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The make up took about an hour to put on, but the wig was a thing that bothered me more than anything else.

quote by Cesar Romero
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Hi Heel Sneakers

(words & music by robert higginbotham)
Put on your red dress baby cause were going out tonight, oh yeah!
Put on your red dress baby cause were going out tonight, yeah!
Well now wear some boxing gloves in case some fool might start a fight
You know what Im sayin
Put on your hi-heel sneakers, put your wig hat on your head, oh yeah!
Put on your hi-heel sneakers, slap that wig right on your head, yeah!
Well Im pretty sure now baby, pretty soon youre gonna knock em dead
Oh gonna mess around baby
All right!
Da da da da etc.
Put on your red dress baby cause were going out tonight, oh yeah!
Put on your red dress baby cause were going out tonight, yeah!
Well now wear some boxing gloves in case some fool might start a fight
You know what Im sayin
Put on your hi-heel sneakers, put your wig hat on your head, oh yeah!
Put on your hi-heel sneakers, slap that wig right on your head, yeah!
Well Im pretty sure now baby, pretty soon youre gonna knock em dead
Walk around baby!
Da da da etc.
Put on your hi-heel sneakers, put your wig hat on your head, oh yeah!
Put on your hi-heel sneakers, slap that wig right on your head, yeah!
Well Im pretty sure now baby, pretty soon youre gonna knock em dead
All right take it home baby!
Da da da etc.

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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He's Bothered Again!

Where are they?
Do they have him?
Will they know?
And troubled is he
Disturbed is he
Am I troubled?
How much bothered can his soul get?
Bothered about his own life
Bothered about bothering about his life
Bothered about wealth
Bothered about bothering about wealth
And weaker and weaker he is as the day go by
And worse still shall be his story
Because he is bothered about nature
And things in it
But he is never bothered about aiding nature
Or the things in it
Such person,
I am bothered about
Because he bothers to effect no change
And bothers that he hasn't effected a change
And why he did not effect any change
But not how he could effect such change
He also bothers about those who aren't bothered
He bothers for them
His stupidity is the source of their livelihood
He bothers why they do not bother
He bothers about those who effect changes
He bothers how long it took for such change
He bothers the risk taken
He never bothers how they do it
But he bothers if they were a bandit
And everyday, he keeps bothering
And knows not that he bothers his life
And his health
And his sanity
But those who bother aren't stupid
Except if they bother like he does

poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo
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Eden bower

It was Lilith the wife of Adam:
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Not a drop of her blood was human,
But she was made like a soft sweet woman.
Lilith stood on the skirts of Eden;
(Alas the hour!)
She was the first that thence was driven;
With her was hell and with Eve was heaven.
In the ear of the Snake said Lilith:—
(Sing Eden Bower!)
“To thee I come when the rest is over;
A snake was I when thou wast my lover.
“I was the fairest snake in Eden:
(Alas the hour!)
By the earth's will, new form and feature
Made me a wife for the earth's new creature.
“Take me thou as I come from Adam:
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Once again shall my love subdue thee;
The past is past and I am come to thee.
“O but Adam was thrall to Lilith!
(Alas the hour!)
All the threads of my hair are golden,
And there in a net his heart was holden.
“O and Lilith was queen of Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
All the day and the night together
My breath could shake his soul like a feather.
“What great joys had Adam and Lilith!—
(Alas the hour!)
Sweet close rings of the serpent's twining,
As heart in heart lay sighing and pining.
“What bright babes had Lilith and Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Shapes that coiled in the woods and waters,
Glittering sons and radiant daughters.
“O thou God, the Lord God of Eden!
(Alas the hour!)
Say, was this fair body for no man,
That of Adam's flesh thou mak'st him a woman?
“O thou Snake, the King-snake of Eden!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
God's strong will our necks are under,
But thou and I may cleave it in sunder.
“Help, sweet Snake, sweet lover of Lilith!
(Alas the hour!)
And let God learn how I loved and hated
Man in the image of God created.
“Help me once against Eve and Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Moore
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Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered

After one whole quart of brandy
Like a daisy, I'm awake
With no Bromo-Seltzer handy
I don't even shake
Men are not a new sensation
I've done pretty well I think
But this half-pint imitation
Put me on the blink
I'm wild again, beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I
Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep
When love came and told me, I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I
Lost my heart, but what of it
He is cold I agree
He can laugh, but I love it
Although the laugh's on me
I'll sing to him, each spring to him
And long, for the day when I'll cling to him
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I
He's a fool and don't I know it
But a fool can have his charms
I'm in love and don't I show it
Like a babe in arms
Love's the same old sad sensation
Lately I've not slept a wink
Since this half-pint imitation
Put me on the blink
I've sinned a lot, I'm mean a lot
But I'm like sweet seventeen a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I
I'll sing to him, each spring to him
And worship the trousers that cling to him
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I
When he talks, he is seeking
Words to get off his chest
Horizontally speaking, he's at his very best
Vexed again, perplexed again
Thank God, I can be oversexed again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I
Wise at last, my eyes at last,
Are cutting you down to your size at last
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more
Burned a lot, but learned a lot
And now

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Dream

'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!

