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Republican comes in the dictionary just after reptile and just above repugnant.

quote by Julia Roberts
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Dr Samuel Johnson's Dictionary Masterpiece

June 1746 deeply dissatisfied
with the dictionaries of the period
London booksellers contracted

Dr Samuel Johnson to write
'A Dictionary of the English Language'
15 April 1755 finally published.

Johnson took nine years to create
an authoritative dictionary of the English language
could finish in three years he claimed?

Preposterous Académie Française employed;
in comparison over forty learned scholars
spending needing forty years to complete;

its dictionary in the French language.
Forty Frenchmen times forty years
is not nine but 1600 years to complete.

Miracle miracle Johnson 1591 years defeats.
For what princely sum did Johnson contract
with William Strahan and printer associates;

a preeminent Dictionary in English to complete?
18 June 1746 in historic morning was signed
a project prestigious contact worth 1,500 guineas?

This sum of 1,500 guineas is
in pounds £1,575 equivalent
in 2012 to about £230,000.

A consortium of London's most
successful printers including Robert
Dodsley, Thomas Longman, would

finance a dictionary none could afford;
on such scale to undertake alone, thus was
contracted to be; a meticulous feat of legend.

Twas said 'the world contemplated
with wonder so stupendous a work achieved
by one man, while other countries

had thought such undertakings
fit only for whole academies'.'
OED took writers 70 years to complete.

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Webster's American Spellings

One spelling was English established.
Webster's Dictionary spells it incorrect?
Noah Webster in the early 19th century...

busily composed comprehensive dictionaries.
Numerous unrelated dictionaries added
Webster's name to share prestige established.

Oh bother Webster's first dictionary
‘A Compendious Dictionary of the English Language'
aired first appeared in 1806 was hexed?

With American spellings it was freely littered?
Spelling honor not honour center not centre.
Webster's program not programme spread what?

Two decades of his spelling confusions expanded?
An ‘American Dictionary of the English Language'
in 1828 lead in 1841 to his edition revised expanded?

In two volumes a 2nd Edition ‘Corrected Enlarged'?
Webster's vocabulary 1st edition with corrections
improvements plus five thousand additional words?

But acid test Webster's endeavors were poorly received?
Specific criticisms typographic unattractiveness included?
Webster's type face was bad choice too small hard to read?

Why write non-use of capital letters only 'God' capitalized?
Why because goal was to save space to fit in obscure words?
Why dictionary excessive use of citations which offended?

Why decision deliberate
misspellings as legitimate
sanctified word variants?

Culturally conservative Federalists
intensely detested Webster innovations
Webster Dictionary denounced?

Webster's Dictionary
too radical complaint
bordering on vulgar?

Webster's fierce foes
Jefferson Madison
Republicans attacked?

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Avon's Harvest

Fear, like a living fire that only death
Might one day cool, had now in Avon’s eyes
Been witness for so long of an invasion
That made of a gay friend whom we had known
Almost a memory, wore no other name
As yet for us than fear. Another man
Than Avon might have given to us at least
A futile opportunity for words
We might regret. But Avon, since it happened,
Fed with his unrevealing reticence
The fire of death we saw that horribly
Consumed him while he crumbled and said nothing.

So many a time had I been on the edge,
And off again, of a foremeasured fall
Into the darkness and discomfiture
Of his oblique rebuff, that finally
My silence honored his, holding itself
Away from a gratuitous intrusion
That likely would have widened a new distance
Already wide enough, if not so new.
But there are seeming parallels in space
That may converge in time; and so it was
I walked with Avon, fought and pondered with him,
While he made out a case for So-and-so,
Or slaughtered What’s-his-name in his old way,
With a new difference. Nothing in Avon lately
Was, or was ever again to be for us,
Like him that we remembered; and all the while
We saw that fire at work within his eyes
And had no glimpse of what was burning there.

