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I cannot permit you to disrupt the Paramount schedule.

quote by David O. Selznick
Added by Lucian Velea
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Life Kills

When you fall into your seat, you know you feel you might be dying
As the breath rasps in and out, of your burning throat
You cant control your lungs because youre so tired
Youre half awake with one arm in your coat
Well thank God that there is someone there to drive you
You know you couldnt make it on your own
He helps you through the door
You sit down on the floor
And youre asleep before you are alone
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
For a while it seems exhaustion has subsided
The day is over and the moon is high
But your period of work is predecided
Funny how the hours of freedom seem to fly
Well thank God that there is someone there to drive you
You know you couldnt make it on your own
He helps you in the door
You sit down as before
Another shift to pay another loan
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills

song performed by Human League
Added by Lucian Velea
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Soccer Rollback

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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What Is This Between Us That We've Got

I can not wait until,
You permit to say okay...
With a giving of a hug.
Or a kiss.

I can not wait until,
You permit to say okay...
With a giving of a hug.
Or a kiss.

What is this between us that we've got,
It can't be true love.
What is this between us that we've got.

What is this between us that we've got,
It can't be true love.
What is this between us that we've got.

I can not wait until,
You permit to say okay...
With a giving of a hug.
Or a kiss.

What is this between us that we've got,
It can't be true love.
What is this between us that we've got.

I can not wait until,
You permit to say okay.
What is this between us that we've got.

What is this between us that we've got.

What is this between us that we've got,
Since it's not true love.
Not the kind I'm thinking or wanting to be part of.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Soccer Under 20

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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Murderer (You Are)

It comes unexpectedly
Breaks dream...
Disrupt skin
Penetrates inside
Disrupt entrails
Body's burning
Murderer!!!
(You are) murderer
Thirst for death
Escape from the pest
Nightmare of killing
Seized inside demands blood
You move on hunt, satisfying
(Your) wildest instincts
Murderer!!!
(You are) murderer (you are)
Excitement with blood tearing of inert body
Violation of innocence for satisfying greed
It comes the end
Of perverted game
Death...

song performed by Yattering
Added by Lucian Velea
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To Minette

With your lovely face
and bright blue eyes
at any time you could disrupt my life

and a single word made me believe in your love
and your soft lips, the blush on your cheek
and bright blue eyes

really caught me
and the sound of your voice
and your soft lips, the blush on your cheek

grasped my heart
and your soft hand folding around mine
and the sound of your voice

leaves me now only with mourning
and the remembering of how wonderful you were
and your soft hand folding around mine

has been extinguished by destiny, changed to ash.
With your lovely face
and the remembering of how wonderful you were
at any time you could disrupt my life.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Belittling Is On The List

Inappropriate business...
Conducted to disrupt in destructive ways,
Maybe thought to be fun...
For those beginning conflicts done.

Arguments and tantrums do not end.
And the ones igniting them,
Do it...
To offend.

Belittling is at the top of their list.
Belitting others they can't resist.
Belitting is treated as if a gift.
Belittling to do is their wish.

There are people who live to breathe,
To belittle others into fits.
There are people who love to leave...
Others belittled then split.

Inappropriate business...
Conducted to disrupt in destructive ways,
Maybe thought to be fun...
For those beginning conflicts done.

There are people who live to breathe,
To belittle others into fits.
There are people who love to leave...
Others belittled then split.

Belittling is at the top of their list.
Belitting others they can't resist.
Belitting is treated as if a gift.
Belittling to do is their wish.

There are people who love to pick,
Others to belittle then split.
There are people who love to pick,
Others to belittle then split...
With belittling on the list!

Belittling is at the top of their list.
Belitting others they can't resist.
Belitting is treated as if a gift.
Belittling to do is their wish.

