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Sam Waterston

I'm sort of obsessed with the news. That is a syndrome. But I don't watch a whole lot of TV.

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At The News That The Universe's Entropy Is Increasing Thirty Times Faster Than Had Been Thought

AT THE NEWS THAT THE UNIVERSE’S ENTROPY IS INCREASING THIRTY TIMES FASTER THAN HAD BEEN THOUGHT

The sadness I am
Overwhelms the world I am in.
I dont have words for this.
Why is life so difficult?
The trees and the sky seem to go on and on.

Who knows what terrible messages
The distant distant dyings mean?

We are alone in this universe
And God Alone
May be with us.

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Dance With The One That Brought You

Well he shines like a penny in a little kid's hand
When he's out on a Saturday night
He's a real go-getter and the best two-stepper you'll see
But when I'm sittin' alone at a table for two
'Cause he's already out on the floor
I think about somethin' that my mama used to say to me
You got to dance with the one that brought you
Stay with the one that want's you
The one who's gonna love you when all of the others go home
Don't let the green grass fool you
Don't let the moon get to you
Dance with the one that brought you and you can't go wrong

He's got his old best buddies and his new best friends
And all the girls give him the eye
He's a good time Charlie and the life of the party tonight
But when I think about another well I don't think twice
'Cause there'll never be another like him
I know he really loves me and I think maybe mama was right

You got to dance with the one that brought you
Stay with the one that want's you
The one who's gonna love you when all of the others go home
Don't let the green grass fool you
Don't let the moon get to you
Dance with the one that brought you and you can't go wrong

You've got to dance with the one that brought you
and you can't go wrong

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The Merchant of Venice,: A Legend of Italy

I believe there are few
But have heard of a Jew,
Named Shylock, of Venice, as arrant a 'screw'
In money transactions as ever you knew;
An exorbitant miser, who never yet lent
A ducat at less than three hundred per cent.,
Insomuch that the veriest spendthrift in Venice,
Who'd take no more care of his pounds than his pennies,
When press'd for a loan, at the very first sight
Of his terms, would back out, and take refuge in Flight.
It is not my purpose to pause and inquire
If he might not, in managing thus to retire,
Jump out of the frying-pan into the fire;
Suffice it, that folks would have nothing to do,
Who could possibly help it, with Shylock the Jew.

But, however discreetly one cuts and contrives,
We've been most of us taught in the course of our lives,
That 'Needs must when the Elderly Gentleman drives!'
In proof of this rule,
A thoughtless young fool,
Bassanio, a Lord of the Tomnoddy school,
Who, by showing at Operas, Balls, Plays, and Court,
A 'swelling' (Payne Collier would read 'swilling') 'port,'
And inviting his friends to dine, breakfast, and sup,
Had shrunk his 'weak means,' and was 'stump'd,' and 'hard up,'
Took occasion to send
To his very good friend
Antonio, a merchant whose wealth had no end,
And who'd often before had the kindness to lend
Him large sums, on his note, which he'd managed to spend.

'Antonio,' said he, 'Now listen to me;
I've just hit on a scheme which, I think you'll agree,
All matters consider'd, is no bad design,
And which, if it succeeds, will suit your book and mine.
'In the first place, you know all the money I've got,
Time and often, from you has been long gone to pot,
And in making those loans you have made a bad shot;
Now do as the boys do when, shooting at sparrows
And tom-tits, they chance to lose one of their arrows,
-- Shoot another the same way -- I'll watch well its track,
And, turtle to tripe, I'll bring both of them back!
So list to my plan,
And do what you can,
To attend to and second it, that's a good man!

'There's a Lady, young, handsome, beyond all compare, at
A place they call Belmont, whom, when I was there, at
The suppers and parties my friend Lord Mountferrat
Was giving last season, we all used to stare at,
Then, as to her wealth, her solicitor told mine,
Besides vast estates, a pearl fishery, and gold mine,
Her iron strong box
Seems bursting its locks,
It's stuffed so with shares in 'Grand Junctions,' and 'Docks,'
Not to speak of the money's she's got in the stocks,
French, Dutch, and Brazilian, Columbian, and Chilian,
In English Exchequer-bills full half a million,
Not 'kites,' manufactured to cheat and inveigle,
But the right sort of 'flimsy,' all signed by Monteagle.
Then I know not how much in Canal-shares and Railways
And more speculations I need not detail, ways
Of vesting which, if not so safe as some think'em,
Contribute a deal to improving one's income;
In short, she's a Mint!
-- Now I say, deuce is in't
If with all my experience, I can't take a hint,
And her 'eye's speechless messages,' plainer than print
At the time that I told you of, know from a squint,
In short, my dear Tony,
My trusty old crony,
Do stump up three thousand once more as a loan -- I
Am sure of my game -- though, of course there are brutes,
Of all sorts and sizes, preferring their suits
To her you may call the Italian Miss Coutts,
Yet Portia -- she's named from that daughter of Cato's--
Is not to be snapp'd up like little potatoes,
And I have not a doubt I shall rout every lout
Ere you'll whisper Jack Robinson -- cut them all out --
Surmount every barrier, Carry her, marry her!
-- Then hey! my old Tony, when once fairly noosed,
For her Three-and-a-half per cents -- New and Reduced!'

