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Elizabeth, Lady C, claims to be writing at the limits of language. Would it not be insulting to her if I were diligently to follow after her, explaining what she means but is not smart enough to say?

quote by J.M. Coetzee
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I Saw It Myself (Short Verse Drama)

Dramatis Personae: Adrian, his wife Ester, his sisters Rebecca and Johanna, his mother Elizabeth, the high priest Chiapas, the disciple Simon Peter, the disciple John, Mary Magdalene, worshipers, priests, two angels and Jesus Christ.

Act I

Scene I.- Adrian’s house in Jerusalem. Adrian has just returned home after a business journey in Galilee, in time to attend the Passover feast. He sits at the table with his wife Ester and his sisters, Rebecca and Johanna. It’s just before sunset on the Friday afternoon.

Adrian. (Somewhat puzzled) Strange things are happening,
some say demons dwell upon the earth,
others angelic beings, miracles take place
and all of this when they had put a man to death,
had crucified a criminal. Everybody knows
the cross is used for degenerates only!

Rebecca. (With a pleasant voice) Such harsh words used,
for a good, a great man brother?
They say that without charge
he healed the sick, brought back sight,
cured leprosy, even made some more food,
from a few fishes and loafs of bread…

Adrian. (Somewhat harsh) They say many things!
That he rode into Jerusalem
to be crowned as the new king,
was a rebel against the state,
even claimed to be
the very Son of God,
now that is blasphemy
if there is no truth to it!

Johanna. I met him once.
He’s not the man
that you make him, brother.
There was a strange tranquilly to Him.
Some would say a divine presence,
while He spoke of love that is selfless,
visited the sick, the poor
and even the destitute, even harlots.

Adrian. (Looks up) There you have it!
Harlots! Tax collecting thieves!
A man is know by his friends,
or so they say and probably
there is some truth to it.

Ester. Husband, do not be so quick to judge.
I have seen Him myself, have seen
Roman soldiers marching Him to the hill
to take His life, with a angry crowd
following and mocking Him.

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Court Of Love

With timerous hert and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that non intelligence
Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence;
Sauf that me list my writing to convey,
In that I can to please her hygh nobley.

The blosmes fresshe of Tullius garden soote
Present thaim not, my mater for to borne:
Poemes of Virgil taken here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfrid may not here sojorne:
Why nam I cunning? O well may I morne,
For lak of science that I can-not write
Unto the princes of my life a-right

No termes digne unto her excellence,
So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:
A world of honour and of reverence
There is in her, this wil I testifie.
Calliope, thou sister wise and sly,
And thou, Minerva, guyde me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mater not deface.

Thy suger-dropes swete of Elicon
Distill in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;
And thee, Melpomene, I calle anon,
Of ignoraunce the mist to chace away;
And give me grace so for to write and sey,
That she, my lady, of her worthinesse,
Accepte in gree this litel short tretesse,

That is entitled thus, 'The Court of Love.'
And ye that ben metriciens me excuse,
I you besech, for Venus sake above;
For what I mene in this ye need not muse:
And if so be my lady it refuse
For lak of ornat speche, I wold be wo,
That I presume to her to writen so.

But myn entent and all my besy cure
Is for to write this tretesse, as I can,
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,
Feithfull and kind, sith first that she began
Me to accept in service as her man:

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Christabel

PART I

'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;
Tu-whit!- Tu-whoo!
And hark, again! the crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew.
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff, which
From her kennel beneath the rock
Maketh answer to the clock,
Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;
Ever and aye, by shine and shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud;
Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark?
The night is chilly, but not dark.
The thin gray cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is gray:
'T is a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.
The lovely lady, Christabel,
Whom her father loves so well,
What makes her in the wood so late,
A furlong from the castle gate?
She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothed knight;
And she in the midnight wood will pray
For the weal of her lover that's far away.

She stole along, she nothing spoke,
The sighs she heaved were soft and low,
And naught was green upon the oak,
But moss and rarest mistletoe:
She kneels beneath the huge oak tree,
And in silence prayeth she.

