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I am constitutionally competent to contest the elections.

quote by Benazir Bhutto
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Beauty Contest

Damsel in distress is quite submissive
Look how somber my vanity is
A feminine human creature
Superficial, seducing detour
Im going to the mall for the cookie cutter
The ugly duckling will always suffer
Contaminated standards, I try to fight it
I better get back on my diet
Obsessed with the beauty contest
Beauty contest
Howd my vanity get such a mess?
Beauty contest
Im obsessed
Reduce myself, I got the strict restrictions
Not sexy enough without the regulations
A melting point countdown the fading features
Born to blossom and bloom to perish
Obsessed with the beauty contest
Beauty contest
Oh, Ive got to get out of this mess
Beauty contest
Im obsessed
And Ive fallen, I cant help myself
Im feeling envious of all the rest
Youre bringing out the lemming in me
A victim of the cattle call disease
Not easy to be me
I feel swollen
Obsessed with the beauty contest
Beauty contest
Howd my vanity get such a mess?
Obsessed with the beauty contest
Obsessed with the beauty contest
Beauty contest
Ive got to get out of this mess
Obsessed with the beauty contest
Obsessed with the beauty contest
Beauty contest
Howd my vanity get such a mess?
Caught up in the beauty contest
Caught up in the beauty contest
Caught up in the beauty contest
Caught up in the beauty contest
Caught up in the beauty contest
And I feel swollen
Howd my vanity get such a mess?
My vanitys a mess

song performed by No Doubt
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I Have To Sneeze

Just a second.
I have to snee...
Well,
Maybe not.

You chose to dismiss those competent.
And those competent have chosen now,
To ignore you.
Sounds like a mutual exchange.
But with a conflicting point of view.

You selected those you liked,
To represent your causes and way of life.
Inspite of their having any knowledge...
Or influence over others,
To solicit an excitement.

Nor could they think their way,
Out of a paper bag.
But they looked good dressed in their Sunday best.
And as long as they impressed,
This made you glad.

And now today,
Since your situations appear exceedingly sad...
You wish to be represented by a competence.
But those you did not choose,
You believed...
Expressed an arrogance.

And even though they displayed a common sense,
You turned them away.
Dismissing them to worship ignorance.
To do as you please.
One moment...
Again I believe,
I have to sneeze.

LOLOLOLOLOL

I apologize.
Who knew I would have that reaction?

You chose to dismiss those competent.
And those competent have chosen now,
To ignore you.
Sounds like a mutual exchange.
But with a conflicting point of view.

Ahh-Choo!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Odyssey: Book 21

Minerva now put it in Penelope's mind to make the suitors try
their skill with the bow and with the iron axes, in contest among
themselves, as a means of bringing about their destruction. She went
upstairs and got the store room key, which was made of bronze and
had a handle of ivory; she then went with her maidens into the store
room at the end of the house, where her husband's treasures of gold,
bronze, and wrought iron were kept, and where was also his bow, and
the quiver full of deadly arrows that had been given him by a friend
whom he had met in Lacedaemon- Iphitus the son of Eurytus. The two
fell in with one another in Messene at the house of Ortilochus,
where Ulysses was staying in order to recover a debt that was owing
from the whole people; for the Messenians had carried off three
hundred sheep from Ithaca, and had sailed away with them and with
their shepherds. In quest of these Ulysses took a long journey while
still quite young, for his father and the other chieftains sent him on
a mission to recover them. Iphitus had gone there also to try and
get back twelve brood mares that he had lost, and the mule foals
that were running with them. These mares were the death of him in
the end, for when he went to the house of Jove's son, mighty Hercules,
who performed such prodigies of valour, Hercules to his shame killed
him, though he was his guest, for he feared not heaven's vengeance,
nor yet respected his own table which he had set before Iphitus, but
killed him in spite of everything, and kept the mares himself. It
was when claiming these that Iphitus met Ulysses, and gave him the bow
which mighty Eurytus had been used to carry, and which on his death
had been left by him to his son. Ulysses gave him in return a sword
and a spear, and this was the beginning of a fast friendship, although
they never visited at one another's houses, for Jove's son Hercules
killed Iphitus ere they could do so. This bow, then, given him by
Iphitus, had not been taken with him by Ulysses when he sailed for
Troy; he had used it so long as he had been at home, but had left it
behind as having been a keepsake from a valued friend.
Penelope presently reached the oak threshold of the store room;
the carpenter had planed this duly, and had drawn a line on it so as
to get it quite straight; he had then set the door posts into it and
hung the doors. She loosed the strap from the handle of the door,
put in the key, and drove it straight home to shoot back the bolts
that held the doors; these flew open with a noise like a bull
bellowing in a meadow, and Penelope stepped upon the raised
platform, where the chests stood in which the fair linen and clothes
were laid by along with fragrant herbs: reaching thence, she took down
the bow with its bow case from the peg on which it hung. She sat
down with it on her knees, weeping bitterly as she took the bow out of
its case, and when her tears had relieved her, she went to the
cloister where the suitors were, carrying the bow and the quiver, with
the many deadly arrows that were inside it. Along with her came her
maidens, bearing a chest that contained much iron and bronze which her
husband had won as prizes. When she reached the suitors, she stood
by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister,
holding a veil before her face, and with a maid on either side of her.