With a wink of his eye His friend made reply
In his jocular manner, sly, caustic, and dry.
'Still the same boy, Bassanio -- never say 'die'!
-- Well -- I hardly know how I shall do't, but I'll try.--
Don't suppose my affairs are at all in a hash,
But the fact is, at present I'm quite out of cash;
The bulk of my property, merged in rich cargoes, is
Tossing about, as you know, in my Argosies,
Tending, of course, my resources to cripple,-- I
've one bound to England,-- another to Tripoli--
Cyprus -- Masulipatam -- and Bombay;--
A sixth, by the way, I consigned t'other day
To Sir Gregor M'Gregor, Cacique of Poyais,
A country where silver's as common as clay.
Meantime, till they tack, And come, some of them, back,
What with Custom-house duties, and bills falling due,
My account with Jones Loyd and Co. looks rather blue;
While, as for the 'ready,' I'm like a Church-mouse,--
I really don't think there's five pounds in the house.
But, no matter for that,
Let me just get my hat,
And my new silk umbrella that stands on the mat,
And we'll go forth at once to the market -- we two,--
And try what my credit in Venice can do;
I stand well on 'Change, and, when all's said and done, I
Don't doubt I shall get it for love or for money.'

They were going to go,
When, lo! down below,
In the street, they heard somebody crying, 'Old Clo'!'
--'By the Pope, there's the man for our purpose!-- I knew
We should not have to search long. Salanio, run you,
-- Salarino,-- quick!-- haste! ere he get out of view,
And call in that scoundrel, old Shylock the Jew!'

With a pack,
Like a sack
Of old clothes at his back,
And three hats on his head, Shylock came in a crack,
Saying, 'Rest you fair, Signior Antonio!-- vat, pray,
Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma vay!'

--'Why, Shylock, although, As you very well know,
I am what they call 'warm,'-- pay my way as I go,
And, as to myself, neither borrow nor lend,
I can break through a rule to oblige an old friend;
And that's the case now -- Lord Bassanio would raise
Some three thousand ducats -- well,-- knowing your ways,
And that nought's to be got from you, say what one will,
Unless you've a couple of names to the bill,
Why, for once, I'll put mine to it,
Yea, seal and sign to it --
Now, then, old Sinner, let's hear what you'll say
As to 'doing' a bill at three months from to-day?
Three thousand gold ducats, mind -- all in good bags
Of hard money -- no sealing-wax, slippers, or rags?'

'-- Vell, ma tear,' says the Jew, 'I'll see vat I can do!
But Mishter Antonio, hark you, 'tish funny
You say to me, 'Shylock, ma tear, ve'd have money!'
Ven you very vell knows, How you shpit on ma clothes,
And use naughty vords -- call me Dog -- and avouch
Dat I put too much int'resht py half in ma pouch,
And vhile I, like de resht of ma tribe, shrug and crouch,
You find fault mit ma pargains, and say I'm a Smouch.
-- Vell!--n o matters, ma tear,-- Von vord in your ear!
I'd be friends mit you bote -- and to make dat appear,
Vy, I'll find you de monies as soon as you vill,
Only von littel joke musht be put in de pill;
Ma tear, you musht say,
If on such and such day
Such sum or such sums, you shall fail to repay,
I shall cut vere I like, as de pargain is proke,
A fair pound of your flesh -- chest by vay of a joke.'

So novel a clause Caused Bassanio to pause;
But Antonio, like most of those sage 'Johnny Raws'
Who care not three straws
About Lawyers or Laws,
And think cheaply of 'Old Father Antic,' because
They have never experienced a gripe from his claws,
'Pooh pooh'd' the whole thing.--'Let the Smouch have his way,
Why, what care I, pray,
For his penalty?-- Nay,
It's a forfeit he'd never expect me to pay:
And, come what come may, I hardly need say
My ships will be back a full month ere the day.'
So, anxious to see his friend off on his journey,
And thinking the whole but a paltry concern, he
Affixed with all speed
His name to a deed,
Duly stamp'd and drawn up by a sharp Jew attorney.
Thus again furnish'd forth, Lord Bassanio, instead
Of squandering the cash, after giving one spread,
With fiddling and masques, at the Saracen's Head,
In the morning 'made play,' And without more delay,
Started off in the steam-boat for Belmont next day.
But scarcely had he
From the harbour got free,
And left the Lagunes for the broad open sea,
Ere the 'Change and Rialto both rung with the news
That he'd carried off more than mere cash from the Jew's.

Though Shylock was old,
And, if rolling in gold,
Was as ugly a dog as you' wish to behold,
For few in his tribe 'mongst their Levis and Moseses,
Sported so Jewish an eye, beard, and nose as his,
Still, whate'er the opinion of Horace and some be,
Your aquilæ generate sometimes Columbæ,
Like Jephthah, as Hamlet says, he'd 'one fair daughter,'
And every gallant, who caught sight of her, thought her,
A jewel -- a gem of the very first water;
A great many sought her,
Till one at last caught her,
And, upsetting all that the Rabbis had taught her,
To feelings so truly reciprocal brought her,
That the very same night Bassanio thought right
To give all his old friends that farewell 'invite,'
And while Shylock was gone there to feed out of spite,
On 'wings made by a tailor' the damsel took flight.

