for the soul doctor
When love is wearing thin
Doctor soul is in
I need to see the soul doctor
You know things are looking grim
I keep searching for the soul doctor
Doctor soul is in
The doctors soul intention
Let it be understood
Cant pull the strings of my heart
I aint made out of wood
Now I take what I get
To get what it takes
Need a little bit a love
Got a whole lotta heartaches
I cant fight it, theres nobody home
Hard hearted and all alone
Maybe baby, its gonna take time, time, time
[...] Read more
song performed by Foreigner
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Parish Register - Part III: Burials
THERE was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time
When humble Christians died with views sublime;
When all were ready for their faith to bleed,
But few to write or wrangle for their creed;
When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart,
And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part;
When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene,
And all was comfort in the death-bed scene.
Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait,
'Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate;
Like wretched men upon the ocean cast,
They labour hard and struggle to the last;
'Hope against hope,' and wildly gaze around
In search of help that never shall be found:
Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath,
Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!
When these my Records I reflecting read,
And find what ills these numerous births succeed;
What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend;
With what regret these painful journeys end;
When from the cradle to the grave I look,
Mine I conceive a melancholy book.
Where now is perfect resignation seen?
Alas! it is not on the village-green: -
I've seldom known, though I have often read,
Of happy peasants on their dying-bed;
Whose looks proclaimed that sunshine of the breast,
That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd.
What I behold are feverish fits of strife,
'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life:
Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure;
Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure;
At best a sad submission to the doom,
Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.
Sick lies the man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid,
His spirits vanquish'd, and his strength decay'd;
No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend -
'Call then a priest, and fit him for his end.'
A priest is call'd; 'tis now, alas! too late,
Death enters with him at the cottage-gate;
Or time allow'd--he goes, assured to find
The self-commending, all-confiding mind;
And sighs to hear, what we may justly call
Death's common-place, the train of thought in all.
'True I'm a sinner,' feebly he begins,
'But trust in Mercy to forgive my sins:'
(Such cool confession no past crimes excite!
Such claim on Mercy seems the sinner's right!)
'I know mankind are frail, that God is just,
And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Tale III
THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.
Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all,
Who dwelt around, 'the Gentleman' would call;
Whether in pure humility or pride,
They only knew, and they would not decide.
Far different he from that dull plodding tribe
Whom it was his amusement to describe;
Creatures no more enliven'd than a clod,
But treading still as their dull fathers trod;
Who lived in times when not a man had seen
Corn sown by drill, or thresh'd by a machine!
He was of those whose skill assigns the prize
For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties;
And who, in places where improvers meet,
To fill the land with fatness, had a seat;
Who in large mansions live like petty kings,
And speak of farms but as amusing things;
Who plans encourage, and who journals keep,
And talk with lords about a breed of sheep.
Two are the species in this genus known;
One, who is rich in his profession grown,
Who yearly finds his ample stores increase,
From fortune's favours and a favouring lease;
Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns;
Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns;
Who freely lives, and loves to show he can, -
This is the Farmer made the Gentleman.
The second species from the world is sent,
Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content;
In books and men beyond the former read
To farming solely by a passion led,
Or by a fashion; curious in his land;
Now planning much, now changing what he plann'd;
Pleased by each trial, not by failures vex'd,
And ever certain to succeed the next;
Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade, -
This is the Gentleman, a farmer made.
Gwyn was of these; he from the world withdrew
Early in life, his reasons known to few;
Some disappointments said, some pure good sense,
The love of land, the press of indolence;
His fortune known, and coming to retire,
If not a Farmer, men had call'd him 'Squire.
Forty and five his years, no child or wife
Cross'd the still tenour of his chosen life;
Much land he purchased, planted far around,
And let some portions of superfluous ground
To farmers near him, not displeased to say
'My tenants,' nor 'our worthy landlord,' they.
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi
Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dr. Beat
Doctor, Ive got this feelin deep inside of me, deep inside of me
I just cant control my feet when I hear the beat, when I hear the beat
Hey doctor, could you give me somethin to ease the pain
cause if you dont help me soon gonna lose my brain
Gonna go insane
I just dont know, dont know
How Im gonna deal with you
Doc, doc, doc, doc, doctor beat
I just dont know, dont know
Wont you help me doctor beat
Doc, doc, doc, doc, doctor beat
Wont you help me doctor beat
(repeat previous line 3 times)
Say, say, say, doctor
I got this fever that I cant control
That I cant control
Music makes me move my body
Makes me move my soul
Makes me move my soul
Doc, you better give me somethin
cause Im burnin up
Yes, Im burnin up
Doc, youve got to find a cure
Or were gonna die
Yes, were gonna die
I just dont know, dont know
How Im gonna deal with you
Doc, doc, doc, doc, doctor beat
I just dont know, dont know wont you help me doctor beat
Doc, doc, doc, doc, doctor beat
Wont you help me doctor beat
(repeat line 3 times)
Doctor doctor, wont you please help me
You gotta help me, you gotta help me
If you got trouble, cant stop your feet
Pay a little visit to doctor beat
Doc, doc, doc, doc, doctor beat
Wont you help me doctor beat
(repeat line 3 times)
song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Idiot Boy
'Tis eight o'clock,--a clear March night,
The moon is up,--the sky is blue,
The owlet, in the moonlight air,
Shouts from nobody knows where;
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!
--Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret?
And why on horseback have you set
Him whom you love, your Idiot Boy?
Scarcely a soul is out of bed;
Good Betty, put him down again;
His lips with joy they burr at you;
But, Betty! what has he to do
With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?
But Betty's bent on her intent;
For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
Old Susan, she who dwells alone,
Is sick, and makes a piteous moan
As if her very life would fail.
There's not a house within a mile,
No hand to help them in distress;
Old Susan lies a-bed in pain,
And sorely puzzled are the twain,
For what she ails they cannot guess.
And Betty's husband's at the wood,
Where by the week he doth abide,
A woodman in the distant vale;
There's none to help poor Susan Gale;
What must be done? what will betide?
And Betty from the lane has fetched
Her Pony, that is mild and good;
Whether he be in joy or pain,
Feeding at will along the lane,
Or bringing faggots from the wood.
And he is all in travelling trim,--
And, by the moonlight, Betty Foy
Has on the well-girt saddle set
(The like was never heard of yet)
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy.
And he must post without delay
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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Dr. Detroit
Don't you stop
Don't you wonder why
Life itself pops in
And takes you by surprise
Don't you try to run
It gets you from behind
Like a common cold
It takes you for a ride
Now is the time
To call me doctor
This is a serious case
There's not much time
Now call me doctor
They love to watch him operate
It comes and goes
So call me doctor
They need a special technique
It grows and grows
Now call me doctor
Calling doctor, doctor detroit
Call me doctor (repeat)
No need to look
He's not in the book
The doctor's not an m.d.
What he does this time he does for free
Now is the time
To call me doctor
This is a serious case
There's not much time
Now call me doctor
They love to watch him operate
It comes and goes
So call me doctor
They need a special technique
It grows and grows
Now call me doctor
Calling doctor, doctor detroit
song performed by Devo
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia
I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.
All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.
Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Doctor Robert
Ring my friend, i said you call doctor robert
Day or night he'll be there any time at all, doctor robert
Doctor robert, you're a new and better man,
He helps you to understand
He does everything he can, doctor robert
If you're down he'll pick you up, doctor robert
Take a drink from his special cup, doctor robert
Doctor robert, he's a man you must believe,
Helping everyone in need
No one can succeed like doctor robert
Well, well, well, you're feeling fine
Well, well, well, he'll make you ... doctor robert
My friend works for the national health, doctor robert
Don't pay money just to see yourself with doctor robert
Doctor robert, you're a new and better man,
He helps you to understand
He does everything he can, doctor robert
Well, well, well, you're feeling fine
Well, well, well, he'll make you ... doctor robert
song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lamentable Ballad Of The Foundling Of Shoreditch
Come all ye Christian people, and listen to my tail,
It is all about a doctor was travelling by the rail,
By the Heastern Counties' Railway (vich the shares I don't desire),
From Ixworth town in Suffolk, vich his name did not transpire.
A travelling from Bury this Doctor was employed
With a gentleman, a friend of his, vich his name was Captain Loyd,
And on reaching Marks Tey Station, that is next beyond Colchest-
er, a lady entered into them most elegantly dressed.
She entered into the Carriage all with a tottering step,
And a pooty little Bayby upon her bussum slep;
The gentlemen received her with kindness and siwillaty,
Pitying this lady for her illness and debillaty.
She had a fust-class ticket, this lovely lady said,
Because it was so lonesome she took a secknd instead.
Better to travel by secknd class, than sit alone in the fust,
And the pooty little Baby upon her breast she nust.
A seein of her cryin, and shiverin and pail,
To her spoke this surging, the Ero of my tail;
Saysee you look unwell, Ma'am, I'll elp you if I can,
And you may tell your ease to me, for I'm a meddicle man.
'Thank you, Sir,' the lady said, 'I only look so pale,
Because I ain't accustom'd to travelling on the Rale;
I shall be better presnly, when I've ad some rest:'
And that pooty little Baby she squeeged it to her breast.
