Citatepedia^®.com

The fact that the internet is so active; people can now speak to me indirectly.

quote by Randy Bachman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stream Line Consciousness

Big brother voyeur blimps unidentified spies
uncle sam peeping toms patrolling skies
bird brain police intelligence
remote viewing homeland pest control
pentagon private eye monitoring the public's every move
mass produced micro chips intercepting prayers patrolling citizens from heaven
Bentham's Panopticon NSA
super computer surveillance cameras
world police spying Manhattan streets

'Athens plummets Euro death spiral
suicide rates soar deepening into despair'

haaretz..the post.. the times
blogs tribunes dailies all in a mad gab
headlong headline attention grabbing scramble

'Yugoslavia - Iraq - Egypt - Yemen - Iran - Syria - United States'
bilderberg building blocks New American Century post apocalyptic prophecy

'foreign mercenaries …national guard...DOD
homeland security to amass covert munitions stockpile
Americans on guard anxieties mounting surrounding
the stripping of amendments 1st if you swing to your left
2nd if you stand on the right
whispers of martial law circulate Anarchical reverberations
emanate from internet Alt culture epicenters
bottle necking global tensions'

'common feeling of deepening disappointment...
heightened expectations...
people expecting an explosive situation over the
next few weeks'

...riot police respond 'to preserve public order'
public roads barricaded to 'protect security of citizens'

'blatant act of censorship
western mainstream media staying away
from Myanmar massacres of Mohammedan Angels
further showing strong anti Muslim bias'

'Media blackout Burmese army
seeking coverage under propaganda blankets'

from the middle east throughout the western world
planet consciousness blurring lines between conspiracy/reality
conflicting global network narratives multiply violent scenarios daily
Victims in a world wide scramble
Government Banking Military

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Naked In The Jungle

Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Well, you gotta keep it humble, else itll come unfurled
Lions and the tigers, grazin in the grass
Lions and the tigers, grazin in the grass
As I keep a-watching over, make sure no one can pass
Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha. aaaaah!
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Big fish eat the little fish, and the rabbits on the run
Big fish eat the little fish, and the rabbits on the run
Some folks gettin too much, other just aint gettin none
Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Naked in the jungle, naked to the world
Well, you gotta keep em humble, else youll come unfurled
Lets go boy!
Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha. aaaaah!
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Speak out, speak out, speak out, speak out
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na,
Ha ha ha ha
Ya na na na na, ya na na na na, ya na na na na

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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L'internet 1998 with Khemi 0865

L'Internet
Couplet
L'Internet,
C'est un écran magique quand tu t'ennuies les doigts
C'est un écran magique quand tu t'ennuies les doigts
Et des images toniques pour éveiller en toi
Des mondes imaginaires où tu deviens le roi

L'Internet,
C'est un écran magique quand tu tourn's en ronde
C'est un tapis volant sur les réseaux du monde
C'est la souris glissant, c'est l'écho qui répond

Refrain
Secoue-toi les méninges, t'es plus au temps des singes!
C'est l'heure de l'Internet -
C'est toi même que tu fêtes!

L'Internet pour partager son bout du monde
Partout en France s'éveillent des envies très profondes
Ensemble on bâtira notre intermonde

Couplet
L'Internet
C'est un espace à toi où tu prends la parole
C'est un espace pour moi où s'échangent les symboles
C'est un espace en nous adieu les vieilles écoles

De nouveaux métiers vont baisser le chômage
L'écol' va s'y brancher, on trouvera des stages
Allons fêter ce Net qui brisera les cages.

Pont
Car l'Internet ça sert à ouvrir les esprits
Les repères des pépères pour nous c'est tout fini
A portée de souris cliquons sur l'Internet
Les changements dans l'air feront bouger la vie
Car surfer pour tout faire c'est déjà aujourd'hui
J'te l'dis tout Net t'es sur l'Internet

Refrain
Secoue-toi les méninges, t'es plus au temps des singes!
C'est l'heure de l'Internet -
C'est toi même que tu fêtes!

L'Internet pour partager son bout du monde
Partout en France s'éveillent des envies très profondes
Viens avec nous bâtir notre intermonde

(2 February 1998)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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Catholic Contradictions