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Convocation: A Poem

When Vertue's Standard Ecclesiasticks bear,
Their sacred Robe the noblest Minds revere.
All to its Guidance do their Thoughts submit,
But such who triumph in licentious Wit;
And nauseous Mirth as high Desert esteem,
When rais'd by Scorn upon Religion's Theme
As Kings by Right Divine o'er Nations sway,
As the most worthy, their high Pow'rs obey;
Homage by all is to the Priesthood born,
And none but Fools their Heav'nly Pastors scorn.

Yet censure not the Muse's Freedom here:
If urg'd by Errors, she must seem severe!
Tho' keen her Satyr, she no Envy bears;
Tho' Priests she lashes, she their Function spares.
Nor for ill Members such the Clergy calls,
But on their Shame, and not their Glory, falls.

Of all the Plagues with which the World is curst,
Time has still prov'd that Priestcraft is the worst.
By some, what Notions thro' the World are spread?
On Falshoods grounded, and from Int'rest bred;
Errour has still the giddy World perplext,
Whilst Scripture gilds it with some sacred Text.
This wild Opinions Strife and Faction brings,
The Bane of Nations, the Misrule of Kings.
Priests oft profane what they from Heav'n derive;
Some live by Legends, some by Murders thrive,
Some sell their Gods, and Altar-Rites deface,
With Doctrines some the Brain-sick People craze.

The Pagan prey on slaughter'd Wretches Fates,
The Romish fatten on the best Estates,
The British stain what Heav'n has right confest,
And Sectaries the Scriptures falsly wrest.

Amongst the Tribe, how few are, as they ought,
Clear in their Souls, instructive in their Thought!
The Good, like Prophets, shew their Precepts pure;
The Ill with Craft the Heav'nly Light obscure;
False to their Trust, they lead their Flocks astray,
And with their Errors cloud the sacred Way.

Tho' artless Numbers may my Verses throng,
Yet now Religion's Cause inspires my Song:

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Savage
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The Iliad: Book 23