So for a year it went; and so it went
For half another year—when, all at once,
At someone’s tinkling afternoon at home
I saw that in the eyes of Avon’s wife
The fire that I had met the day before
In his had found another living fuel.
To look at her and then to think of him,
And thereupon to contemplate the fall
Of a dim curtain over the dark end
Of a dark play, required of me no more
Clairvoyance than a man who cannot swim
Will exercise in seeing that his friend
Off shore will drown except he save himself.
To her I could say nothing, and to him
No more than tallied with a long belief
That I should only have it back again
For my chagrin to ruminate upon,
Ingloriously, for the still time it starved;

[...] Read more

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Your Dictionary

H-a-t-e
Is that how you spell love in your dictionary
K-i-c-k
Pronounced as kind
F-u-c-k
Is that how you spell friend in your dictionary
Black on black
A guidebook for the blind
Well now that I can see my eyes wont weep
Now that I can hear your song sounds cheap
Now that I can talk all your corn Ill reap
Im not so sure that joey wed a virgin mary
There are no words for me inside your dictionary
S-l-a-p
Is that how you spell kiss in your dictionary
C-o-l-d
Pronounced as care
S-h-i-t
Is that how you spelt me in your dictionary
Four-eyed fool
You led round everywhere
Now that I can see its the queens new clothes
Now that I can hear all your poison prose
Now that I can talk with my tongue unfroze
Im not so sure of santa or the buck-tooth fairy
There are no words for me inside your dictionary
Now your laughter has a hollow ring
But the hollow ring has no finger in
So lets close the book and let the day begin
And our marriage be undone

song performed by Xtc
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Who Wonders About Spellings?

who wonders about spellings?
judgement made and judgment passed
a word application flags judgement

as an incorrect spelling
but a rolling stone gathers no moss
search the word online

a kiwi familiar with both
British and American spellings
instantly searches in mind

both judgement and judgment
occur with seemingly equal frequency
one English the other American?

Dictionary English
Dictionary American
Program setting in computer?

What a bother!
If both are OK
on differing sides of pond?

Yes Yes you guess
you could...
updat your dictionary?

by adding
the 'judgement'
spelling

but doing
so might
lend

it will it will
assistance...
to spelling

inconsistencies
a certain probability
yes yes a 'judgment call'

your wondering
why the two spellings?
now your saying

you would have to say
British spelling is judgement

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Lui et Elle

She is large and matronly
And rather dirty,
A little sardonic-looking, as if domesticity had driven her to it.
Though what she does, except lay four eggs at random in the garden once a year
And put up with her husband,
I don't know.

She likes to eat.
She hurries up, striding reared on long uncanny legs
When food is going.
Oh yes, she can make haste when she likes.
She snaps the soft bread from my hand in great mouthfuls,
Opening her rather pretty wedge of an iron, pristine face
Into an enormously wide-beaked mouth
Like sudden curved scissors,
And gulping at more than she can swallow, and working her thick, soft tongue,
And having the bread hanging over her chin.

O Mistress, Mistress,
Reptile mistress,
Your eye is very dark, very bright,
And it never softens
Although you watch.

She knows,
She knows well enough to come for food,
Yet she sees me not;
Her bright eye sees, but not me, not anything,
Sightful, sightless, seeing and visionless,
Reptile mistress.

Taking bread in her curved, gaping, toothless mouth,
She has no qualm when she catches my finger in her steel overlapping gums,
But she hangs on, and my shout and my shrinking are nothing to her.
She does not even know she is nipping me with her curved beak.
Snake-like she draws at my finger, while I drag it in horror away.

Mistress, reptile mistress,
You are almost too large, I am almost frightened.

He is much smaller,
Dapper beside her,
And ridiculously small.

Her laconic eye has an earthy, materialistic look,
His, poor darling, is almost fiery.
His wimple, his blunt-prowed face,
His low forehead, his skinny neck, his long, scaled, striving legs,
So striving, striving,
Are all more delicate than she,

[...] Read more

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Djolan

Soft was the night, the eve how airy,
When through the big, fat dictionary
I wandered on in careless ease,
And read the a's, b's, c's and d's!

But stop! What is this form I see,
Beginning with a hump-backed d?
I pause! I gasp! I falter there!
It is the djolan, I declare!

It is the djolan, wond'rous word!
The Buceros plicatus bird!
Ne'er, ne'er before had I the bliss
To meet a djolly word like this!

'Twas djust before my dinner hour --
Well, let the djuicy djoint go sour!
Djoyful I read. I djust must see
What this strange djolan word may be!

Ah! ha! It is a noun! A noun!
(A ''name word" as we say in town)
"E. Ind. The native name of the
Year bird." These are the words I see.

"A hornbill with a white tail and --"
The big book trembles in my hand --
"-- plicated membrane at the base --"
Ah, well-a-day! If that's the case!