Arguments and tantrums do not end.
And the ones igniting them,
Do it...
To offend.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Apocryphal Song of Songs

Song of Songs: Chapter one

When my darling is still slumbering
the blanket drawn up to her chin,
lying peaceful
I am without words

when the day brake red across the mountain’s comb
she is still stretched out
while the sun lovingly
stirs its first fingers

and when she moves
her big golden bracelet shines
pearls around her neck glitter
like the dewdrops

outside on the grass and trees,
like the golden colour of the sun
that now hangs high above the horizon
and I can catch the first white gleaming

of her smile
the morning wind swirls
singing over the glory
that she brings to my life

her eyes glitters brighter than the heaven
with their own rays and meaning
that is caught in her glance,
she looks lovely and fresh

and I know that God is blessing me
with her presence,
where He binds us together
in moments of time.

Song of Songs: Chapter two

I want to feel the rays of sun in your eyes
being lost over my body,
bending over your body
I want to take the core out of your soul,

I want to feel the pulse beat of your heart
in your naked breast,
through the pleasure and pain of this life
I want to long day after day for you

and abate all my passion, all my joy in you,

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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After Working Sixty Hours Again for What Reason

The best job I had was moving a stone
from one side of the road to the other.
This required a permit which required
a bribe. The bribe took all my salary.
Yet because I hadn’t finished the job
I had no salary, and to pay the bribe
I took a job moving the stone
the other way. Because the official
wanted his bribe, he gave me a permit
for the second job. When I pointed out
that the work would be best completed
if I did nothing, he complimented
my brain and wrote a letter
to my employer suggesting promotion
on stationery bearing the wings
of a raptor spread in flight
over a mountain smaller than the bird.
My boss, fearing my intelligence,
paid me to sleep on the sofa
and take lunch with the official
who required a bribe to keep anything
from being done. When I told my parents,
they wrote my brother to come home
from university to be slapped
on the back of the head. Dutifully,
he arrived and bowed to receive
his instruction, at which point
sense entered his body and he asked
what I could do by way of a job.
I pointed out there were stones
everywhere trying not to move,
all it took was a little gumption
to be the man who didn’t move them.
It was harder to explain the intricacies
of not obtaining a permit to not
do this. Just yesterday he got up
at dawn and shaved, as if the lack
of hair on his face has anything
to do with the appearance of food
on an empty table.

poem by Bob Hicok
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Is/Not

Love is not a profession
genteel or otherwise

sex is not dentistry
the slick filling of aches and cavities

you are not my doctor
you are not my cure,

nobody has that
power, you are merely a fellow/traveller

Give up this medical concern,
buttoned, attentive,

permit yourself anger
and permit me mine

which needs neither
your approval nor your suprise

which does not need to be made legal
which is not against a disease

but agaist you,
which does not need to be understood

or washed or cauterized,
which needs instead

to be said and said.
Permit me the present tense.

poem by Margaret Atwood
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Eat and be merry

Does the life mean to live and eat?
Marry and stay to make it sweet
School, youth and later on to profession
Troubles more and to lead with confusion

Always worry for two ends to meet
Absence of love to say hello when greet
Mind not at rest with so many wicked plans
No time to look back or have little glance

Time is money and busy is schedule
Some where to formant trouble and add fuel
Self interest first with top most priority
To consider one’s self with superior quality

No one can be blamed for simple logic
It is human tendency and forms very basic
Nothing goes with it as sentiments or feelings
Everything is done in agreement and as willing

Result is known and fate is sealed
Yet many thing done and tactfully concealed
Life goes on uninterrupted with nothing more to reveal
To go still deep in it and present it as real

Nothing will change so long human race is in existence
Not much can be said or exerted with insistence
There is helplessness as how to lead it honestly
Nothing can help even if tried earnestly

Not all may think the same but yes it prevails
With some of good principles the train derails
Lots of trouble when chosen the path of nobility
The universal truth surfaces with its known futility’

There is no reason for going back or retrace
We all are having same dilemma to face
It is easy to face a rowdy and hostile crowd
But very difficult to sustain and speak loud