Thus did they make their moan throughout the city, while the
Achaeans when they reached the Hellespont went back every man to his
own ship. But Achilles would not let the Myrmidons go, and spoke to
his brave comrades saying, "Myrmidons, famed horsemen and my own
trusted friends, not yet, forsooth, let us unyoke, but with horse
and chariot draw near to the body and mourn Patroclus, in due honour
to the dead. When we have had full comfort of lamentation we will
unyoke our horses and take supper all of us here."
On this they all joined in a cry of wailing and Achilles led them in
their lament. Thrice did they drive their chariots all sorrowing round
the body, and Thetis stirred within them a still deeper yearning.
The sands of the seashore and the men's armour were wet with their
weeping, so great a minister of fear was he whom they had lost.
Chief in all their mourning was the son of Peleus: he laid his
bloodstained hand on the breast of his friend. "Fare well," he
cried, "Patroclus, even in the house of Hades. I will now do all
that I erewhile promised you; I will drag Hector hither and let dogs
devour him raw; twelve noble sons of Trojans will I also slay before
your pyre to avenge you."
As he spoke he treated the body of noble Hector with contumely,
laying it at full length in the dust beside the bier of Patroclus. The
others then put off every man his armour, took the horses from their
chariots, and seated themselves in great multitude by the ship of
the fleet descendant of Aeacus, who thereon feasted them with an
abundant funeral banquet. Many a goodly ox, with many a sheep and
bleating goat did they butcher and cut up; many a tusked boar
moreover, fat and well-fed, did they singe and set to roast in the
flames of Vulcan; and rivulets of blood flowed all round the place
where the body was lying.
Then the princes of the Achaeans took the son of Peleus to
Agamemnon, but hardly could they persuade him to come with them, so
wroth was he for the death of his comrade. As soon as they reached
Agamemnon's tent they told the serving-men to set a large tripod
over the fire in case they might persuade the son of Peleus 'to wash
the clotted gore from this body, but he denied them sternly, and swore
it with a solemn oath, saying, "Nay, by King Jove, first and mightiest
of all gods, it is not meet that water should touch my body, till I
have laid Patroclus on the flames, have built him a barrow, and shaved
my head- for so long as I live no such second sorrow shall ever draw
nigh me. Now, therefore, let us do all that this sad festival demands,
but at break of day, King Agamemnon, bid your men bring wood, and
provide all else that the dead may duly take into the realm of
darkness; the fire shall thus burn him out of our sight the sooner,
and the people shall turn again to their own labours."
Thus did he speak, and they did even as he had said. They made haste
to prepare the meal, they ate, and every man had his full share so
that all were satisfied. As soon as they had had had enough to eat and
drink, the others went to their rest each in his own tent, but the son
of Peleus lay grieving among his Myrmidons by the shore of the
sounding sea, in an open place where the waves came surging in one

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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White On Blonde

A perfect face comes callin
A perfect hand reaches out
Her perfect face in the morning
December guilt feels the same
She needs to find the pace
Cause she never looked so good when she was down
Shes blonde on white
White on blonde
Her perfections are now gone
Reflections everywhere
If you gaze for too long
It will fade and then its gone
Reflections everywhere
Imagine naked looks callin
Walking barefoot in the rain
Imagine freezing cold weather
December guilt feels the same
She needs to find the pace
Cause she never looked so good when she was down
Shes blonde on white
White on blonde
Her perfections are now gone
Reflections everywhere
If you gaze for too long
It will fade and then its gone
Ref elections everywhere
A perfect face comes callin
A perfect hand reaches out
She needs to find the pace
Cause she never looked so good when she was down
Shes blonde on white
White on blonde
Her perfections are now gone
Reflections everywhere
If you gaze for too long
It will fade and then its gone
Ref elections everywhere
Shes blonde on white
White on blonde
Her perfections are now gone
Reflections everywhere
If you gaze for too long
It will fade and then its gone
Ref elections everywhere

song performed by Texas
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Election Aftermath

1. ANTE-ELECTIONS
Now, a cove the name of Blabb, a politician,
He's a haughty sort o' high pan-jan-dee-ram;
An' he holds a very dignified position
As the member for the districk where I am.
There is times he seems to faintly reckernise me
Jist a flutter of his flipper when we meet;
Yet, other times, his actions fair surprise me,
When with a very icy eye he eyes me,
Jist as if he never knoo me in the street.
But who am I to seek his hand to grab?
So I simply sez, 'Good mornin', Mr Blabb.'
An' passes on.
'An' I hopes you're doin' nicely, Mr Blabb.'

2. ELECTIONS

Now, a cove the name of Blabb, a politician,
Is a pal o' mine, an' most perlite, at that.
He's a candidate again for th eposition
As a member for the districk where I'm at.
He will grab me hand an' pump it when I meet him,
An' he pats me on the back an' calls me Joe
Seems sort of anxious-like for me to grete him
An' as a fond an' faithful friend to treat him.
He's the nicest sort o' neighbour you could know,
But who am I to listen to his gab?
So I simply sez, 'I'll think it over, Blabb,'
An' passes on.
'I'll see wot I can do about it, Blabb.'