"-- base of the beak, inhabiting --"
Oh! dictionary, wond'rous thing!
"-- the Sunda Islands ----" Where would we
Without our dictionary be?

"-- Malacca, e-t-c." That's all!
I let the dictionary fall.
I am replete. All is explained.
Knowledge (it's power) is what I've gained!

Soft was the night, the eve how airy,
I read no more the dictionary,
But Oh! and Oh! my heart was stirred
To learn the djolan was a bird!

Submitted by John Martin

poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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12d3

Im 2d
Wont you buy me
Piano chord
Dictionary
One two d three
One two d three
One two d three
One two d three
Mmm (x8)
One two d three
One two d three
One two d three
One two d three
Im 2d (one two d three)
Wont you buy me (one two d three)
Piano chord (one two d three)
Dictionary (one two d three)
One two d three
Im 2d (one two d three)
Wont you buy me (one two d three)
Piano chord (one two d three)
Dictionary (one two d three)
One two d three
Im 2d (one two d three)
Wont you buy me (one two d three)
Piano chord (one two d three)
Dictionary (one two d three)

song performed by Gorillaz
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So Young

In the misery dictionary
Page after page after page
In the misery dictionary
Page after page
Where theres life theres gotta be hope
And where theres a will theres a way
One mans in is anothers out
I gotta get out today
Where theres life theres gotta be hope
And where theres a will theres a way
Amid divisions youre so low
You know I gotta get out today
In the misery dictionary
Page after page after page
In the misery dictionary
Page after page
And where theres a will theres a way

song performed by Stone Roses
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So Young

In the misery dictionary
Page after page after page
In the misery dictionary
Page after page

Where there's life there's gotta be hope
And where there's a will there's a way
One man's in is another's out
I gotta get out today

Where there's life there's gotta be hope
And where there's a will there's a way
Amid divisions you're so low
You know I gotta get out today

In the misery dictionary
Page after page after page
In the misery dictionary
Page after page

And where there's a will there's a way

song performed by The Stone Roses from Garage Flower
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Tiriel

1

And Aged Tiriel. stood before the Gates of his beautiful palace
With Myratana. once the Queen of all the western plains
But now his eyes were darkned. & his wife fading in death
They stood before their once delightful palace. & thus the Voice
Of aged Tiriel. arose. that his sons might hear in their gates
Accursed race of Tiriel. behold your father
Come forth & look on her that bore you. come you accursed sons.
In my weak arms. I here have borne your dying mother
Come forth sons of the Curse come forth. see the death of Myratana
His sons ran from their gates. & saw their aged parents stand
And thus the eldest son of Tiriel raisd his mighty voice
Old man unworthy to be calld. the father of Tiriels race
For evry one of those thy wrinkles. each of those grey hairs
Are cruel as death. & as obdurate as the devouring pit
Why should thy sons care for thy curses thou accursed man
Were we not slaves till we rebeld. Who cares for Tiriels curse
His blessing was a cruel curse. His curse may be a blessing
He ceast the aged man raisd up his right hand to the heavens
His left supported Myratana shrinking in pangs of death
The orbs of his large eyes he opend. & thus his voice went forth
Serpents not sons. wreathing around the bones of Tiriel
Ye worms of death feasting upon your aged parents flesh
Listen & hear your mothers groans. No more accursed Sons
She bears. she groans not at the birth of Heuxos or Yuva
These are the groans of death ye serpents These are the groans of death
Nourishd with milk ye serpents. nourishd with mothers tears & cares
Look at my eyes blind as the orbless scull among the stones
Look at my bald head. Hark listen ye serpents listen
What Myratana. What my wife. O Soul O Spirit O fire
What Myratana. art thou dead. Look here ye serpents look
The serpents sprung from her own bowels have draind her dry as this[.]
Curse on your ruthless heads. for I will bury her even here
So saying he began to dig a grave with his aged hands
But Heuxos calld a son of Zazel. to dig their mother a grave
Old cruelty desist & let us dig a grave for thee
Thou hast refusd our charity thou hast refusd our food
Thou hast refusd our clothes our beds our houses for thy dwelling
Chusing to wander like a Son of Zazel in the rocks
Why dost thou curse. is not the curse now come upon your head
Was it not you enslavd the sons of Zazel. & they have cursd
And now you feel it. Dig a grave & let us bury our mother
There take the body. cursed sons. & may the heavens rain wrath
As thick as northern fogs. around your gates. to choke you up
That you may lie as now your mother lies. like dogs. cast out
The stink. of your dead carcases. annoying man & beast
Till your white bones are bleachd with age for a memorial.
No your remembrance shall perish. for when your carcases
Lie stinking on the earth. the buriers shall arise from the east