The lady sprang up suddenly,
The lovely lady, Christabel!
It moaned as near, as near can be,
But what it is she cannot tell.-
On the other side it seems to be,
Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.
The night is chill; the forest bare;
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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The Cōforte of Louers

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs

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poem by Stephen Hawes
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Recap:

Diminished to limits.
Recap:
Diminished to limits.
Recap:
Diminished to limits.
Recap:
Diminished to limits.
Diminished to limits.

Diminished to limits.
Recap:
Diminished to limits.
Recap:
Diminished to limits.
Recap:
Diminished to limits.
Diminished to limits.

Diminished to limits.
Recap:
Demographics had established,
The success and conditions...
Of a targeted marketing.
To direct effective hype,
Among those selected to be chosen.

Those days have faded away,
From the land of steady habits.
And drift as nomads depleted of funds,
Are those unable to repay for a credited feasting done.

And elimination of debits wished,
Increase and do not leave.
So those rush away in the kicking up of dust...
With tears from their eyes drippimg as they weep.

Recap:
Those enforced to be meek and weak,
Are solicited to exhaust their kept treasures.
In the hopes of prolonging,
The ones addicted to feeding themselves selfishly.

Recap:
Conditions for optimistic change gone ignored has past.
This can not be restored to those celebrating,
In the hopes to inflict upon others their will.
Closed are those doors.

Recap:
The ones found designing deceitful traps,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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With A Motive Not To Be Provoked

There are people with a motive,
To be...
Left alone.
And many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.

And there are people more devoted,
To keep their peace condoned.
And many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.

To get away from all the alibis.
And those who live their lives making up lies.
With so many to this committed.
As if there's benefit in it.
To change what they say in a minute.
This limits and this diminishes.
This limits and this diminishes.

People have a motive,
To be...
Alone!
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.

To get away from all the alibis.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.

And those who live their lives making up lies.
To change what they say in a minute.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.

There are people with a motive,
To be...
Left alone.
And many are to this committed.
Many are to this committed.
And doing this free without limits.
And doing this free without limits.
Doing this free without limits.
Doing this free without limits.

There are people with a motive,
To be...
Left alone.
And many are to this committed.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Little World

1 2 3 4.
1 2 3 4.
Little boy up in (? )...
Thats left behind to sin.
Moving like a camera I can watch you on my screen.
Fall into a shadow world inside of me.
Hidden like a treasure.
Secrets in my scene.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Ah, you can follow me.
Scream inside.
Whisper.
Picture in a dream.
You can talk to me and we can talk forever.
I could take you to the doorway and I can give you the way, the key.
No one here can see you, no one here but me.
Fall into our shadow, theres another world in me.
And youre invited.
And youre invited.
In the little world I make with all the little things I take...
A million ways to pass the time, in this little world of mine.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow you can follow you can follow follow follow follow follow.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
Secrets in this world.
Picture in a dream.
No one here can see you, no one here but me.
And you can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow.
In the little world I make with all the little things I take...
A million ways to pass the time, in this little world of mine.
You can follow me, follow me.
You can follow me.
Oh, you can follow.
You can follow me. follow me.
You can follow me. follow me.
You can follow me.
You can follow me.
You can follow me.

[...] Read more

song performed by Blondie
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The Flight of the Duchess

I

You're my friend:
I was the man the Duke spoke to;
I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;
So here's the tale from beginning to end,
My friend!

II

Ours is a great wild country:
If you climb to our castle's top,
I don't see where your eye can stop;
For when you've passed the cornfield country,
Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed,
And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract,
And cattle-tract to open-chase,
And open-chase to the very base
Of the mountain where, at a funeral pace,
Round about, solemn and slow,
One by one, row after row,
Up and up the pine-trees go,
So, like black priests up, and so
Down the other side again
To another greater, wilder country,
That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain,
Branched through and through with many a vein
Whence iron's dug, and copper's dealt;
Look right, look left, look straight before—
Beneath they mine, above they smelt,
Copper-ore and iron-ore,
And forge and furnace mould and melt,
And so on, more and ever more,
Till at the last, for a bounding belt,
Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea shore
—And the whole is our Duke's country.