3. POST-ELECTIONS

Now, a coot the name of Blabb, a politician,
He's a Public Figger, an' a Man of note;
For he recently rewon the high position
As the member of the districk where I vote.
An', altho' we come to be close cobbers lately,
Monday last he hardly knoo me when I spoke;
An' he didn't sort o' seem to want to, greatly;
But he rose his hand an' nodded most sedately,
He's an awful, absent-minded sort o' bloke.
But who am I, whose ways is drear an' drab?
So I simply sez, 'Good evenin', Mr Blabb,'
An' passes on.
'An' I hopes you ain't forgot me, Mr Blabb.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Our popular Government has often been called an experiment. Two points in it our people have already settled — the successful establishing and the successful administering of it. One still remains — its successful maintenance against a formidable internal attempt to overthrow it. It is now for them to demonstrate to the world that those who can fairly carry an election can also suppress a rebellion; that ballots are the rightful and peaceful successors of bullets, and that when ballots have fairly and constitutionally decided there can be no successful appeal back to bullets; that there can be no successful appeal except to ballots themselves at succeeding elections. Such will be a great lesson of peace, teaching men that what they can not take by an election neither can they take it by a war; teaching all the folly of being the beginners of a war.

quote by Abraham Lincoln
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Uncle Sam

Here they come again hop scotching up to my door
One by one again knockety knock knocking upon my floor
Swinging on my gate they gain entry by the yard
Pulling at my hair they scream paint your thoughts upon my card
But not tonight Ive got studies to examine
Tomorrow Ill be watching all the queens men
A talent contest on monday with my uncle sam
Who now takes up all of my time he gives me things to do
cause hes a wonderful man
But Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
To be with my uncle sam
Silly little sniggers from the women liberators
But Ill stand and hold my post
Polished buttons and erect Ill raise the flag
Ill show those women whos the most
But not tonight Ive got studies to examine
Tomorrow Ill be watching all the queens men
A talent contest on monday with my uncle sam
Who now takes up all of my time, gives me things to do
Hes a wonderful man
But Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
But not tonight Ive got studies to examine
Tomorrow ah ah ah
And tomorrow Ill be watching all the queens men
A talent contest on monday with my uncle sam
Who now takes up all of my time he gives me things to do
cause hes a wonderful man
Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to see my uncle sam
Im sailing across the sea to be with my uncle sam

song performed by Madness
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What A Way To Wanna Be!

I dont wanna wear that
It only makes me look fat
Time to tone my thighs-- gotta lose another size, yeah!
What a way to wanna be
Exfoliate--look great!
Feel guilty bout what you ate
Youre buyin all the books--
To learn the latest looks, yeah
What a way to wanna be
We like to buy, we like to spend,
To keep up with the latest trend
But we dont get no satisfaction
Living like a slave to fashion
No more thinking for yourself,
Just get it off a shelf
[chorus:]
Oh--oh, why be perfect--no--oh,
Its not worth it
Dont be so obsessed--cmon give it a rest
This is not some contest--just do your best
cause no--oh bodys perfect!
What a way to wanna be
Moisturize, exercise, erase the
Rings around your eyes
Cover what you can,
Get a coppertone tan, yeah
What a way to wanna be!
Stabilize the mood youre in--
Youre back on diet food again
Bigger is the best, but only
In the chest, yeah!
What a way to wanna be
We like to buy, we like to spend,
To keep up with the latest trend
But we dont get no satisfaction
Living like a slave to fashion
No more thinking for yourself,
Just get it off a shelf
[repeat chorus]
Its so very--unnecessary
Yeah, how insane--to be so vain
Its so synthetic--i just dont get it
I dont get it, baby, yeah, yeah
Dont be so obsessed--cmon give it a rest
This is not some contest--just do your best
cause no--oh bodys perfect!
(ooooohhhhhh)
Oh, no--oh bodys perfect
No--oh, its not worth it
Dont be so obsessed

[...] Read more

song performed by Shania Twain
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The Temperance Army

Though you see no banded army,
Though you hear no cannons rattle,
We are in a mighty contest,
We are fighting a great battle.
We are few, but we are right:
And we wage the holy fight,
Night and day, and day and night.