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake (1789)
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Tea For Two Parties

Billionaires fund new Tea Party
The lesser of three evils, you see
They help establish a fascist state
Fourth Reich shall then activate

ROTMS

Thom's blog (Thom Hartmann)
The Tea Party Win - The Leading Cry of the Rich?
Continuing the 'GOP nightmare, ' Tea Partier Christine O'Donnell (DE) , who doesn't believe in evolution and says masturbation is the same as adultery, beat longtime Republican congressman Mike Castle in Delaware's Republican Senate primary. In response to his unexpected loss, Castle chose to call the Democratic candidate Chris Coons over O'Donnell last night, and confirmed that he 'will not be endorsing' O'Donnell in the general election. In New York, Buffalo multimillionaire and Tea Party candidate Carl Paladino won the Republican gubernatorial nomination over former congressman Rick Lazio. Paladino had forwarded racist and pornographic e-mails to friends, and Democrats generally are regarding both of these wins as good news. Given that the Tea Party was started and funded by a small group of oil billionaires and lobbyists, they shouldn't be taken for granted - and may even be the leading edge of the final total corporatist takeover of America, much as populist uprisings in Spain, Italy, and Germany in the 1930s all turned into regimes run for the very rich - the dictionary definition of fascism. The leading cry of the rich? 'No taxes on rich people to pay to help working people, no rights for workers, and no regulation of corporate activity.' Ironically, these are also the main messages of the Tea Party. Even some mainstream Republicans are starting to get worried...

-Thom

poem by Ray Lucero
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The Chronicle Of The Drum

Part I.

At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,
Whoever will choose to repair,
Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors
May haply fall in with old Pierre.
On the sunshiny bench of a tavern
He sits and he prates of old wars,
And moistens his pipe of tobacco
With a drink that is named after Mars.

The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,
And as long as his tap never fails,
Thus over his favorite liquor
Old Peter will tell his old tales.
Says he, 'In my life's ninety summers
Strange changes and chances I've seen,—
So here's to all gentlemen drummers
That ever have thump'd on a skin.

'Brought up in the art military
For four generations we are;
My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry,
The Huguenot lad of Navarre.
And as each man in life has his station
According as Fortune may fix,
While Conde was waving the baton,
My grandsire was trolling the sticks.

'Ah! those were the days for commanders!
What glories my grandfather won,
Ere bigots, and lackeys, and panders
The fortunes of France had undone!
In Germany, Flanders, and Holland,—
What foeman resisted us then?
No; my grandsire was ever victorious,
My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne.

'He died: and our noble battalions
The jade fickle Fortune forsook;
And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance,
The victory lay with Malbrook.
The news it was brought to King Louis;
Corbleu! how his Majesty swore
When he heard they had taken my grandsire:
And twelve thousand gentlemen more.

'At Namur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet
Were we posted, on plain or in trench:
Malbrook only need to attack it

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Reptile

What are you doing there my dear reptile
There in the light there in the dark
You are making an showing your might
With the insects right.

Might is right known to all
Not always right
At times you are to show
Your kindness and forgiveness
Live and let live others.

My dear reptile
You are to catch the thief here
The thief that are destroying
And making us fools.

Go to the dark go to the light
My dear reptile
Forget your appetite
And do something
For world's benefit
And for this only
There is light
In this night.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Grateful Snake

Ingratitude! of earth the shame!
Thou monster, at whose hated name,
The nerves of kindness ake;
Would I could drive thee from mankind,
By telling how a grateful mind,
Once dignified a snake.

The tale is antient, and is sweet,
To mortals, who with joy repeat,
What soothes the feeling heart;
The first of virtues, that may boast
The power to soothe, and please it most,
Sweet gratitude, thou art.

The reptile, whom thy beauties raise,
Has an unquestion'd claim to praise,
That justice will confirm!
The Muses, with a graceful pride,
May turn from thankless man aside,
To celebrate a worm!

In Arcady, grave authors write,
There liv'd a Serpent, the delight,
Of an ingenuous child;
Proud of his kindness, the brave boy.
Fed and caress'd it with a joy,
Heroically mild.