By these 'wings' I'd express
A grey duffle dress,
With brass badge and muffin cap, made, as by rule,
For an upper-class boy in the National School.
Jessy ransack'd the house, popp'd her breeks on, and when so
Disguised, bolted off with her beau -- one Lorenzo,
An 'Unthrift,' who lost not a moment in whisking
Her into the boat,
And was fairly afloat
Ere her Pa had got rid of the smell of the griskin.
Next day, while old Shylock was making a racket,
And threatening how well he'd dust every man's jacket
Who'd help'd her in getting aboard of the packet,
Bassanio at Belmont was capering and prancing,
And bowing, and scraping, and singing, and dancing,
Making eyes at Miss Portia, and doing his best
To perform the polite, and to cut out the rest;
And, if left to herself, he, no doubt, had succeeded,
For none of them waltz'd so genteelly as he did;
But an obstacle lay, Of some weight, in his way,
The defunct Mr. P. who was now turned to clay,
Had been an odd man, and, though all for the best he meant,
Left but a queer sort of 'Last will and testament,'--
Bequeathing her hand,
With her houses and land,
&c., from motives one don't understand,
As she rev'renced his memory, and valued his blessing,
To him who should turn out the best hand at guessing!

Like a good girl, she did
Just what she was bid,
In one of three caskets her picture she hid,
And clapp'd a conundrum a-top of each lid.

A couple of Princes, a black and a white one,
Tried first, but they both fail'd in choosing the right one.
Another from Naples, who shoe'd his own horses;
A French Lord, whose graces might vie with Count D'Orsay's;--
A young English Baron;-- a Scotch Peer his neighbour;--
A dull drunken Saxon, all moustache and sabre;
All follow'd, and all had their pains for their labour.
Bassanio came last -- happy man be his dole!
Put his conjuring cap on,-- considered the whole,--
The gold put aside as
Mere 'hard food for Midas,'
The silver bade trudge
As a 'pale common drudge;'
Then choosing the little lead box in the middle,
Came plump on the picture, and found out the riddle.

Now, you're not such a goose as to think, I dare say,
Gentle Reader, that all this was done in a day,
Any more than the dome Of St. Peter's at Rome
Was built in the same space of time; and, in fact,
Whilst Bassanio was doing
His billing and cooing,
Three months had gone by ere he reach'd the fifth act;
Meanwhile that unfortunate bill became due,
Which his Lordship had almost forgot, to the Jew,
And Antonio grew In a deuce of a stew,
For he could not cash up, spite of all he could do;
(The bitter old Israelite would not renew,)
What with contrary winds, storms, wrecks, and embargoes, his
Funds were all stopp'd, or gone down in his argosies,
None of the set having come into port,
And Shylock's attorney was moving the Court
For the forfeit supposed to be set down in sport.

The serious news
Of this step of the Jew's,
And his fix'd resolution all terms to refuse,
Gave the newly-made Bridegroom a fit of 'the Blues,'
Especially, too, as it came from the pen
Of his poor friend himself on the wedding-day,-- then,
When the Parson had scarce shut his book up, and when
The Clerk was yet uttering the final Amen.

'Dear Friend,' it continued, 'all's up with me -- I
Have nothing on earth now to do but to die!
And, as death clears all scores, you're no longer my debtor;
I should take it as kind
Could you come -- never mind --
If your love don't persaude you, why,-- don't let this letter!'

I hardly need say this was scarcely read o'er
Ere a post-chaise and four
Was brought round to the door
And Bassanio, though, doubtless, he thought it a bore,
Gave his Lady one kiss, and then started at score.
But scarce in his flight
Had he got out of sight
Ere Portia, addressing a groom, said, 'My lad, you a
Journey must take on the instant to Padua;
Find out there Bellario,a Doctor of Laws,
Who, like Follett, is never left out of a cause,
And give him this note,
Which I've hastily wrote,
Take the papers he'll give you -- then push for the ferry
Below, where I'll meet you, you'll do't in a wherry,
If you can't find a boat on the Brenta with sails to it
-- Stay, bring his gown too, and wig with three tails to it.'

Giovanni (that's Jack)
Brought out his hack,
Made a bow to his mistress, then jump'd on its back,
Put his hand to his hat, and was off in a crack.
The Signora soon follow'd herself, taking as her
Own escort Nerissa her maid, and Balthasar.


'The Court is prepared, the Lawyers are met,
The Judges all ranged, a terrible show!'
As Captain Macheath says,-- and when one's in debt,
The sight's as unpleasant a one as I know,
Yet still not so bad after all, I suppose,
As if, when one cannot discharge what one owes,
They should bid people cut off one's toes or one's nose;
Yet here, a worse fate,
Stands Antonio, of late
A Merchant, might vie e'en with Princes in state,
With his waistcoat unbutton'd, prepared for the knife,
Which, in taking a pound of flesh, must take his life;
-- On the other side Shylock, his bag on the floor,
And three shocking bad hats on his head, as before,
Imperturbable stands,
As he waits their commands
With his scales and his great snicker-snee in his hands:
-- Between them, equipt in a wig, gown and bands,
With a very smooth face, a young dandified Lawyer,
Whose air, ne'ertheless, speaks him quite a top-sawyer,
Though his hopes are but feeble,
Does his possible
To make the hard Hebrew to mercy incline,
And in lieu of his three thousand ducats take nine,
Which Bassanio, for reasons we well may divine,
Shows in so many bags all drawn up in a line.
But vain are all efforts to soften him -- still
He points to the bond He so often has conn'd,
And says in plain terms he'll be shot if he will.
So the dandified Lawyer, with talking grown hoarse,
Says, 'I can say no more -- let the law take its course.'