If we do not fail or falter,
If we do not sleep or slumber,
We shall win in this great contest,
Though the foe is twice our number.
This the burden of our song,
'We are few, but we are strong,
And right must triumph over wrong.'

O my sisters! O my brothers!
There is death all round about us.
Must we, then, sit down discouraged?
Will you let the wine-cup rout us?
Hear the drunkard's awful wail!
See the mourners, bowed and pale!
Will you, coward, then say 'fail'?

Say not that your heart is with us
When you do not help or aid us.
All who love the cause sincerely
Can do something: God has made us
Tongues to talk with: you can say
Something, if you will, each day,
That will help us on our way,

Though you are not highly gifted,
Though you are not bard or poet,
Though you cannot preach or lecture,
You can love the cause, and show it
Boldly, in each thing you do.
Seeking all that's pure and true,
This will be a help from you.

You can say the liquor traffic
Is a curse to any nation;
You can say that prohibition
Is a blessing and salvation.
You can sow good seeds, and, though

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Sang of Contests after J R R Tolkien I Sang of Leaves

I SANG OF CONTESTS
I sang of contests, contests' gold, and judge's golden cue:
pre-writes I sang, for auld lang syne approaching New Year too.
Beyond all fun, loon tale begun, mouth foaming - all could see -
strand by strand planned with pen in hand there fanned fair poetry.

Beneath gold goblets' make-believe on Author's Page it shone,
in AP fame - what's in a name? - fall follows on home run.
Long list of golden goblets kissed have grown through branching years,
although one's true priorities now fall as Elven tears.

Yet centrefold of contest colds leave seldom leafy day -
though total contest numbers fall still stream themed entries' play.
Who contests hold too long may scold this entry evermore,
for fading crown comes tumbling down, as old year's at death's door.

This contest called for varied form expressing old ideas,
forlorn feels separation shorn from source when disappears
links pre-existent we may think when inking stanzas neat,
when in an twinkling inkling shine upon some pristine sheet.

Breeze, here today, tomorrow's play finds frozen as if time
suspended flight, ere endless night engulfed joy's pantomime.
But if of trophies I should sing, what gold would come to me,
what recompense reward tight rhymed write's light dexterity?

Parody J R R TOLKIEN I Sang of Leaves
25 December 2009
robi03_1942_tolk01_0011 PXX_IXX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
I SANG OF LEAVES
I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.
There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore
And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.
But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

J.R.R. Tolkien
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Memory Traces Causal Links

Without the rules and prompt free written
this screed read would never be beaded,
restrictions may be smitten promptly
by self-same [s]words, seed's kneeded glee.

Memory traces causal links
though contest holder writes no rhyme!
restrictions petty - down sinks pours all
inspiration, poor time know.

Rap's wrapping - 'tis not fiction - fact
was by John Skelton's self invented,
should slam's traditions, intact diction,
base held baseless presented pelf?

Who, cold, holds prose as poetry,
for face book status bound edition,
has self sold short, all agree has
rules for rules' sake sedition found.

Restricting opportunity
to grow by banning former writes
can't be with impunity wrought
without defeating rights warmer.

If each tomorrow's really based
on predestination's slate
what point in type, pen's haste steely
when rules weight pest in relation

to sense when words obey no random
inkblot test the wise contest,
with beauty poet's play in tandem
think not rot best font pressed supplies.

This exercise in prose sits pretty
on virgin page, yet moral grieves,
contest act - consequence petty - wits
achieve no random sheaves, leave quarrel.

(22 May 2010)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.