III

I was born the day this present Duke was—
(And O, says the song, ere I was old!)
In the castle where the other Duke was—
(When I was happy and young, not old!)
I in the kennel, he in the bower:
We are of like age to an hour.
My father was huntsman in that day;
Who has not heard my father say
That, when a boar was brought to bay,

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poem by Robert Browning from Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)
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Flight Of The Duchess, The

I.

You're my friend:
I was the man the Duke spoke to;
I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;
So here's the tale from beginning to end,
My friend!

II.

Ours is a great wild country:
If you climb to our castle's top,
I don't see where your eye can stop;
For when you've passed the cornfield country,
Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed,
And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract,
And cattle-tract to open-chase,
And open-chase to the very base
Of the mountain where, at a funeral pace,
Round about, solemn and slow,
One by one, row after row,
Up and up the pine-trees go,
So, like black priests up, and so
Down the other side again
To another greater, wilder country,
That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain,
Branched through and through with many a vein
Whence iron's dug, and copper's dealt;
Look right, look left, look straight before,---
Beneath they mine, above they smelt,
Copper-ore and iron-ore,
And forge and furnace mould and melt,
And so on, more and ever more,
Till at the last, for a bounding belt,
Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea-shore,
---And the whole is our Duke's country.

III.

I was born the day this present Duke was---
(And O, says the song, ere I was old!)
In the castle where the other Duke was---
(When I was happy and young, not old!)
I in the kennel, he in the bower:
We are of like age to an hour.
My father was huntsman in that day;
Who has not heard my father say
That, when a boar was brought to bay,
Three times, four times out of five,
With his huntspear he'd contrive

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poem by Robert Browning
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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:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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The Sorcerer: Act II

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Sir Marmaduke Pointdextre, an Elderly Baronet

Alexis, of the Grenadier Guards--His Son

Dr. Daly, Vicar of Ploverleigh

John Wellington Wells, of J. W. Wells & Co., Family Sorcerers

Lady Sangazure, a Lady of Ancient Lineage

Aline, Her Daughter--betrothed to Alexis

Mrs. Partlet, a Pew-Opener

Constance, her Daughter

Chorus of Villagers

(Twelve hours are supposed to elapse between Acts I and II)

ACT II-- Grounds of Sir Marmaduke's Mansion, Midnight

Scene--Exterior of Sir Marmaduke's mansion by moonlight. All the
peasantry are discovered asleep on the ground, as at the end
of Act I.

Enter Mr. Wells, on tiptoe, followed by Alexis and Aline. Mr. Wells
carries a dark lantern.

TRIO--ALEXIS, ALINE, and MR. WELLS

'Tis twelve, I think,
And at this mystic hour
The magic drink
Should manifest its power.
Oh, slumbering forms,
How little ye have guessed
That fire that warms
Each apathetic breast!

ALEXIS. But stay, my father is not here!

ALINE. And pray where is my mother dear?

MR. WELLS. I did not think it meet to see
A dame of lengthy pedigree,

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Life means more

Life means imagination; the ability to perceive and
dream beyond the absolutely extraordinary,

Life means observation; the magical prowess to imbibe
the maximum out of the stupendously magnificent
surroundings,

Life means seduction; the uncanny desire of being
tantalized every second to the most unprecedented
limits,

Life means devotion; the immortal virtue of being
obsessed with the entity you uninhibitedly cherish and
love,

Life means fascination; the incessant entrenchment
perpetuated by all the mesmerizing beauty wandering on
this planet,

Life means God; Life means perennially unending; Life
means more….