So in the conwersation the journey they beguiled,
Capting Loyd and the meddicle man, and the lady and the child,
Till the warious stations along the line was passed,
For even the Heastern Counties' trains must come in at last.
When at Shoreditch tumminus at lenth stopped the train,
This kind meddicle gentleman proposed his aid again.
'Thank you, Sir,' the lady said, 'for your kyindness dear;
My carridge and my osses is probibbly come here.
'Will you old this baby, please, vilst I step and see?'
The Doctor was a famly man: 'That I will,' says he.
Then the little child she kist, kist it very gently,
Vich was sucking his little fist, sleeping innocently.
With a sigh from her art, as though she would have bust it,
Then she gave the Doctor the child—wery kind he nust it:
Hup then the lady jumped hoff the bench she sat from,
Tumbled down the carridge steps and ran along the platform.
[...] Read more
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)
Introduction
In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.
Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.
Prologue
The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain
mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact
that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals
becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,
who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight
in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.
Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sophia’s Tale
It all began on a cold winter’s night
as another cloud blocked out the full moon's light.
The wind’s loud howling could have woken the dead,
it also kept me awake as I lay in my bed.
Thunder clapped and lightening flashed shadows around my room,
rain poured down bringing with it a fusty smell and a sense of gloom.
White and blue flashes blinded me as the wind howled out a groan,
my heart seemed to sink to deeper depths than I’d ever known.
As an almighty crack of lightening struck a tree near by
I heard the loud scream of a woman fade and die.
My window rattled as though someone wanted to come in,
I breathed easier when it stopped, but it started again.
I got up to draw the curtains and saw a shadowy face looking at me,
I drew them quickly, so he couldn’t see.
Soft taps on the window like that of a finger nail or claw
sent my heart to my stomach. Oh, did I lock the door?
The door was locked and bolted, so I breathed a sigh of relief,
everything went calm and quiet including my chattering teeth.
I told myself not to be stupid for being so easily frightened,
and as I opened the curtains it again thundered and lightened.
Somehow my window swung open and a creature looked into my eyes,
at first they appeared to be bright red and evil, but then I realised
that this was a handsome man who was holding me in his arms,
I had no control as he kissed me; I couldn’t repel his charms.
My mind could only see this lover, so handsome, strong and tall,
but when I awoke I found scratches covering my all.
The white sheets and pillow on my bed were covered in blood,
at the time I felt no pain at all, but then I certainly could.
I was in shock and didn’t know what or how this happened to me,
but this man or beast took advantage and caused me injury.
I managed to see my doctor and also had my wounds dressed,
and he sent me to the police surgeon to have a semen test.
The police interviewed me and carried out a full investigation,
the forensics gave an unhelpful and confused explanation,
finger prints, body-hair and semen were not of a human kind
and they had no DNA records to help prove their find.
They said they would check all available international DNA banks,
but this would take time and would probably draw blanks.
I was told to get on with my life the best way that I could
and they’d inform me if enquiries led to anything good.
[...] Read more
poem by Orlando Belo
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Doctor’s Day,2010
Doctor, doctor, carer of sick!
Doctor, doctor, healer on earth;
Doctor, doctor, noble is thine field;
Doctor, doctor, serve thine brethren well!
Doctor, labor all the more;
Clean and dress the chronic sore;
Let no person taint thine name;
Never forget thine great aim.
Doctor, let not wealth allure;
Doctor, lead a life all pure;
Doctor, try to always cure;
God will bless thee on earth, sure.
Dear Dr.B, K, Padmavathi M.D.,
‘Happy Doctor’s Day,2010! ’
From the Dean and staff of IRT, PMC
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-1-2010
poem by John Celes
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Doctor Doctor
Doctor doctor, please
Oh, the mess Im in
Doctor doctor, please,
Oh the mess Im in
She walked up to me
And really stole my heart
And then she started
To take my body apart
*livin, lovin, Im on the run
Far away from you
Livin, lovin, Im on the run
So far away from you
Doctor doctor, please
Oh, Im goin fast
Doctor doctor, please,
Oh, Im goin fast
Its only just a moment,
Shes turnin paranoid
Thats not a situation for a nervous boy
Doctor doctor, please
Oh, the mess Im in
Doctor doctor, please,
Oh, the mess Im in
But you look so angry
As I crawled across your floor
Shes got the strain,
And I cant take any more
*repeat
*repeat
song performed by Ufo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lady & The Doctor
The lady keeps the doctor in a place inside her pocket
The circle made her circle like a wheel
The doctor gives a strange love, but the lady she dont knock it
Shes glad to get a piece of anything
Because the lady needs the medicine ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
Doctor needs the lady to see
The doctor keeps the lady in a page in a book
On the history of communicable diseases
The ladys been to school, she lets the doctor play it cool.