Pleased all his gambols to attend,
The snake, his playfellow, and friend,
Still in his sight he kept;
The reptile, ever at his side,
Obeys him waking, and with pride,
Would watch him, while he slept!

Once ere her darling was awake,
The anxious mother saw the snake,
So twin'd around his arm,
She begged her husband to convey
The fondling serpent far away,
For fear of casual harm.

The happy father of the child,
Himself a being bravely mild,
To her request attends;
Conscious such comrades could not part
Without great anguish of the heart,
He fear'd to wound the friends.

They both were young, and both had shewn

[...] Read more

poem by William Hayley
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Amours de Voyage, Canto II

Is it illusion? or does there a spirit from perfecter ages,
Here, even yet, amid loss, change, and corruption abide?
Does there a spirit we know not, though seek, though we find, comprehend not,
Here to entice and confuse, tempt and evade us, abide?
Lives in the exquisite grace of the column disjointed and single,
Haunts the rude masses of brick garlanded gaily with vine,
E'en in the turret fantastic surviving that springs from the ruin,
E'en in the people itself? is it illusion or not?
Is it illusion or not that attracteth the pilgrim transalpine,
Brings him a dullard and dunce hither to pry and to stare?
Is it illusion or not that allures the barbarian stranger,
Brings him with gold to the shrine, brings him in arms to the gate?

I. Claude to Eustace.

What do the people say, and what does the government do?--you
Ask, and I know not at all. Yet fortune will favour your hopes; and
I, who avoided it all, am fated, it seems, to describe it.
I, who nor meddle nor make in politics,--I who sincerely
Put not my trust in leagues nor any suffrage by ballot,
Never predicted Parisian millenniums, never beheld a
New Jerusalem coming down dressed like a bride out of heaven
Right on the Place de la Concorde,--I, nevertheless, let me say it,
Could in my soul of souls, this day, with the Gaul at the gates shed
One true tear for thee, thou poor little Roman Republic;
What, with the German restored, with Sicily safe to the Bourbon,
Not leave one poor corner for native Italian exertion?
France, it is foully done! and you, poor foolish England,--
You, who a twelvemonth ago said nations must choose for themselves, you
Could not, of course, interfere,--you, now, when a nation has chosen----
Pardon this folly! The Times will, of course, have announced the occasion,
Told you the news of to-day; and although it was slightly in error
When it proclaimed as a fact the Apollo was sold to a Yankee,
You may believe when it tells you the French are at Civita Vecchia.

II. Claude to Eustace.

Dulce it is, and decorum, no doubt, for the country to fall,--to
Offer one's blood an oblation to Freedom, and die for the Cause; yet
Still, individual culture is also something, and no man
Finds quite distinct the assurance that he of all others is called on,
Or would be justified even, in taking away from the world that
Precious creature, himself. Nature sent him here to abide here;
Else why send him at all? Nature wants him still, it is likely;
On the whole, we are meant to look after ourselves; it is certain
Each has to eat for himself, digest for himself, and in general

[...] Read more

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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The Problem of the Idea

The Philosopher:

'The Problem of the 21st century
is the problem of the Origins of the Idea.'

The Idea has driven much
of human history-
a major motivator
many taken together are
Articulators;
Ideas compose all Human Dreams.

But ask what is this Idea
and silence ensues;
ask where is it
in the human mind
and we'll get charts of its activity centers
but nothing about what it is
or where it comes from.

The Scientist:

Well, we don't have to know what a thing is
to utilize it.
We can identify behaviors and integrate
them-
harness them to purpose.

Philosopher:

Sure like the Atomic Bomb. It was built because
we could integrate various disciplines
and make things go bang
without thinking of Consequence.
technical Ideas-too have consequences.

Scientist:

So you would hold up all human progress
until the over-arching Idea comes along
before we act?

Philosopher:
Ah, but note that progress that destroys
the planet is not
progress at all
but only a blind mistake;
one I might add,
that did not have
an Idea or Clue

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The struggle you see in the Republican Party today is the country club Republican versus the bowling alley Republican. Colin Powell brings us back to the country club image. He's an insider. He's a moderate.

quote by Pete du Pont
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Well, I am a Republican, and I would run as a Republican. And I have a lot of confidence in the Republican Party. I don't have a lot of confidence in the president.

quote by Donald Trump
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