Life means grandiloquent; the royally majestic sights
embedded on the trajectory of this boundless planet,

Life means benevolent; the philanthropic element to
help all those fellow compatriots in inexplicable
misery and tumultuous pain,

Life means turbulent; the vivacious swirl of rampant
thoughts and emotions; that engulf one's countenance
by storm,

Life means fragrant; the profusely redolent aroma;
which emanated from the voluptuous conglomerate of
lotus in the pond,

Life means prudent; the incomprehensible ability of
the human brain to act the most sagaciously in every
situation,

Life means God; Life means perennially unending; Life
means more….

Life means unfathomable; the paradise existing beyond
unprecedented corridors of perception,

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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A Map Of Culture

Culture

Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?

What is Culture?

I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

Back to Contents

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poem by Nyein Way
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Sixth Book

THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,–
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,–
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
–That's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,–a poet's heart

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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I Will Follow

Yonder mountain so high
I cant make it all on my own, no
Rolling river why so wide?
To sweep me up and to bear me on
Up against the sky so bright
That I cant even close my eyes
I know I will follow (follow love)
Yes, yes, I will follow (follow love)
I will follow (follow love)
Follow love
Growing slowly like a tree
Someday soon, darling I love you
I love you
Soft and gentle, full summer moon
Set my soul free
Thank you, baby
Drifting like a cloud in the sky
I can see myself from high above
I know I must follow (follow love)
Somehow I will follow (follow love)
I must follow (follow love)
Follow love
Oh, half the future and half the past
Theyre waiting inside your eyes
Yes, and after all of this
To last and last
Till at last its your time to rise, rise
True believer that I am
I am blind, lead me on (lead me on)
Blessed receiver of your love
I own my own time
And Ive been holding on (holding on)
Leave the word unspoken
And the spell will not be broken
And Im bound to follow, now (follow love)
I know I must go (follow love)
I must follow (follow love)
Yes, I must follow (follow love)
Someone to hold my hand (follow love)
Somebody to lead me on(follow love)
Somebody to walk beside me (follow love)
Someone to follow me now (follow love)
I must follow love (follow love)
I will fall in love
I will follow love (follow love)
Anywhere it leads me
I will follow love (follow love)
Follow love

song performed by James Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Truth and the Devil

The devil unstoppably took pride in salaciously writing; the book of
obnoxious caste-creed and venomously penalizing hatred,

The devil unstoppably took pride in acrimoniously writing; the book of
indiscriminate bloodshed and disastrously traumatizing ruthlessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in vengefully writing; the book of
tyrannical devastation and lecherously bellicose orphaning,

The devil unstoppably took pride in fretfully writing; the book of
vindictive war and satanically criminal holocausts,

The devil unstoppably took pride in maliciously writing; the book of
coldblooded barbarism and manipulatively bizarre malice,

The devil unstoppably took pride in forlornly writing; the book of
worthless
ghosts and mortuaries brutally anointed with fresh blood,

T The devil unstoppably took pride in indigently writing; the book of
nonchalant spuriousness and fecklessly insipid meaninglessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in torturously writing; the book of
ominous
animosity and hedonistically pugnacious illwill,

The devil unstoppably took pride in dictatorially writing; the book of
licentious bawdiness and insanely threadbare nothingness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heinously writing; the book of
lascivious poverty and baselessly crippling uncertainty,

The devil unstoppably took pride in savagely writing; the book of
despicable
defeat and lethally ballistic atrociousness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in raunchily writing; the book of
dolorous
delinquency and insidiously slandering betrayal,

The devil unstoppably took pride in preposterously writing; the book of
scurrilous lunatism and barbarously incarcerating fiendishness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in frigidly writing; the book of
jejune
mockery and impudently castigating brazenness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heartlessly writing; the book of
ghastly
bloodshed and indefatigably bombarding politics,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
Added by Poetry Lover
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Buried Alive!

The air was thin as I breathed it in,
It scarcely filled my throat,
I thrashed about and I tried to shout
But all I could do was croak,
I couldn't move for the lid above
And the sides just hemmed me in,
When a tap-tap-tap beneath my back
Broke in on my nightmare dream.

