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It's not like Massachusetts, where they're baptized Democrats.

quote by Robert Torricelli
Added by Lucian Velea
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(The Lights Went Out In) Massachusettes

Feel I'm goin' back to Massachusetts,
Something's telling me I must go home.
And the lights all went out in Massachusetts
The day I left her standing on her own.
Tried to hitch a ride to San Francisco,
Gotta do the things I wanna do.
And the lights all went out in Massachusetts
They brought me back to see my way with you.
Talk about the life in Massachusetts,
Speak about the people I have seen,
And the lights all went out in Massachusetts
And Massachusetts is one place I have seen.
I will remember Massachusetts...

song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Baptism Of Terence

baptized by full immersion in water
three times in a tributary of a river
colloquially known as The Waimak

rural countryside of the Canterbury plains
under a blue sky with golden beams of light
shining down mild afternoon sun blesses

slanting through cold flowing water
like a living golden mystic mantel
light shimmers through living water

baptized after a period of 24 hours
fasting neither eating nor drinking
in solitude solo prayer meditating

praying reading any passages
of the Bible I chose preparing
seeing no one sleeping fasting

step into Waimakariri River
river of cold rushing water
braided wide shingle beds

the hand of God is upon the baptized
it is God’s will his people be baptized
chosen accepting Christ are baptized

Jesus Christ by John was baptized
in Aramaic into Messianic Judaism
you into Christian denominations

one sinner former atheist baptized
one raised in Jesus Christ baptized
believe affirm in faith living beliefs

poem by Terence George Craddock
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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Baptized

I don't want to look around
And be turned to stone
All my darkest days awoken
I'm looking for a new way
Lead me to a place wide open
I need a love that takes me higher
So high I'm never coming down
I don't want to know emptiness
Take me down to the water
Wanna be baptized in your love
Far away from the loneliness
Take my heart and wash away the fear
Let me be baptized in your love
Everybody's going down
They end up all alone
Far too many words unspoken
I know I gotta be there, I'm ready to be shown
The path of righteousness unbroken
I need a love that takes me higher
So high I'm never coming down
I don't want to know emptiness
Take me down to the water
Wanna be baptized in your love
Far away from the loneliness
Take my heart and wash away the fear
Let me be baptized in your love
I would be a fool to let you go
With you I'm reborn
I'm no longer torn
Yeah
I refuse to lose my heart and soul
I have to be strong
I don't want to know emptiness
Take me down to the water
Wanna be baptized in your love
Far away from the loneliness
Take my heart and wash away the fear
Let me be baptized in your love

song performed by Lenny Kravitz
Added by Lucian Velea
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Massachusetts To Virginia

The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way,
Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay:
No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's peal,
Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horsemen's steel,

No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our highways go;
Around our silent arsenals untrodden lies the snow;
And to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errands far,
A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war.

We hear thy threats, Virginia! thy stormy words and high
Swell harshly on the Southern winds which melt along our sky;
Yet not one brown, hard hand foregoes its honest labor here,
No hewer of our mountain oaks suspends his axe in fear.

Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St. George's bank;
Cold on the shores of Labrador the fog lies white and dank;
Through storm, and wave, and blinding mist, stout are the hearts which man
The fishing-smacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of Cape Ann.

The cold north light and wintry sun glare on their icy forms,
Bent grimly o'er their straining lines or wrestling with the storms;
Free as the winds they drive before, rough as the waves they roam,
They laugh to scorn the slaver's threat against their rocky home.

What means the Old Dominion? Hath she forgot the day
When o'er her conquered valleys swept the Briton's steel array?
How, side by side with sons of hers, the Massachusetts men
Encountered Tarleton's charge of fire, and stout Cornwallis, then?

Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the call
Of her old House of Burgesses, spoke out from Faneuil Hall?
When, echoing back her Henry's cry, came pulsing on each breath
Of Northern winds the thrilling sounds of 'Liberty or Death!'

What asks the Old Dominion? If now her sons have proved
False to their fathers' memory, false to the faith they loved;
If she can scoff at Freedom, and its great charter spurn,
Must we of Massachusetts from truth and duty turn?