Just fancy the gleam of the eye of the Jew,
As he sharpen'd his knife on the sole of his shoe
From the toe to the heel, And grasping the steel,
With a business-like air was beginning to feel
Whereabouts he should cut, as a butcher would veal,
When the dandified Judge puts a spoke in his wheel.
'Stay, Shylock,' says he, Here's one thing -- you see
This bond of yours gives you here no jot of blood!
-- The words are 'A pound of flesh,'-- that's clear as mud --
Slice away, then, old fellow -- but mind!-- if you spill
One drop of his claret that's not in your bill,
I'll hang you, like Haman?-- By Jingo I will!'

When apprised of this flaw, You never yet saw
Such an awfully mark'd elongation of jaw
As in Shylock, who cried, 'Plesh ma heart! ish dat law?'--
Off went his three hats,
And he look'd as the cats
Do, whenever a mouse has escaped from their claw.
'-- Ish't the law?'-- why the thing won't admit of a query --
'No doubt of the fact,
Only look at the act;
Acto quinto, cap. tertio, Dogi Falieri --
Nay, if, rather than cut, you'd relinquish the debt,
The Law, Master Shy, has a hold on you yet.
See Foscari's 'Statutes at large'--'If a Stranger
A Citizen's life shall, with malice, endanger,
The whole of his property, little or great,
Shall go, on conviction, one half to the State,
And one to the person pursued by his hate;
And, not to create
Any farther debate,
The Doge, if he pleases, may cut off his pate.'
So down on your marrowbones, Jew, and ask mercy!
Defendant and Plaintiff are now wisy wersy.'

What need to declare
How pleased they all were
At so joyful an end to so sad an affair?
Or Bassanio's delight at the turn things had taken,
His friend having saved, to the letter, his bacon?--
How Shylock got shaved, and turn'd Christian, though late,
To save a life-int'rest in half his estate?
How the dandified Lawyer, who'd managed the thing,
Would not take any fee for his pains but a ring
Which Mrs. Bassanio had given to her spouse,
With injunctions to keep it on leaving the house?--
How when he, and the spark
Who appeared as his clerk,
Had thrown off their wigs, and their gowns, and their jetty coats,
There stood Nerissa and Portia in petticoats?--
How they pouted, and flouted, and acted the cruel,
Because Lord Bassanio had not kept his jewel?--
How they scolded and broke out,
Till having their joke out,
They kissed, and were friends, and, all blessing and blessed,
Drove home by the light
Of a moonshiny night,
Like the one in which Troilus, the brave Trojan knight,
Sat astride on a wall, and sigh'd after his Cressid?--

All this, if 'twere meet,
I'd go on to repeat,
But a story spun out so's by no means a treat,
So, I'll merely relate what, in spite of the pains
I have taken to rummage among his remains,
No edition of Shakspeare, I've met with, contains;
But, if the account which I've heard be the true one,
We shall have it, no doubt, before long, in a new one.

In an MS., then sold
For its full weight in gold,
And knock'd down to my friend, Lord Tomnoddy, I'm told
It's recorded that Jessy, coquettish and vain,
Gave her husband, Lorenzo, a good deal of pain;
Being mildly rebuked, she levanted again,
Ran away with a Scotchman, and, crossing the main,
Became known by the name of the 'Flower of Dumblane.'

That Antonio, whose piety caused, as we've seen,
Him to spit upon every old Jew's gaberdine,
And whose goodness to paint
All colours were faint,
Acquired the well-merited prefix of 'Saint,'
And the Doge, his admirer, of honour the fount,
Having given him a patent, and made him a Count,
He went over to England, got nat'ralis'd there,
And espous'd a rich heiress in Hanover Square.

That Shylock came with him; no longer a Jew,
But converted, I think may be possibly true,
But that Walpole, as these self-same papers aver,
By changing the y in his name into er,
Should allow him a fictitious surname to dish up,
And in Seventeen-twenty-eight make him a Bishop,
I cannot believe--but shall still think them two men
Till some Sage proves the fact 'with his usual acumen.'


MORAL.

From this tale of the Bard
It's uncommonly hard
If an editor can't draw a moral.--'Tis clear,
Then,-- In ev'ry young wife-seeking Bachelor's ear
A maxim, 'bove all other stories, this one drums,
'PITCH GREEK TO OLD HARRY, AND STICK TO CONUNDRUMS!!'

To new-married ladies this lesson it teaches,
'You're "no that far wrong" in assuming the breeches!'