Life can be brought to an end with single stroke
It is just a line and can be over in thick smoke
No one has any power to delay it even for second
Even though it is considered as very precious like diamond

You have been infused with lots of courage
That is how the human beings live and manage
They know well that it is cowardice to disrupt the cycle
It will be better to carry on and spend it as very casual

[...] Read more

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What they did was to make a pilot and it may well go to series at the next festival but I don't have any news on that. It's already been on Paramount actually, but as it's on Paramount it'll probably be on several more times... hopefully.

quote by Jo Brand
Added by Lucian Velea
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I've been to Paris France and I've been to Paris Paramount. Paris Paramount is better.

quote by Ernst Lubitsch
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Singin' With The Big Bands

If I wrote history
And could pocket a moment for me
It would be
Singin' with the big bands
I would turn back the clock
For the time we'll be in for a shock
Hearin me singin' with the big bands
If I had me a genie inside Aladdin's lamp
I'd tell him do your thing
And like that I would be
At the Paramount in '43
And I sing
Ringin' in the good times
Swingin' with the big boys
Singin' with the big bands
Singin' with the big bands
If I had me a genie inside Aladdin's lamp
I'd tell him Mr. Genie go on and do your thing
And like that I would be
At the Paramount in '43
And I sing
Ringin' in the good times
Singin' with the big boys
Wingin' it in swing time
Bringing back the big nose
I'm jumpin with the Duke
Stoppin with the King
Cooler than the Kid
Swinging everything
I'm singin' with the big bands

song performed by Barry Manilow
Added by Lucian Velea
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Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt)

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, "Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?"

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead.
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes,
Clutch'd at the crag, and started thro' mid air
Bearing an eagle's nest: and thro' the tree
Rush'd ever a rainy wind, and thro' the wind
Pierced ever a child's cry: and crag and tree
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest,
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck,
And all unscarr'd from beak or talon, brought
A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took,
Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen
But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms
Received, and after loved it tenderly,
And named it Nestling; so forgot herself
A moment, and her cares; till that young life
Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold
Past from her; and in time the carcanet
Vext her with plaintive memories of the child:
So she, delivering it to Arthur, said,
"Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence,
And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize."

To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."

"Would rather you had let them fall," she cried,
"Plunge and be lost--ill-fated as they were,
A bitterness to me!--ye look amazed,
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given--
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out
Above the river--that unhappy child
Past in her barge: but rosier luck will go
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came
Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Last Tournament

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a withered leaf before the hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, `Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?'

For Arthur and Sir Lancelot riding once
Far down beneath a winding wall of rock
Heard a child wail. A stump of oak half-dead,
From roots like some black coil of carven snakes,
Clutched at the crag, and started through mid air
Bearing an eagle's nest: and through the tree
Rushed ever a rainy wind, and through the wind
Pierced ever a child's cry: and crag and tree
Scaling, Sir Lancelot from the perilous nest,
This ruby necklace thrice around her neck,
And all unscarred from beak or talon, brought
A maiden babe; which Arthur pitying took,
Then gave it to his Queen to rear: the Queen
But coldly acquiescing, in her white arms
Received, and after loved it tenderly,
And named it Nestling; so forgot herself
A moment, and her cares; till that young life
Being smitten in mid heaven with mortal cold
Past from her; and in time the carcanet
Vext her with plaintive memories of the child:
So she, delivering it to Arthur, said,
`Take thou the jewels of this dead innocence,
And make them, an thou wilt, a tourney-prize.'

To whom the King, `Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear.'