This Poem will speak to Peter,
Of the priest and the folly,
This poem doubts not the sincerity of true worshipers,
It will speak to the cult, the club, their Peter, the images of idolatry
This poem will address the indoctrination, the assumptions and contradictions,
This poem will expose and explode,
This poem will speak of the council of Valencia and the “forbidden book”
This poem will speak of the mass “hoc est enim corpus meum'
And the continuous re-enactment of the Death of Jesus
This poem will smite the conscience, rend the hearts, and heal the willing
This poem will speak of purgatory
Of priesthood
Of indulgences
Of penance
Of confessions and the “confessors”
Of papal decrees
And of the mortal and venial sins,
This Poem, this poem will speak of the “Virgin Mary” and the harlot,
This poem will confirm the marriage of Christ’s Peter
Of the Roman Universal contradictions and papal infallibility
This poem will speak of the assurance of salvation
And the curse of the Council of Trent
This poem will speak of the “Arian heresy”
Of “Cyprian and the lapsed”
Of the works of “Athanasius Contra Mundum”
Of Athanasius to the Bishop of Egypt
This poem will speak of the incarnation of the divine word
Orations against the Arians and against Apollinaris
This poem will speak of John Chrysostom, (golden mouth)
This poem will speak of his ethical applications and the trouble with the emperor’s wife
This poem will speak of Augustine and his forgotten works,
“In the spirit and the letter”, “Confession”, the “city of God “
The battle against the “Donatist” “Manichean” The “Arians” the “Pelagians”
This poem will speak of the Theology of “Anselm”
Of “Thomas Aquinas” and the Sum of Theology
This poem will talk of the “council of Nicea”
This poem will speak of Constantine and his cross of battle
The grandeur of “St Peter’s Basilica” the glory of man void of God’s presence
This poem will speak of the “Patriarchal City” and the protagonist
This poem will be persecuted, burnt, torn and ridiculed
This poem will never be read by Catholics,
It will not be verified to see the deception of Rome and the Pope,
This poem can read your mind, how you think Pope can never do wrong
This poem sees your bent determination to resist Truth
This poem will talk of Martin Luther, Ulrich Zwingli and John Calvin
This poem will be rejected by America, Britain, France, Russian, and Africa
This poem must be hated, by worshiper of Dead Mary and his statue
This poem will be scorned and attacked
This poem will bring shame to the writer; he will be sick or insane in the mind of the readers
This poem will not be read in Jerusalem, Rome, Alexandria, and Antioch,

[...] Read more

poem by Macaulay Akinbami
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Sola Christos, Sola Scriptura, Sola Gracious, Sola Fide' and the Priesthood

This Poem will speak to Peter,
Of the priest and the folly,
This poem doubts not the sincerity of true worshipers,
It will speak to the cult, the club, their Peter, the images of idolatry
This poem will address the indoctrination, the assumptions and contradictions,
This poem will expose and explode,
This poem will speak of the council of Valencia and the “forbidden book”
This poem will speak of the mass “hoc est enim corpus meum'
And the continuous re-enactment of the Death of Jesus
This poem will smite the conscience, rend the hearts, and heal the willing
This poem will speak of purgatory
Of priesthood
Of indulgences
Of penance
Of confessions and the “confessors”
Of papal decrees
And of the mortal and venial sins,
This Poem, this poem will speak of the “Virgin Mary” and the harlot,
This poem will confirm the marriage of Christ’s Peter
Of the Roman Universal contradictions and papal infallibility
This poem will speak of the assurance of salvation
And the curse of the Council of Trent
This poem will speak of the “Arian heresy”
Of “Cyprian and the lapsed”
Of the works of “Athanasius Contra Mundum”
Of Athanasius to the Bishop of Egypt
This poem will speak of the incarnation of the divine word
Orations against the Arians and against Apollinaris
This poem will speak of John Chrysostom, (golden mouth)
This poem will speak of his ethical applications and the trouble with the emperor’s wife
This poem will speak of Augustine and his forgotten works,
“In the spirit and the letter”, “Confession”, the “city of God “
The battle against the “Donatist” “Manichean” The “Arians” the “Pelagians”
This poem will speak of the Theology of “Anselm”
Of “Thomas Aquinas” and the Sum of Theology
This poem will talk of the “council of Nicea”
This poem will speak of Constantine and his cross of battle
The grandeur of “St Peter’s Basilica” the glory of man void of God’s presence
This poem will speak of the “Patriarchal City” and the protagonist
This poem will be persecuted, burnt, torn and ridiculed
This poem will never be read by Catholics,
It will not be verified to see the deception of Rome and the Pope,
This poem can read your mind, how you think Pope can never do wrong
This poem sees your bent determination to resist Truth
This poem will talk of Martin Luther, Ulrich Zwingli and John Calvin
This poem will be rejected by America, Britain, France, Russian, and Africa
This poem must be hated, by worshiper of Dead Mary and his statue
This poem will be scorned and attacked
This poem will bring shame to the writer; he will be sick or insane in the mind of the readers
This poem will not be read in Jerusalem, Rome, Alexandria, and Antioch,

[...] Read more

poem by Macaulay Akinbami
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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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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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Internet Fête 1998 English Version 0865

Come to Planet Internet
I know today both work and play will change with Internet,
Now dark and fair exchange mail, share together, soul sincere.
Then surf here there and everywhere to web sites far and near.
Each in his way his part shall play to make this day a fête,
Ring in the mind bells all will find sing through the alphabet.
New ventures start which wide worlds chart, and so it does appear
E-Mail can bring true joy this Spring, to all who volunteer, -
Thus those apart can heart to heart converse without regret.