Monied men upon 'Change, and rich Merchants it schools
To look well to assets -- nor play with edge tools!
Last of all, this remarkable History shows men,
What caution they need when they deal with old-clothesmen!
So bid John and Mary
To mind and be wary,
And never let one of them come down the are'

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Alone with the Sky

For a long time Im alone, a long time
Other than the birds in my window
Tweeting their melodious rhyme
Or the pussycats warm and sweet
Licking my hands, cuddling my feet!
Im alone with the sky that seems so far
Alone with the stories the winds whisper
The broken pieces of sunlight
That dance on the leaves
Im alone with the rainbow the sky for me weaves!
When the day dawns, a dark liquid
Yet to be grown, yet to be read
Im alone with the dewy darkness
Alone with the hope that’s born on my face!

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet XXXIV: With the Same Heart

With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, and went on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how--
Not as to a single good, but all my good!
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no child's foot could run as fast as this blood.

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnet 34 - With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee

XXXIV

With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name—
Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, and went on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee—ponder how—
Not as to a single good, but all my good!
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no child's foot could run fast as this blood.

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Perhaps You'll Find More Luck With the Others

Peace?

There is only one peace I will defend.
And that is the peace between my ears.

When it arrived and I identified with it...
And it took a while for my suspicions to leave?
I had not until then...
Experienced a life without spotlighting my agonies.

Peace?

There is only one peace I will defend.
And that is the peace between my ears.

Nor do I have a need to have it cheapened,
By a marketing campaign...
You've come to solicit with promises to set me free.
I've already got it.
'Free-of-being-dumb'.

Perhaps you'll find more luck with the others.
They are the ones praying for it on their knees!
With the hope that the peace you tease will come.

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Lady With The Spinning Head

Here she comes
Lady luck again
Figure of eight
Six and nine again
My lady with the spinning head
Whatever the deal
She wont let me down
Wherever I go
Shes always hanging round
My lady with the spinning head
La la la la la la la la la la la
Lady with the spinning head
La la la la la la la la la la la
Lady with the spinning head
Shes been gone
But I knew shed be back
Shes got the rent
She put me in the black
The lady with the spinning head
Took my mind
Took away my car
Do you dare to ask
What Im talking about
Im on top
When shes around
Shes my ticket
Out of town
La la la la la la la la la la la
Lady with the spinning head
La la la la la la la la la la la
Lady with the spinning head

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There Is No Such Thing as Wickedness Only with the Rich Ones...

once he pitied the poor
wanted to take them all from
poverty
like weeds from a garden
where he dream
only of flowers

then he mingled with them
lived with them
immersed in them
only to find out that they are
no less different
than him

they are kind
and must be understood
beyond that
kindness

at some point
as in any other case
familiarity breeds contempt
and he becomes
like anyone of them

suspicious, insecure,
greedy, and always
discontented

and they rob him
and killed him and he was
not able to tell
what was it that he hated
with the poor

i didn't know too.
i don't want to be one
neither do i wish to live with any one of them
nor immerse myself some more
into such a distress

we all have our share
of the chunks of this valley of
tears

again that is fair enough
rich or poor
same human weaknesses are there

this avarice, this greed
and to some extent
this capacity to go beyond all these
in due time

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Go With The Momentum

When I was a child I remember vividly,
This young woman reaching for sheets to hang...
In one of the community spaces used,
To hang and dry washed clothes.
And I wondered to myself,
While watching from our second floor three room apartment.
Shared by my sister and parents...
If those sheets hung,
Were hand washed.

'I like it.
This is a touching personal interest story,
We can introduce during the next debate.
And remember...
To look right into the camera,
As your lower lip begins to quiver.'

What about a tear?
Let me repeat it again.
With a tear at the end.

'Only from the left eye.
That's when we give you a closeup.
Then begin to lower your head.'

Don't you think,
That would be overly dramatic?

'Of course it is.
But we have to go with the momentum.
That last debate and your appearance,
Left everyone stunned.
Go deeper emotionally.
It will guarantee another win.
Take a ten minute break.
And we will begin again from the top.'

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May...Be...A Bit Uneasy With the 'Peeps

I can understand,
You are overwhelmed and shocked.
Afterall...
It only has taken,
Fourty years or more...
For the activities of this environment to sink in.

Remember when they were first brought to your attention?
And you had stated then,
My comments were too negative to mention?
And today 'my' comments seem to flow from your lips.
With a cursing done that you can not resist.

Don't you think...
Your lack of communal unity,
Is too negative to mention?
I believe your comments are a repetitive visit!
Even though you seem to have a clear grasp,
Of the lingo!

*May...be...a bit uneasy,
With the 'peeps' that pop your 'pupils'.
Ya dig? *

Oooohhh...
I love the Spring.
Especially this time of the year.
Don't you?