`Would rather you had let them fall,' she cried,
`Plunge and be lost-ill-fated as they were,
A bitterness to me!-ye look amazed,
Not knowing they were lost as soon as given-
Slid from my hands, when I was leaning out
Above the river-that unhappy child
Past in her barge: but rosier luck will go
With these rich jewels, seeing that they came
Not from the skeleton of a brother-slayer,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Sahara Desert

Africa oh! Africa, lays the Sahara the ocean of
desert, fading like a roaring Leon in the meadow of
pasture green spheres upon the shoulder of the fertile
land

wild as the weird wild creature passionately slow
and capture the vast splendid horizon of beautiful
scenery of forested and mountainous valley of
paradise of the East, welcome the canoe of the raging
speed of wind behind the curtail of trouble sky, have
conceived the Sahara Desert

come capture the eye that made to follow the wind
invades like Spartan in the City of Greece, nourish and
emptied the rich nutrient aging plateau of wealth and
leave no mercy beyond filter of imagination

you have come in a thousand enduring beauty
surfing the blue space open skies, where a decades of
envy and thirst lips comes the paramount surprise of
wilderness ghetto of dazzling sand and a zooming wind
to kiss the ground of survival and surpass the burden of
destruction

oh! paramount phenomenon of creation, hide not
the color of your dominion and relinquish the burden
that makes the world crazy, neither the wind laugh as
you blew, nor does the water soak the thirsting body of
unwanted Lilies in the pond

come and let the Lotus of Thailand, spoil the dry land
and pray for the rain to come.....

' a poem dedicated to the Great Green Wall of Africa '

poem by Antonio Liao
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Conquer Your Mountain!

Behold your mountain, mark it well,
This challenge and this quest
And then with prophecy foretell,
One day you will be blessed...
It's just one mountain, nothing more,
Unconquered for a time,
Until the day God lets you soar,
Triumphant and sublime...

With preparations well in hand,
Your journey thus begins,
It's paramount such things are planned,
Because the air soon thins...
The cold must be endured, brave soul
And fear must be cast out,
Such that your faith maintains control
And dominates your doubt!

Consider how Mankind was made,
How God made Adam first
And then from him, one rib was laid,
Such that new life emerged...
From what you are, God takes a part,
Then gives a hundredfold,
So when you give, give from the heart,
New blessings to behold...

Your mountain can be conquered, friend,
It's up to you to try,
For when you win, then at the end,
Your hand will touch the sky...
And God's hand, too, from Heaven's throne
Will reach to your hand there...
To share with you that joy unknown,
The answer to your prayer!

Denis Martindale, copyright, December 2011.

The Christian poem is based on GOD TV's vision for 2012

which was explained in their December 2011 newsletter.

Just after the poem was done, I saw a TV show with titles

that ended with the famous Paramount Studios mountain,

so the poem was changed to include a reference to it.

GOD TV on Sky and Freesat and Virgin Media.

[...] Read more

poem by Denis Martindale
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The Zenana

WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
Leans on her silken couch, and dreams
Of mountain airs, and mountain streams.
Sweet though the music float around,
It wants the old familiar sound;

And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—

She's very young, and childhood's days
With all their old remembered ways,
The empire of her heart contest
With love, that is so new a guest;
When blushing with her Murad near,
Half timid bliss, half sweetest fear,
E'en the beloved past is dim,
Past, present, future, merge in him.
But he, the warrior and the chief,
His hours of happiness are brief;
And he must leave Nadira's side
To woo and win a ruder bride;

Sought, sword in hand and spur on heel,
The fame, that weds with blood and steel.
And while from Delhi far away,
His youthful bride pines through the day,
Weary and sad: thus when again
He seeks to bind love's loosen'd chain;
He finds the tears are scarcely dry
Upon a cheek whose bloom is faded,
The very flush of victory
Is, like the brow he watches, shaded.
A thousand thoughts are at her heart,
His image paramount o'er all,
Yet not all his, the tears that start,
As mournful memories recall
Scenes of another home, which yet
That fond young heart can not forget.
She thinks upon that place of pride,
Which frowned upon the mountain's side;

While round it spread the ancient plain,
Her steps will never cross again.
And near those mighty temples stand,
The miracles of mortal hand,

[...] Read more

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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