From hemisphere to hemisphere a global town can yet
Emerge to urge investment surge, as false fears disappear.
The tongues of man will somehow scan - Goethe, Racine and Shakespeare.
Efforts will be rewarded, - we past problems shall forget.
Needs, hopes, combine for future fine as unemployment's threat
Is overcome, leaves critics dumb, as progress from this year
New hope for scope shows - most can cope on-line, can persevere,
Enjoyment all can find to call a friend, or good news get.

Though some may find they're left behind by talk of 'netiquette', -
Each bug dismays, as do delays, the words seem odd and queer -
Electric age now writes new page upon a fresh frontier
Normal today is change - who'd say strange is Fate's silhouette?
Now though some sneer while others jeer, nostalgic some regret,
Is ours an earth throughout whose girth spreads universal cheer?
New methods learn, new freedoms earn, turn to your neighbour here -
Exchange your views with whom you choose - screen faster is than jet!

Those who home stay, who work or roam, few know not care or fret -
Youth's fears, those age imagines, veer from truth to views unclear.
Each in his way must help relay this song both load and clear
In order to discover new ideas through internet!
Great is the chance, in England, France, - world-wide the scene is set!
Here me and you, our children too, can a new message hear,
Through every land can, hand in hand, the future pioneer.
Join in the dance, let us advance and fête the internet!

Internet Fête 1998 French Version 0865
Ici en France les choses avancent et grâce à Internet
Nous pouvons suivre et vivre aussi les changements de vie
Tantôt troublants, tantôt grisants, - le partage est mot qui
Est à la mode où tous ces codes parfois montent à la tête.
Regard nouveau - et pas trop tôt - tourne vers l'Internet,
Nos têtes blondes et brunes sondent une autre galaxie
Echangeant méls par modem - elles inventent jeux aussi.

Travail, hobbies, dans tous pays de nouvelles formes revêtent.
France d'abord et puis encore au monde on fait la fête
En ce printemps où la chanson est gaie et réussie,
Toujours, c'est sûr, ensemble pour s'amuser et aussi

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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As A Matter Of Fact

Written by s. garrett & d. boyette
Blow daddy, aww, yeah
Here we are, standing at the hard line
We made it last this long
The two of us, together since the first time
And I believe our love is still strong
Seems love has a funny way
Well, it can come or go or it can choose to stay
But love says what it has to say
(chorus)
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I love you (oh, as a matter of fact)
And I love that you love me back
As a matter of fact (ooh, as a matter, a matter)
Some said we wouldnt make it this far
But they dont talk no more (no more)
The love we share is precious as a big star
And what we haves what others hope for
Seems love has a funny way
Well, it can come or go or it can choose to stay
But love says what it has to say
(chorus)
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I need you (oh, as a matter of fact)
And Im glad that you need me back
As a matter of fact (ooh, as a matter, a matter)
Mm, matter of fact, yeah (ooh as a matter of fact)
I want you (yeah, as a matter of fact)
And I cant tell you more than that
As a matter of fact, (ooh, as a matter) yeah (matter)
Aww, blow, daddy
Musical interlude
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Seems love has a funny way
Well, it can come and go or it can choose to stay
But love says what it has to say
(repeat chorus)
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I love you (oh, as a matter of fact)
Yeah and I love that you love me back
As a matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
Ooh, ooh, baby
Matter of fact (ooh, as a matter of fact)
I need you (yeah, as a matter of fact)
And Im glad that you need me right back
As a matter of fact
(ooh, as a matter) yeah (a matter)

song performed by Natalie Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Internet Fête 1998 French Version 0865

Ici en France les choses avancent et grâce à Internet
Nous pouvons suivre et vivre aussi les changements de vie
Tantôt troublants, tantôt grisants, - le partage est mot qui
Est à la mode où tous ces codes parfois montent à la tête.
Regard nouveau - et pas trop tôt - tourne vers l'Internet,
Nos têtes blondes et brunes sondent une autre galaxie
Echangeant méls par modem - elles inventent jeux aussi.

Travail, hobbies, dans tous pays de nouvelles formes revêtent.
France d'abord et puis encore au monde on fait la fête
En ce printemps où la chanson est gaie et réussie,
Toujours, c'est sûr, ensemble pour s'amuser et aussi
Essayer de cerner du jeu les termes et les requêtes.
Magique est site qui invite à planète Internet.
Ici le temps s'arrête dans l'élan qui l'ennuie
Laisse de côté pour naviguer au gré de la tempête
Lyrique du désir partout de découvrir dans cet
Ensemble un sens où dans la danse on avance et on rit
Niant le noir, trouvant l'espoir, écartant les soucis.