*NOTE:
'Peeps'? Urban slang word usage for 'people'.
Sooo, an interpretation for that line where 'peeps' is used...
Would be as such:

* 'Maybe you are a bit uneasy with the people that open your eyes.
Do you comprehend? '

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Man With The Golden Gun

The man
With the golden gun
Is waiting
Somewhere
Out there
For you
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
Demand
For the golden gun
It's high priced
Precise
And true
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket, Oh, oh
The man with the golden
Gun in his case, Oh, oh
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
You better believe
He'll be looking for you
He-e-e-e-e-e's, The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in his case
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
You better believe
He'll be looking for yo-ou
He-e-e-e-e-e's, The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in his case
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
The man with the go-o-olden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the go-o-lden
Gun in his case
The man who gave you the golden gun

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With The Pride

Just leave me with the pride
That i worked for
Now they've taken the reason away
Just leave me with the pride
That i worked for
Today
Build on rock, or build on sand,
They're never gonna lend a hand
So nothing grows or nothing stands
I can't take any more
I can't take any more
There's not a lot of space for me
But i've still got my dignity
I've got my price
Don't say i'm free
I can't take anymore
I can't take anymore
But i'm hungry
I could eat anything
But i'm hungry
Oh, let's dance, oh, let's swing
And all that i hear are the words that she sings
Now they've taken it all
Now they've taken it all
I'd rather take this cure for life
Than make myself a sacrifice
If living is to pay the price
I can't take anymore
I can't take anymore
It takes a while to understand
When your eyes are full of sand
When only time is in your hands
I can't take anymore
I can't take anymore
But i'm hungry
I could eat anything
But i'm hungry
Oh, let's dance, oh, let's swing
And all that i hear are the words that she sings
Now they've taken it all
Now they've taken it all
Just leave me with the pride
Taht i worked for
Now they've taken the reason away
Just leave me with the pride
That i worked for
Today.

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On the road to Emmaus

While we were walking
the seven miles to our house
that was in Emmaus
Cleopas and I were talking

about Jesus of Nazareth being crucified
about the life that he lead
and the cruel way in which he died
and this honest powerful man was now dead

thunder flashed down from the heaven,
the sun fled away
as if it wasn’t day
and although the miles were only seven

our depressed walk felt like an eternity
and the things that happened in Jerusalem was frightening
laying like a very heavy burden on Cleopas and me
and then suddenly very exciting

another man was walking with us,
at first we did notice or even recognize him
and we told him, as we were so serious
why our lives seemed so dim

we told him how the women amazed us with the news
that the tomb was empty
and on this issue we both had our views
but some of our companions went to see

and the body of Christ was gone
they could not find him anywhere
and it felt as if we were totally alone
as his body was no longer there

but the man told us from the scriptures
about the mission of God the Son,
and we knew the things he had done
and even from his well known gestures

we did not recognize that Jesus himself had walked
and had talked
on the road to Emmaus with us
we only comprehended it later at the falling dusk.

[Reference: The Waste Land: V. “What the thunder said” by T. S. Eliot.]

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With The Bug

Roy orbison
Well down through the ages. woman's had a time
Tryin' to get her man to walk the chalk line
To keep him on a string with a kiss and a hug
But there's never been a man who wasn't bitten by the bug
Yeah rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' with the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
Well delilah loved sammy, but he wouldnt stay home
Always runnin' and leavin' dee home
She set out to find sammy late one night
Found him down at the sand dune rockin' it right
He was rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' he had the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
Well helen of troy a cool smile on her face
She sported the face that launched a thousand ships
But she couldn't control the wiggle in her hips
She lost her fame and fortune, just one flip
Well rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' had the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
And josephine, had trouble from the start
She couldn't keep her eye on little bonoparte
Every single time that josie looked around
She found her bony runnin' round and round
He was rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' had the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
Well now, are modern times the same as history
Even in the twentieth century
And our future now, oh yes it's plain to see
If we don't look out, the bug will get you and me
We'll be rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' with the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' movin' and groovin'
Yeah with the bug
Yeah, with the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug ...

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Sneaky With the Looks

Sneaky with the looks that they give.

I perceive myself alone.
I feel a curiosity directed.
At first I am not sure,
If the curiosity is directed towards me.
And I look around.
Nothing is there to block my steps.
And I begin to whistle in nervousness.
To then talk to myself...
In a calming peacefulness.
I admit is beginning to get a bit restless.

Sneaky with the looks that they give.

I am among the trees.
Alone in fresh Spring breezes.

Sneaky with the looks that they give.

I begin to hear the chirping of birds.
Conversing to break the silence,
With a charm that does not disturb.
And they fly high between the trees.
Trying to hide within the leaves.

Sneaky with the looks that they give.

I follow a path made clear of obstacles.
I stop.
So does the chirping.
I pick up a small rock,
To toss as I also pick up a twig.
There is a wind.
And I continue my journey.

Wings flap as if there is clapping.
I adjust my cap.
And two squirrels chase...
Across my path!
To play tag and hide and seek.
I stop to watch.

Sneaky with the looks that they give.

I look up!
And there they all sit.
As if in conference on a branch.
Together...
Laughing!

And...
Sneaky with the looks that they give.
My feathered friends.
Amused by the doing.

And...
Sneaky with the looks that they give.
My feathered friends.
Snooping on my movements.
And maneuvering doing it!

Sneaky with the looks that they give.
It's evolutionary.
Very revolutionary.

Sneaky with the looks that they give.
With a comprehension that is difficult to mention.
But they're sneaky with the looks that they give!

It's evolutionary.
Very revolutionary.