'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit,
Has all his flames and raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble,
While those who sillily pursue,
The simple, downright way, and true,
Make as unlucky applications,
And steer against the stream their passions.
Some forge their mistresses of stars,
And when the ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won
Than by CALIGULA the Moon,
Cry out upon the stars, for doing
Ill offices to cross their wooing;
When only by themselves they're hindred,
For trusting those they made her kindred;
And still, the harsher and hide-bounder
The damsels prove, become the fonder.
For what mad lover ever dy'd
To gain a soft and gentle bride?
Or for a lady tender-hearted,
In purling streams or hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elysium,
Through th' windows of a dazzling room?
But for some cross, ill-natur'd dame,
The am'rous fly burnt in his flame.
This to the Knight could be no news,
With all mankind so much in use;
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due time and place

No sooner was the bloody fight,
Between the Wizard, and the Knight,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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Second Book

TIMES followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
And looked before and after, as I stood
Woman and artist,–either incomplete,
Both credulous of completion. There I held
The whole creation in my little cup,
And smiled with thirsty lips before I drank,
'Good health to you and me, sweet neighbour mine
And all these peoples.'
I was glad, that day;
The June was in me, with its multitudes
Of nightingales all singing in the dark,
And rosebuds reddening where the calyx split.
I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God!
So glad, I could not choose be very wise!
And, old at twenty, was inclined to pull
My childhood backward in a childish jest
To see the face of't once more, and farewell!
In which fantastic mood I bounded forth
At early morning,–would not wait so long
As even to snatch my bonnet by the strings,
But, brushing a green trail across the lawn
With my gown in the dew, took will and way
Among the acacias of the shrubberies,
To fly my fancies in the open air
And keep my birthday, till my aunt awoke
To stop good dreams. Meanwhile I murmured on,
As honeyed bees keep humming to themselves;
'The worthiest poets have remained uncrowned
Till death has bleached their foreheads to the bone,
And so with me it must be, unless I prove
Unworthy of the grand adversity,–
And certainly I would not fail so much.
What, therefore, if I crown myself to-day
In sport, not pride, to learn the feel of it,
Before my brows be numb as Dante's own
To all the tender pricking of such leaves?
Such leaves? what leaves?'
I pulled the branches down,
To choose from.
'Not the bay! I choose no bay;
The fates deny us if we are overbold:
Nor myrtle–which means chiefly love; and love
Is something awful which one dare not touch
So early o' mornings. This verbena strains
The point of passionate fragrance; and hard by,
This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.
Ah–there's my choice,–that ivy on the wall,
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

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

I think I should suit, for I've knowledge minute
Of all tickets, time-tables, and trains;
All speedings and slowings and comings and goings
Are deeply impressed on my brains.
I know just how long the express to Geelong
Stops outside certain stations; and where
All the footwarmers go when the winter winds blow.
So I think I am qualified there.

I can find you a porter, or see that your daughter
Leaves safely for Sydney. My list
Of refreshment-room fare is exclusive and rare
I can tell you what trains you have missed.
I can find little Willie, or mind little Millie
While Mother, with no time to spare,
Goes to buy her a bun. I can tell you what won
All the races. I'm competent there.

I have knowledge unique of what days in the week
Trains stop at your station - or not.
I can tell ('Sat. excepted') what trains are connected
With which. I am au fait with the lot.
On 'Mon. only' or 'Tues.' I have accurate views.
I can tell you on 'Suns.' when and where
You can gather mushrooms or the gold wattle blooms;
So I feel I am competent there.

And, with all this assortment of facts, my deportment,
Impressive, yet friendly, is right.
At my resonant voice all the ladies rejoice;
And fools flock to me, dribbling delight.
My garments I wear with an air debonair;
But one handicap stands in my way:
Tho' in all else I'm 'It,' those who know me admit
That I look simply awful in grey.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Create to Duplicate

In smaller places...
Where the spaces in the heads of people,
Are empty and mainly filled with ego.
There will be found a high degree of denial.
An abundance of those calling themselves 'christians'
And putting themselves on moral trial.
Churches everywhere and high crime noticeable.
And so called leaders selected for their 'niceness'
Without any evidence to prove they are competent!
And those who are competent,
Ignored because they are too honest!
Therefore...
Illiteracy rates are high because intelligence is feared.
Illegitimacy is condoned to justify the low wages paid.
Property rates soar through the roof.
People are burden by high taxes.
The medical industry flourishes.
And the consciousness of the people promotes corruption,
And illegal drug sales!
While nonprofit agencies make a killing,
Declaring themselves community based.
And doing as little as possible,
To assist the well being of those living within the community.
Of course these 'agencies' are run,
By those living outside of those communities...
Who voice their opinions about the deplorable conditions allowed.