'Elizabeth! Elizabeth! ' I croaked,
As the torment grew,
'Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Oh Lord,
Please Lord, not you! '
The sweat broke out on my fevered brow,
The terror grew within,
For hell was there in my bleak despair
As the rattle of death chimed in!

My wife then slapped me about the face,
'Wake up - it's only a dream! '
I filled my lungs with a rush of air,
And fought the desire to scream.
'And who's this woman, Elizabeth? '
She said in a sombre tone,
'If ever I thought I'd caught you out
You'd be coming on home, alone.'

I shook my head in confusion then,
'Not true! There's only you!
The dream is simply an awful scene
Night terrors put me through.'
'You'd better get to a Shrink, ' she said,
'I've had enough of this,
For every night it's the same, you fight
For a woman you seem to miss.'

I went to a Psych, with no result,
I went to a Naturopath,
I tried to sweat out the evil in
The salts of a cleansing bath,
I even sat in a séance, tried
To find if a spirit cared,
When the spirit of one, Elizabeth, said:
'Remember the love we shared! '

'I know of no Elizabeth! '
I said, with my conscience clear,
It's only a dream that returns to me
Whenever the stars appear! '
It pushed the planchette back and forth,

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Lady Lynda

Lady lady lady lady
Wont you come here and lie lady lynda with me
We can lie in the green canyon meadows
And well hear the birds sing in the spring
Dont you know if you;ll stay lady lynda with me
We can talk about love everafter
When you lie lady lynda with me
Lynda, wont you say that we can be near
Cannot deny thereve been hard times
Darlin, evolution is drawing us near
Look in my eyes whoa
Lynda, wont you say that I am your man
Your lips are dry (? ) its all in his past
But darlin, evolution is drawing us near
Lie lady lie
Oooh lady wont you lie lady
Now wont you stay lady lynda with me
We can talk about love everafter
When you lie lady lynda with me
Ohh lady wont you lie lady
Wont you ooh lady wont you stay lady with me
When you lie lady lynda
Come along with me
Ohh lady wont you lie lady
Wont you lie with me
Darlin you know you make my heart sing
Wont you come along and sing a song
Sing the sound of love
Ohh lady wont you lie lady
Wont you lie with me
Darlin your love is like the coming spring
Wont you come along and sing a song
Sing the song my love
Ohh lady wont you lie lady
Wont you lie with me darlin your love is like the coming spring
Wont you come along and sing a song
Sing the song my love
Ohh lady wont you lie lady
Wont you lie with me
Darlin your love is like the coming spring
Wont you come along and sing a song
Sing the song my love
Ooh lady wont you lie lady wont you marry me

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Treat Her Like A Lady

Treat her like a lady
By: jimmy buffett, david loggins
1979
Chorus:
Some of us sailors call her home
Shes big and shes strong and shes mighty
Some of us sailors call her our own
Guess thats the reason why
I treat her like a lady
Just treat her like a lady
Now I dont like the sound of the ground movin round
Or winds spinnin out of control
California earthquakes, only seem to make a me
Shake, rattle, and roll
Ive been too long on the mainland
Hotels, rental cars, and phones
Time to cast em aside, catch the very next tide
And go back, where I belong
Chorus:
Some of us sailors call her home
Shes big and shes strong and shes mighty
Some of us sailors call her our own
Guess thats the reason why
I treat her like a lady
Treat her like a lady
Now great whales travel the rhumb lines
Dodging those deadly harpoons
Spawning their young, as their ancestors done
In the depths of her hidden lagoons
Therere times I find myself with them
And times I feel as they do
Were on a similar course, its just a different source
But Im in danger of extinction too
Chorus:
Some of us sailors call her home
Shes big and shes strong and shes mighty
Some of us sailors call her our own
Guess thats the reason why
I treat her like a lady
Treat her like a lady
Treat her like a lady
Treat her like a lady
And miss her when Im gone
(lady, lady) treat her like a lady
(lady, lady) treat her like a lady
(lady, lady) got to treat her like a lady
(lady, lady) treat her like a lady
Lady, lady
Lady, lady
Lady, lady

[...] Read more

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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