Sneaky with the looks that they give.
With a comprehension that is difficult to mention.
But they're sneaky with the looks that they give!

It's evolutionary.
Very revolutionary.

Sneaky with the looks that they give.
My feathered friends.
Snooping on my movements.
And maneuvering doing it!

Sneaky with the looks that they give.
With a comprehension that is difficult to mention.
But they're sneaky with the looks that they give!

It's evolutionary.
Very revolutionary.
And...
Sneaky with the looks that they give.

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Patrick White

Tryst With The Muse At An Ungodly Hour

A tryst with the muse at an ungodly hour.
The past creatively adapts to the moment
as readily as the future does. The bronze age flames
of your auburn hair, withered petals
of a fire flowering in the rain
that may be down, but not out.
The wellspring of a muse is always
the third eye of a woman overwhelmed by tears
at the approach of spring. Last night,
pink-lilac Mercury on the short leash of the sun,
Venus as bright as I've ever seen it
and nearby Jupiter dim by comparison,
Sirius southeast of Orion, then Mars,
and shortly before dawn, Saturn.
I stood for an hour at the backdoor
of the all night laundromat, out
in the parking lot behind the Chinese Restaurant,
while the streetlamps held their heads down in reverence
as if they'd all taken vows or something,
and I, cigarette in mouth, looked up
like a chimney spark in awe of a radiance
so unattainably beautiful all I aspired to
seemed merely the ashes of firefly by comparison,
a runt of light in the vastness of the fire-womb
of a busy, busy sky, while
I waited for my laundry to dry.
And the last time I can remember feeling like that
was combing my hands through your hair
as if were laving my roots in your bloodstream,
without getting my fingers burnt
walking on fire all the way
to the gibbous moon of your earlobe.
And here you are at the door again
like the red maple key
of a rainy night loveletter
that's let itself in soaking wet
to inspire me to write it in tears.
To shed my eyes like the starmaps
of last night's luminaries, to tear down
the old spider webs of the defunct dreamcatchers
hanging like constellations
at the broken windowpanes
of the abandoned houses of the zodiac.
I was on my way to the homeless oblivion of my bed
as if I'd found a heating grate to sleep on
to keep me warm for another night.
As I once saw a man in old Montreal
after a poetry reading at Concordia,
curl up on his cardboard flying carpet
as if he'd run out of places to go,
friends, family, lovers he used to know
and pulling the shadows up over him
let himself by swept up on the concrete shore
like a dead starfish on his own private island.
Every time you step across my event horizon
you break another taboo of mine, your voice
slips into mine like a watersnake into a moonlit lake
and you become the connubial chanteuse
of an unspeakable solitude with something to say.
It's always been this way with you.
A fire-bird flies into the room at night
like inspiration through an open window
just as I'm about to put out the lights
because the music's over and the dancing girls
of the candleflames have completely disrobed
and stand naked in gowns of wax at their feet.
And just as I'm about to leave my seat in a dark theatre,
you come in the guise of an usher
to show me the way out of curtain call
like the moonrise of a crocus in the snow.
And I can hear you from way off
like a ghost being summoned
by an empty lifeboat in the fog.
Like a fragrance of life returning
to the apparition of my spirit
when you kiss me and it feels
like someone doing cpr on my deathmask
to prove I can't hide from you anywhere
even here, where I've said
who I thought I was in my solitude
and buried my name in the night
like a silver star-shaped locket
deep in the palm of your fathomless hand
for you to remember me by before I drown
again in again in the eyes of Isis
like a sailor who sees a different life
flash before him every time
he goes down for the night
and can't get Venus off his mind.
Because even in the empty parking space
of my deathbed in a dark room
lying there like a crystal skull
that's gone prophetically blind
in the shroud of the black sail
I've taken down like the tent
of a wild iris in mourning down by the river,
even when my eyes fail
before the unattainable,
I can feel through my fingertips
you coming on to me like a stripper in braille.

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The Letter That Changes Everything

This letter may serve as a new beginning, or foretell a tragic end-
Yet, the thought of not writing it is not one with which I may contend!
My prayers are for the former, as I dread the latter,
Though my soul yearns to have the final say in the matter
Of what form its counterpoint may finally take;
Thus, with this leap of faith, I may finally make-
Known, what it is I suspect you have already guessed:
Your's is the soul that mine covets more than all the rest!
This though, I shan't allow to come at my heart's expense,
Where its own longing does not meet with recompense.
No longer may I be your friend, and naught more;
At the end of each consort, I am left to wonder: 'what more
Are we meant to be? '-certainly not just surreptitious friends.
Is my heart to wither, whilst my mind pretends?

No! I am not blind to your amorous reciprocation
Of the feelings I have for your, and their desperation!
Your precarious position is not lost upon me-
I know it all too well, as its cost, upon me-
Tolls deeply and tragically-yet, I am much to blame!
My feelings, as your's, are much the same
As they were so many years ago-
The difference: I commanded my fears to go!
Without the burden of same, doubts no longer linger.
I may now count myself worthy, to place upon your finger
The quintessential token of my commitment to you-
Though, through forfeit I lost, and the forfeit went to you,
In the form of a life that you have deftly built.
For my part, my love's perpetual flower did not wilt,
She is more alive today than she ever was-
Incapable of surrender's preservation-she never does!
Our collective inconvenience does not cause our love's retreat;
Not even a cosmic cataclism should cause it to fleet,
First from our sight, then from the safe confines of our heart's coffers,
Thus taking with it all the beautificence it heretofore offers!