'Well...
Anything else? '

Well...
Not really.
That can be observed.
When speaking to the people...
The majority talk about how things 'used' to be!
And plans being made to go 'back home'!
Or other places where they can seek a quality of life,
They are certain to create to duplicate the one they left behind!
They don't see themselves as the problem!
Or accept that they are gay because they hide themselves,
In hetetrosexual unions that camouflage their 'in-the-closet' behaviors!

'Anything else? '

No!
That can be seen just about anywhere and everywhere today!
And the children are used as scapegoats,
To protect those who really should be locked up for producing this BS!

'Are you sure there is nothing else? '

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Alphabet Artistry

ALPHABET ARTISTRY
Able acrostic artist’s alignment adds air.
Alliteration asks acknowledgement aware,
Bard’s brain bequeaths benchmark billet, blends braid bans blare,
Beware braggarts’ boasts, banality, betrayal backstair.
Classic composition, clear content, compare
Creative couplets, compliment competent care.
Drawing descriptions deftly displayed debonair
Droll doggerel dubbed dextrous, doubts dismayed. Declare
Entertaining epistle’s extent e’er ensnare
Easy erudition evident everywhere
Fair fancy’s flight futility forbade, fine flair
Flickering forever – feeble fops fade – fan fair.
Great gifts, gainsay gameplay grandiloquent, gross glare,
Gain gleeful guests, greet gallant guy, girl, gent, goad galere.
Here he has honed his heavenly homemade highbrow
Handwritten harvest, handmade harlequinade … how?
Insight inviting idyll irreverent, ifere
Invents ideas intelligent, intent inhere
Judicious jumble joke jest judges jaded jeer,
Joins joyful jingle jamboree jacent jardinière
Kaleidoscopic knowledge knits kaross. Kowtow!
Knight’s kakemono knack karmic kudos. Know
Lines lyrical, lightheartedly linked, laid layer
Liltingly linger, lasting leisure lent lustreware
Mute melancholy! Muse’s masquerade mayor
Master musters magic meter, music made midair
Neat new needlecraft, never negligent ne’er
Neutral, negative nonsense, nonevent nowhere.
Ode’s object - open offering - obeyed order
Onomatopoeia overlayed over
Poetic passions, purposefully pent, prepare
Portrait pasquinade polyvalent poetic pair
Quick-witted quips quell quitters querulent, queer.
Quizmaster quality quite quiets querent. Quair’s
Rhymic reel responsive, readymade, reads rare
Reverberation, readily relaid repair.
Stanzas succinct, shrewd signposts sapient, should share
Such skillful stringing signals softly sent. So spare
The thesis, tested, triumphs, teasing trade that there
Takes time to twin terms taut, taught twined torsade tough to tear
Usage unexpected unpenitent, - unfair?
Unravels uniformity, unpent unaware.
Vitality, vim, vetoed vehement vaporware,
Vivacious verse’s veriloquent vent via vare
When willing writer worked with wonderment where
Weaving worthwhile wordplay wreath while weekend went west ware.
Xylophonic xenagogue xeroxes XX XY,
Xenial xesturgy xenogamy x-rays Xerxes, xanthous Xanthippe
Yet Ylem, Yggdrasil, yug yesterday, - yare

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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What Upsets About His Leadership

What upsets about his leadership?
He is extremely competent.
And many can not get over it.

He had been a novelty in that position.
And elected for his brilliance.
Those who oppose him in the polls...
Are doing their best,
To keep their ignorance and bigotry...
Less exposed.

What upsets about his leadership?
He is extremely competent.
And many can not get over it.

With an announcement of his agenda,
He began to make clean sweeps.
Corruption, greed and gluttony,
Under his command...
'Will' and is going to cease.

With an announcement of his agenda,
He began to make clean sweeps.
This activity has never been witnessed berfore!
A thorough cleaning from ceiling to floor.

He has traumaticized those,
Who had been exclusively fed first.
And now they are shown the exit.
Quicker than expected.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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