He writes the script, she follows his lead.
cause the doctor writes love story so fine
The ladys learned to read between the lines
Sometime
The doctor, he takes housecalls where he visits the animals
In their stalls, shoots them full of juice and then goes home.
The lady hits the supermarket where she rides the aisles in a shopping cart
till she feels shes played enough of the part to set by ooh,
The lady feels its enough to just be good.
But the doctor has his need to be understood.
The doctor feels hes so abused and the lady feels shes so unused
And demands the doctor tends her daily parts.
Ooh, but the doctor just cant do it because so long ago the lady
Blew it, theyre too old now to make another start.
The lady feels the doctors made of stone.
The doctor heart, it just aint fond of ? home?
song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Doctor
Pay some attention
Want to get it right
Ooo-how about you
Minds under pressure
Happens every night
Ooo-let it go
(pre-chorus)
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Lay your hands on me
I prescribe a pill
Ooo-how about now
Tensions a buildin
Need to let it out
Ooo-let it go
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Call me the doctor
Makes you feel good
Make it feel better now
Everybody should
Its my own opinion
Its my point of view
If you really need it now
Call me the doctor doctor feel good- hey
I make house calls
In the middle of the night
Ooo-to get you right
Come a little closer
Is it pleasure is it pain
Ooo-Ive got the cure
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Call me the doctor
Makes you feel good
Make it feel better now
Everybody should
Its my own opinion
Its my point of view
If you really need it now
Call me the doctor doctor feel good- hey
(solo)
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Call me the doctor
Makes you feel good
[...] Read more
song performed by Cheap Trick
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Grand Consulation
"Ambubaiarum Collegia Pharmacopeiæ."
--Horace.
If the health and the strength, and the pure vital breath
Of old England, at last must be doctor'd to death,
Oh! why must we die of one doctor alone?
And why must that doctor be just such a one
As Doctor Henry Addington?
Oh! where is the great Doctor Dominicetti,
With his stews and his flues, and his vapours to sweat ye?
O! where is that Prince of all Mountebank fame,
With his baths of hot earth, and his beds of hot name.
Oh! where is Doctor Graham?
Where are Sonmambule Mesmer's convulsions magnetic?
Where is Myersbach, renown'd for his skills diuretic
Where is Perkins, with tractors of magical skill?
Where's the anodyne necklace of Basil Burchell?
Oh! where is the great Van Butchell?
Where's Sangrado Rush, so notorious for bleedings;
Where's Rumford, so famed for his writings and readings;
Where's that Count of the Kettle, that friend to the belly,
So renown'd for transforming old bones into jelly--
Where, too, is the great Doctor Kelly?
While Sam Solomon's lotion the public absterges,
He gives them his gold[1] as well as his purges;
But our frugal doctor this practice to shun,
Gives his pills to the public, the Pells to his Son
Oh! fie! fie! Doctor Addington!
Oh! where is Doctor Solomon?
Where are all the great Doctors? No longer we want
This farrago of cowardice, cunning and cant,
These braggarts! that one moment know not what fear is,
And the next moment, trembling, no longer know where is--
Lord Hawkesbury's[2] march to Paris?
Then for Hobart and Sullivan, Hawkey and Hervey,
For Wallace and Castlereagh, Bleeke and Glenbervie,
[...] Read more
poem by George Canning
Added by Poetry Lover
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Virginia's Story
Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.
She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.
When she was old enough she got married.
First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.
Agnes was my mother.
Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.
Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.
Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.
Anna was a maid and cook.
She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth
They were both good cooks
They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.
My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.
She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.
[...] Read more
poem by Talile Ali
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I Can't Breathe
I'm scared to sleep, I scared to dream
I'm scared to wake up in case I scream
I'm scared to whisper one word.
That's all it needs
I hear it breathe, I hear it sigh
I hear it laughing when something dies
I hear it calling
But I'm too scared to move
I'm so scared
I can't breathe
I'm so scared
I just can't breathe
I'm scared to look, I'm scared to see
I'm scared of mirrors in case it's me.
I'm scared of memories
But now thats all I have
So I can't leave and no-one comes
So no-one noticed that I've come undone.
I'd hide in shadows
But the shadows talk to me.
I'm so scared
I can't breathe
I'm so scared
I just can't breathe
song performed by Gary Numan
Added by Lucian Velea
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