So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.

Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,

To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered

[Rod Stewart]
After one whole quart of brandy
Like a daisy I awake
With no Bromo Seltzer handy,
I don't even shake.
[Cher]
Men are not a new sensation;
I've done pretty well, I think.
But this half-pint imitation
Put me on the blink
I'm wild again
Beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
[Rod Stewart]
Listen, baby
I couldn't sleep
And wouldn't sleep
Until I could sleep where I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
[Cher]
Lost my heart but what of it?
My mistake I agree.
[Rod Stewart]
Oh she's such a laugh, and I love it
Although the laugh's on me.
[Cher]
Oohh I'll sing to him
Bring springs to him
And worship the trousers that cling to him
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
Oh you're so cute
Oh she's kept enough, she's slept enough
And yet, where it counts she's adapt enough
[Cher] Aha
[Both]
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
[Cher]
When he talks he is seeking
Words to get off his chest.
[Rod Stewart]
Horizontally speaking
She's at her very best.
[Both]
Oh we've seen a lot
I mean a lot
And now we're like sweet seventeen a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
Oh, we're vexed again
Perplexed again

[...] Read more

song performed by Rod Stewart
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Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered (feat. Cher)

(Duet with Cher)
[Rod Stewart]
After one whole quart of brandy
Like a daisy I awake
With no Bromo Seltzer handy,
I don't even shake.
[Cher]
Men are not a new sensation;
I've done pretty well, I think.
But this half-pint imitation
Put me on the blink
I'm wild again
Beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
[Rod Stewart]
Listen, baby
I couldn't sleep
And wouldn't sleep
Until I could sleep where I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
[Cher]
Lost my heart but what of it?
My mistake I agree.
[Rod Stewart]
Oh she's such a laugh, and I love it
Although the laugh's on me.
[Cher]
Oohh I'll sing to him
Bring springs to him
And worship the trousers that cling to him
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
Oh you're so cute
Oh she's kept enough, she's slept enough
And yet, where it counts she's adapt enough
[Cher] Aha
[Both]
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
[Cher]
When he talks he is seeking
Words to get off his chest.
[Rod Stewart]
Horizontally speaking
She's at her very best.
[Both]
Oh we've seen a lot
I mean a lot
And now we're like sweet seventeen a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I
Oh, we're vexed again

[...] Read more

song performed by Rod Stewart
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Hi Heel Sneakers

Put on your hi heel sneakers,
Honey put your wig-hat on your head,
Honey on your head.
Put on your hi heel sneakers,
Honey put your wig-hat on your head,
Alright.
You better pass some boxing gloves
In case this foreman wanna fight.
Put on your hi heel sneakers,
Honey get your wig-hat on your head,
Honey, on your head.
Put on your hi, hi heel sneakers, darling,
Honey youre gonna wear your wig-hat on your head.
Yeah
When Im steppin out tonight, baby
I do believe, Im really gonna knock em dead, oh!

song performed by Janis Joplin
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Hi-Heel Sneakers

Put on your hi heel sneakers,
Honey put your wig-hat on your head,
Honey on your head.
Put on your hi heel sneakers,
Honey put your wig-hat on your head,
Alright.
You better pass some boxing gloves
In case this foreman wanna fight.
Put on your hi heel sneakers,
Honey get your wig-hat on your head,
Honey, on your head.
Put on your hi, hi heel sneakers, darling,
Honey you're gonna wear your wig-hat on your head.
Yeah
When I'm steppin' out tonight, baby
I do believe, I'm really gonna knock 'em dead, oh!

song performed by Paul McCartney
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The Diverting History Of John Gilpin, Showing How He Went Farther Than He Intended, And Came Safe Home Again

John Gilpin was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A trainband captain eke was he
Of famous London town.

John Gilpin’s spouse said to her dear:
Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton
All in a chaise and pair.

My sister, and my sister’s child,
Myself, and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we.

He soon replied, I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linendraper bold,
As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calendrer
Will lend his horse to go.

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That’s well said;
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish’d with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.

John Gilpin kiss’d his loving wife;
O’erjoy’d was he to find,
That, though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allow’d
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off, the chaise was stay’d,
Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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The Corsair

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please -
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint can only feel -
Feel - to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and Its spirit soar?
No dread of death if with us die our foes -
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will - we snatch the life of life -
When lost - what recks it but disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away:
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
Ours - the fresh turf; and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang - one bound - escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'

II.
Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while:
Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along,
And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song!
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand,
They game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Insomnia

Sleepless himself to give to others sleep.
He giveth His beloved sleep.

I HEARD the sounding of the midnight hour;
The others one by one had left the room,
In calm assurance that the gracious power
Of Sleep's fine alchemy would bless the gloom,
Transmuting all its leaden weight to gold,
To treasures of rich virtues manifold,
New strength, new health, new life;
Just weary enough to nestle softly, sweetly,
Into divine unconsciousness, completely
Delivered from the world of toil and care and strife.