Et nous surfons, dialoguons, on vend et on achète
Unis par des moyens rêvés de s'offrir la gazette
Française, anglaise ou japonaise traitant d'économie,
Cuisine ou pêche on se dépêche en cernant l'alchimie
Entre l'étude d'habitudes étrangères et recettes
Nouvelles pour avancer sur la voie de 'Netiquette'.
Toutefois les uns, inopportuns pensent la technologie
Quand trop rapide apporte un vide où nul ne vérifie
Un virage ou bouleversement que rien n'arrête.

A chacun à sa façon de partager la fête
Tandis que les villes et cités en France sont unies.
Réussissons à l'unisson en changeant les esprits,
Ecartant les freins, les délais, les intérêts qui guettent!
Voyons plus loin quand dans son coin chacun de nous s'apprête
Intensément à trouver dans un job qui gratifie
Nouvel élan qui dans le temps évolue et fleurit.
Grande est l'espoir d'avancer car sur planète internet
Tout peut se faire, - idées prospèrent - évoluent à 'perpet'.

Dans l'univers nous allons vers des réseaux réunis
Information, formation tout au long de la vie -
Xtra la chance pour la France où l'espoir est très net.
Hier passé est dépassé par planète Internet -
Un virage, un bouleversement, arrive - on réagit!
Ici printemps, notre chanson est gaie et réussie,
Travail, hobbies, dans tous pays de nouvelles formes revêtent.

Come to Planet Internet
I know today both work and play will change with Internet,

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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I.S.T.F. Roadmap

I.S.T.F. ROADMAP
ISTF has [s]talked since first with Vint
S ome sought to scan tomorrow's open source.
T is time we walked unaided on our course
F uture trends anticipating, mint
I deals which stand the test of time, gold glint.
S trength shines out through consensus not through force,
T hrough understanding issues! Reinforce
F irst principles, the mission we imprint
I n trust stands out to network. Take the hint
S hare knowledge, raise awareness, and endorse
T he right to freedom which to all, perforce,
F ine rings though few do practice, many stint.
IS Task Force steady, which won't self defeat?
IS Task Force ready, challenges to meet?

5 November 2001 I S T F
robi03_0968_robi03_0000 ASX_EXX

note: The former Internet Societal Task Force launched in 1999 by Vint Cerf as Chair of the Internet Society was dechartered in December 2001 when ISOC felt that societal priorities in respect of Networking in general and the Internet in particular were straying from its fee paying corporate Organisation Members base.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
INTERNET SOCIETAL TASK FORCE
Some talk of structures predefined with skill
Others of those constituencies which
Can be informed, or made aware, enriched.
Internet as rainbow vector will
Enliven, colour, change or sometimes kill
The status quo to flow, to grow to switch
Accepted views, traditions, and unstitch
Links which once bent mankind to rulers' will.
The rate of change increases yet we still
Are tempted to retain old habits, kitsch.
Some dare not redefine thought frames that itch.
Knowledge cross-pollination won't stand still -
FOR we must act, anticipate, and guide,
CEment, explain, invent the future's tide!

21 July 1999
robi03_0894_robi03_0000 ASX_EJO
acrostic sonnet Task Force © Jonathan Robin

note: The former Internet Societal Task Force launched in 1999 by Vint Cerf as Chair of the Internet Society was dechartered in December 2001 when ISOC felt that societal priorities in respect of Networking in general and the Internet in particular were straying from its fee paying corporate Organisation Members base.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIII

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Let Me Open Up Our Love File (I Felt Magic In The Air)

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

for only the second time together
enjoying and being lost in rainy romantic weather
you stared here and there
while walking to metro station
but i looked at you as my final destination

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

all of sudden, you pointed something
quickly, for you,
i was ready to do anything
you asked for ice-cream
there I was living up my dream

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

dear, i can remember
your beautiful face expression
indirectly you said we look good in pair
and, i felt magic in the air
yeah...i felt magic in the air
yeah, yeah...yeah
i can remember
your beautiful face expression
indirectly you said we look good in pair
and, i felt magic in the air

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

your arrival caused a great excitement
in midway of tough chemistry assignment
i couldn't help my fluttering eyes
looking at you n your glittering red band
stepping ahead if an angel on my heart's land

(let me open up our love file
cherish along with me and just smile)

all of sudden, you pointed something
quickly, for you,
i was ready to do anything

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poem by Anuj Raj Singh
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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!

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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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,—

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)

speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.
speak not of authority,
the tree and the leaf have just as much.
speak not of holiness,
for all that lives be holy.
speak with kindness...
or do not speak at all!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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