We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell;
Our voices, at your bidding, take up the bloodhound's yell;
We gather, at your summons, above our fathers' graves,
From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves!

Thank God! not yet so vilely can Massachusetts bow;
The spirit of her early time is with her even now;
Dream not because her Pilgrim blood moves slow and calm and cool,
She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool!

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

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

THE FIRST BOOK

I, WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite
Into the desert, his victorious field
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence 10
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds
Above heroic, though in secret done,
And unrecorded left through many an age:
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 20
To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked
With awe the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed
To the flood Jordan--came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long
His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove 30
The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice
From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son.
That heard the Adversary, who, roving still
About the world, at that assembly famed
Would not be last, and, with the voice divine
Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom
Such high attest was given a while surveyed
With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage,
Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air
To council summons all his mighty Peers, 40
Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,
A gloomy consistory; and them amidst,
With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake:--
"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World
(For much more willingly I mention Air,
This our old conquest, than remember Hell,
Our hated habitation), well ye know
How many ages, as the years of men,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Soccer Under 20

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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I Love That Dirty Water! (The Standells)

The eastern world, it is exploding
Violence flarin', bullets loadin'
You're old enough to kill, but not for votin'
You don't believe in war, but what's that gun you're totin'
And even the Jordan River has bodies floatin'
Eve of Destruction-- Barry McGuire

The Standells sang about the dirty water in the Charles River in Boston

Well I love that dirty water
Oh, Boston you're my home
Oh, you're the number one place
(1966)
(This observation is not about a soulful, cut time, melodious affirmation about the singer's affinity to polluted water in Massachusetts. However, it is about a river who Christians, Jews and Muslims hold very dear in their hearts.)

Well maybe the Jordan River is not a aqueous cemetery
But if you drink the water,
even touch the water- let alone be baptized,
You could be in trouble,
the water is polluted,
That should make you leery
It appears that the population is going up
And the water level is going down,
In that geographical region
Many turds of goats
or donkeys
or humans are washed away by rain
or by flushing*
-eventually ends in Jordan River
Not to mention the pesticides and fertilizer
That should makes you quiver.

St. John, if you were alive today,
Then you would not make it though a year**
Baptizing people in the Jordan River

Instead people being baptized in Jordan River water
They should possibly get baptized in more purer fluid,

poem by Joe Rosochacki
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Paradise Regained: The First Book

I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite
Into the desert, his victorious field
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds
Above heroic, though in secret done,
And unrecorded left through many an age:
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand
To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked
With awe the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed
To the flood Jordan—came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long
His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove
The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice
From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son.
That heard the Adversary, who, roving still
About the world, at that assembly famed
Would not be last, and, with the voice divine
Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom
Such high attest was given a while surveyed
With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage,
Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air
To council summons all his mighty Peers,
Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,
A gloomy consistory; and them amidst,
With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake:—
"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World
(For much more willingly I mention Air,
This our old conquest, than remember Hell,
Our hated habitation), well ye know
How many ages, as the years of men,
This Universe we have possessed, and ruled
In manner at our will the affairs of Earth,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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When we were at peace, Democrats wanted to raise taxes. Now there's a war, so Democrats want to raise taxes. When there was a surplus, Democrats wanted to raise taxes. Now that there is a mild recession, Democrats want to raise taxes.

quote by Ann Coulter
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pupils Slip Up

I have several questions.
For a few months
A radio business channel
In Boston carried

Thrice hourly reports
On the stock market--
The Bloomfield report.
Suddenly it was gone
And replaced by a
Monotonous religious channel.

I couldn't find it
Anywhere on the dial.
Why did that happen?
Massac came from Casamusetts.
Cassam came from Massachusetts.

They tell you that vitamin E,
Grape juice, and aspirin
Thin the blood and
Reduce cholesterol buildup
But if you take two
Or three of these

Substances regularly, do they
Thin it too much,
Causing other, unforeseen
Dangers of an interactive sort?
Massac came from Casamusetts.
Cassam came from Massachusetts.