This thought is banished, and all like it, disallowed;
This shall never be, and all talk of such is disavowed!
Whether you allow our souls to ally, only time may tell-
If not though, you owe it to thine own heart to pray tell
Why not, in the face of all the love for each we possess-
The answer: fear, would need be my only guess!

Our friendship is precious to me, as is the love, long ago born-
The more we celebrate the former, the more I mourn
The latter-a sort of dichotomy, where love's scorn
Is also the glory of the heart, which both doth adorn!
The mere thought that my own social immaturity
Is ultimately to blame for my amorous insecurity
Is nearly too much to take, but I must!
My heart, mind, and soul are all in accord, so I trust
My instincts about what must be done in this regard;
Though, mere thought upon consequences makes it so very hard-
As if I do not trust myself in my heart's confusion
And give it an ultimatum, that invites the intrusion
Of your's even further into my most inner sanctum-
Should this not come to pass, my lofty mind, heart, and soul are to blame-thank them!

Absence, though, has not proven a deterrent before,
So, why then might I risk the vanquish of thine grace, evermore! ?
The answer lies in the need for unequivocal clarity,
Where the wants of this heart comport with the verity
That only your's married with it, may reveal!
Anything else is acquiescence, which serves to further steal
Away a portion of my ever-conflicted soul;
I need you, if I am ever to feel whole-
It is quite simplistic, yet for so long it evaded me:
All the while, the Gracious God who created thee,
Has steered me ever-lovingly in your direction,
Where I may reap the reward that is your affection!

As fair warning, I am no longer the man I used to be:
I now celebrate beauty, that before I refused to see!
Where ere, I queried my strength, now I do not,
Thus, this is my attempt to alter us, to be what we ought!

If allowance for our real friendship may not be made,
Because you have accepted your fate, and may not be swayed,
Then I need to know now, so that I may prepare
For the burden that my heart will be forced to bear,
When all I possess are memories and you are no longer there
To be the beauteous reality, that otherwise my mind could only dare!

Sikerly, this is meant for our future betterment, not to hinder-
Or else, I would not dare risk the loss of a friendship, so tender,
For the sake of a hollow dream that may never be;
Yet, this long-aspired romance is one that we shall never see
Unless all is risked with this blind leap of faith,
Where a world of amorous wonder would be created from a wraith!

Lest you believe my intentions are not entirely pure,
My heart yearns still-a want that many years without you could not cure!
A thousand profoundly powerful poems could not properly expound
The puissant sense of purpose I feel when you are around-
Yet, when you are gone, the passion presents still-
A passion so powerful that friendship alone may not fulfill!
In any other realm, this would be viewed as less than altruistic,
Yet, though self-serving, it is also quite simplistic:
I believe our desires are mutually in accord,
And fear, in the face of same, is not something we can afford.

To accept this offer, you must overcome your fears
And embrace the ardor you have battled against, for years.
This is surely not a journey you need make on your own,
I shall be there too, where actions that comport with these words shall be shown,
To allay any fear, where now you are sure to be trepidatious;
Without fear as your nemesis, your heart is sure to be courageous,
As, surely, you will very much need it to be-
To leave the only life you have ever known, and cede it to me!

Either way you choose to decide, I will not begrudge you,
As this letter should be taken only to inform, not to nudge you
In either direction-that is entirely up to you;
I would never deign to tell you what to do,
Only that I adore you, and shall, no matter your decision!
I have been wholly honest, and now, without contrition,
I beg of thee to be the same with thine own self,
As it art thou who must live with thine own decision, no one else!
I may not ask anything else of thee, nor would I-
Nor could I promise you forever, yet I could try-
One day at a time, to covet thee as much as I may,
Where my actions reinforce every loving word that I say!

Take as much time as you may need, the decision must be right;
I know we may never be the same, thus the plight
That faces you is not lost upon me, nor for me, to decide.
All the counsel I may lend is: 'use you heart as your guide'.
As uttered ere, I will be here when your decision is done-
Whether or not my heart is chosen as the one
With which ou choose to ally, for what remains of forever-
Whether it begins now, or is banished to 'never'!

-MAurice Harris,21 September 2011

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Patience

A wind comes from the north
Blowing little flocks of birds
Like spray across the town,
And a train, roaring forth,
Rushes stampeding down
With cries and flying curds
Of steam, out of the darkening north.

Whither I turn and set
Like a needle steadfastly,
Waiting ever to get
The news that she is free;
But ever fixed, as yet,
To the lode of her agony.

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The Silence That Lives On

I'm sitting in the corner nowhere to run
Here comes the silence, there goes the fun

Trying to put the pieces back together
Knowing that the silence will live on forever

Trapped inside with my deepest fears
The silence is so strong voices are not clear

Hard to fight my way out of this place
Wanting to leave the silence without a trace

All the bad things go away and be gone
For I am left with the silence that lives on

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