Just weary enough to feel assured of rest,
Of Sleep's divine oblivion and repose,
Renewing heart and brain for richer zest
Of waking life when golden morning glows
As young and pure and glad as if the first
That ever on the void of darkness burst
With ravishing warmth and light;
On dewy grass and flowers and blithe birds singing
And shining waters, all enraptured springing,
Fragrance and shine and song, out of the womb of night.

But I with infinite weariness outworn,
Haggard with endless nights unblessed by sleep,
Ravaged by thoughts unutterably forlorn,
Plunged in despairs unfathomably deep,
Went cold and pale and trembling with affright
Into the desert vastitude of Night,
Arid and wild and black;
Foreboding no oasis of sweet slumber,
Counting beforehand all the countless number
Of sands that are its minutes on my desolate track.

And so I went, the last, to my drear bed,
Aghast as one who should go down to lie
Among the blissfully unconscious dead,
Assured that as the endless years flowed by
Over the dreadful silence and deep gloom
And dense oppression of the stifling tomb,
He only of them all,
Nerveless and impotent to madness, never
Could hope oblivion's perfect trance for ever:
An agony of life eternal in death's pall.

But that would be for ever, without cure! —
And yet the agony be not more great;
Supreme fatigue and pain, while they endure,

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Funky Stuff

I promise not to let,
The left step go...
Not too far to the left.
Or be bothered by right at all.

I promise not to let,
The left step go...
Not too far to the left.
Or be bothered by right at all.

I promise not to let,
The left step go...
Not too far to the left.
Or be bothered by right at all.

I'd like a life that glides...
Free and easy.
No matter who it is I crush.
Or whose life is turned into mush.

I'd like a life that glides...
Free and easy.
No matter who it is I crush.
Or whose life I turn into mush.

I can't get enough,
Of that funky stuff.
Of that funky stuff,
I can't get enough!

I'd like a life that glides...
Free and easy.
No matter who it is I crush.
Or whose life I turn into mush.

I can't get enough,
Of that funky stuff.
Of that funky stuff,
I can't get enough!

I'd like a life that glides...
Free and easy.
I can't get enough,
Of that funky stuff.

I can't get enough,
Of that funky stuff.
Of that funky stuff,
I can't get enough!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Up Yours

(E. Stefani)
Mmmm I'll put up with you in the morning
And I'll put up with you in the night
I'll put up with you anytime
Oh being with you's such a delight
I'll put up with you and your boyfriends
And I'll put up with you and your family
I'll put up with you and the inlaws
If they can put up with me
I'll put up with your complaining
And I'll put up with your needs
I'll put up with you messin' around
You can go but once more with me (?)
I'll put up with you and your smoking
And I'll put up with you and your dirty deeds
I'll put up with you and your cussin'
You don't know how happy you would make me
I want you sugar yeah hey woo hoo hoo hoo
And baby I got to - I know I have to
I put my love around you honey (?)
(?)
I want you need you so bad
Oh you put up with me (?)
Ooh I'll put up
I'll put up, I'll put up, I'll put up
I'll put up with your last name
And I'll put up with you and not kiss my lips
I'll put up with you not missin' me
Though down deep inside I wish you would change
Though down deep inside I wish you would change
Though down deep inside I wish you would change
Though down deep inside I wish you would change

song performed by No Doubt
Added by Lucian Velea
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in Gloom Hums a Red Flamingo

Eek! On the moonless sky, grey clouds are ashen and sober;
Trees are swaying helter-skelter with leaves tousled and sere
As west wind drives the minute nature in a conspirative plot,
voodooed by an autumn night, a lonesome pine in an orphic thought.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.

Gee! In a deserted and isolated lonesome valley, I met my ally;
while Ploughing a lonely furrow, I caught him - a nervous Nelly;
His soul is a tattered cloud and his heart is a battered sea
As tender sapling in him is not watered, oh, I met him in me.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.

hardy-har-har! My whole world went black with air looked black,
Sun looked black; I laid in bed and stared at room walls dark,
Outside I still always appear bright with a mask, Ooh-la-la
Hoodooed by single crow I remain in a pitch dark inside, blah!
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo.

Hoot-hoot! It's loneliness that makes the brassiest noise
Without any voice, it tomahawks lonely-hearts, oh dear boys;
Before it bites, even rattlesnake warns you in a chiller-thriller;
Alas! Without any sound Lonely Cyclops burns you - a whale killer.
Jibber, jabber joo! Wig, wiggly woo in lonely flu - boo hoo!
Boom-boom, Lonely-hearts are in gloom hums a red flamingo

poem by Harindhar Reddy
Added by Poetry Lover
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Mind Power

Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Is there a place you belong
When there is no love
The light that shines is so strong
When you come out of the dark
Yeah
Were living in a violent world
It makes our heart just freeze
Lets melt the ice with heart and soul
To heal a world that bleeds
(to heal a world that bleeds)
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
So when you walk through the door
Is this the bottom word
The fortress of violence will fall
When the tide will turn
So when you walk through the door
You can make it too
The fortress of violence will fall
If you want it to
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Dont use your fist, use your brain
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day
Mind power, every hour, any minute, every day

[...] Read more

song performed by Scorpions
Added by Lucian Velea
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