If all politics is a lie
We tell ourselves, if
People who think they are
Conservative have horrible
Anarchic lives, raping children

And people who think
They are radical, and
Tell you so, typically,
Are repressed, authoritarian, and
Thinly frigid in their
Personal bearings,

Leaving the world on both sides
To be divided up between
Aggressive territorial types

[...] Read more

poem by Aaron Fogel
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Take Me To The Water

Take me to the water
Take me to the water
Take me to the water
To be baptized
None but the righteous
None but the righteous
None but the righteous
Shall be saved
So take me to the water
Take me to the water
Take me to the water
To be, to be baptized
I'm going back home, going back home
Gonna stay here no longer
I'm going back home, going back home
To be baptized

song performed by Nina Simone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Orlando Furioso Canto 22

ARGUMENT
Atlantes' magic towers Astolpho wight
Destroys, and frees his thralls from prison-cell.
Bradamant finds Rogero, who in fight
O'erthrows four barons from the warlike sell,
When on their way to save an errant knight
Doomed to devouring fire: the four who fell
For impious Pinnabel maintained the strife,
Whom, after, Bradamant deprives of life.

I
Ye courteous dames, and to your lovers dear,
You that are with one single love content;
Though, 'mid so many and many, it is clear
Right few of you are of such constant bent;
Be not displeased at what I said whilere,
When I so bitterly Gabrina shent,
Nor if I yet expend some other verse
In censure of the beldam's mind perverse.

II
Such was she; and I hide not what is true;
So was enjoined me for a task by one
Whose will is law; therefore is honour due
To constant heart throughout my story done.
He who betrayed his master to the Jew
For thirty pence, nor Peter wronged, nor John,
Nor less renowned is Hypermnestra's fame,
For her so many wicked sisters' shame.

III
For one I dare to censure in my lays,
For so the story wills which I recite,
On the other hand, a hundred will I praise,
And make their virtue dim the sun's fair light;
But turning to the various pile I raise,
(Gramercy! dear to many) of the knight
Of Scotland I was telling, who hard-by
Had heard, as was rehearsed, a piercing cry.

IV
He entered, 'twixt two hills, a narrow way,
From whence was heard the cry; nor far had hied,
Ere to a vale he came shut out from day,
Where he before him a dead knight espied.
Who I shall tell; but first I must away
From France, in the Levant to wander wide,
Till I the paladin Astolpho find,
Who westward had his course from thence inclined.

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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The new way of swindling..

Monarch rule the countries with one voice to be heard,
Dictator rules the countries with only his voice to be heard.
Communist rules the countries with voice of the people silenced.
Democrats rule the countries with voice of people maimed.

Accumulation of wealth is the power to the Monarchs,
Accumulation of power is wealth to a dictator,
Accumulation of weapons is a credit to the communists,
Accumulation of credit is a weapon to the democrats.

What a Monarch failed to achieve,
What a dictator miscalculated to propaganda,
What a communist intelligence sublimed to the basic,
That is where the democrats are successful.

Keep the public occupied with debts and sorrow,
Let the people live on the borrowed money,
Let them feel comfortable with gossips and fun,
Let the democratic monarchs evolve from the dust.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Martyred Democrat

In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, where float the strains of Brahms,
While cultured caterpillars chew the leaves of potted palms
In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, upon a summer's day,
The democrats of Toorak met to pass an hour away.
They hearkened to a long address by Grabbit, M.L.C.,
While Senator O'Sweatem passed around the cakes and tea;
And all the brains and beauty of the suburb gathered there,
In Lady Lusher's drawing-room - Miss Fibwell in the chair.

(With increasing interest):
Ay, all the fair and brave were there - the fair in fetching hats;
The brave in pale mauve pantaloons and shiny boots, with spats.
But pride of all that gathering, a giant 'mid the rest,
Was Mr Percy Puttipate, in fancy socks and vest.
Despite his bout of brain-fag, plainly showing in his eyes,
Contracted while inventing something new in nobby ties,
He braved the ills and draughts and chills, damp tablecloths and mats,
Of Lady Lusher's drawing-room: this prince of Democrats.

(Resume the breeze):
Upon a silken ottoman sat Willie Dawdlerich,
Who spoke of democratic things to Mabel Bandersnitch.
And likewise there, on couch and chair, with keen, attentive ears,
Sat many sons and daughters of our sturdy pioneers;
Seed of our noble squatter-lords, those democrats of old,
Who held of this fair land of ours as much as each can hold;
Whose motto is, and ever was, despite the traitor's gab:
'Australia for Australians - as much as each can grab.'

(In cultured tones):
'Deah friends,' began Miss Fibwell, 'you - haw - understand ouah league
Is formed to stand against that band of schemers who intrigue -
That horrid band of Socialists who seek to wrest ouah raights,
And, with class legislation, straive to plague ouah days and naights.
They claim to be the workers of the land; but Ai maintain
That, tho' they stand for horny hands, we represent the bwain.
Are not bwain-workers toilers too, who labah without feah?'
(The fashioner of fancy ties: 'Heah, heah! Quaite raight! Heah, heah!')

'They arrogate unto themselves the sacred name of Work.
But still, Ai ask, where is the task that we've been known to shirk?
We're toilahs, ev'ry one of us, altho' they claim we're not.'
(The toiler on the ottoman: 'Bai jove, I've heard thet rot!')
'Moahovah, friends, to serve theah ends, they're straiving, maight and main,
To drag down to theah level folk who work with mind and bwain.
They claim we do not earn ouah share, but, Ai maintain we do!'

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Ancient Banner

In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,
The bosom of his Father, and assumed
A servant's form, though he had reigned a king,
In realms of glory, ere the worlds were made,
Or the creating words, 'Let there be light'
In heaven were uttered. But though veiled in flesh,
His Deity and his Omnipotence,
Were manifest in miracles. Disease
Fled at his bidding, and the buried dead
Rose from the sepulchre, reanimate,
At his command, or, on the passing bier
Sat upright, when he touched it. But he came,
Not for this only, but to introduce
A glorious dispensation, in the place
Of types and shadows of the Jewish code.
Upon the mount, and round Jerusalem,
He taught a purer, and a holier law,—
His everlasting Gospel, which is yet
To fill the earth with gladness; for all climes
Shall feel its influence, and shall own its power.
He came to suffer, as a sacrifice
Acceptable to God. The sins of all
Were laid upon Him, when in agony
He bowed upon the cross. The temple's veil
Was rent asunder, and the mighty rocks,
Trembled, as the incarnate Deity,
By his atoning blood, opened that door,
Through which the soul, can have communion with
Its great Creator; and when purified,
From all defilements, find acceptance too,
Where it can finally partake of all
The joys of His salvation.
But the pure Church he planted,—the pure Church
Which his apostles watered,—and for which,
The blood of countless martyrs freely flowed,
In Roman Amphitheatres,—on racks,—
And in the dungeon's gloom,—this blessed Church,
Which grew in suffering, when it overspread
Surrounding nations, lost its purity.
Its truth was hidden, and its light obscured
By gross corruption, and idolatry.
As things of worship, it had images,
And even painted canvas was adored.
It had a head and bishop, but this head
Was not the Saviour, but the Pope of Rome.
Religion was a traffic. Men defiled,
Professed to pardon sin, and even sell,
The joys of heaven for money,—and to raise
Souls out of darkness to eternal light,
For paltry silver lavished upon them.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Pine Tree

LIFT again the stately emblem on the Bay State's rusted shield,
Give to Northern winds the Pine-Tree on our banner's tattered field.
Sons of men who sat in council with their Bibles round the board,
Answering England's royal missive with a firm, 'Thus saith the Lord!'
Rise again for home and freedom! set the battle in array!
What the fathers did of old time we their sons must do to-day.
Tell us not of banks and tariffs, cease your paltry pedler cries;
Shall the good State sink her honor that your gambling stocks may rise?
Would ye barter man for cotton? That your gains may sum up higher,
Must we kiss the feet of Moloch, pass our children through the fire?
Is the dollar only real? God and truth and right a dream?
Weighed against your lying ledgers must our manhood kick the beam?
O my God! for that free spirit, which of old in Boston town
Smote the Province House with terror, struck the crest of Andros down!
For another strong-voiced Adams in the city's streets to cry,
'Up for God and Massachusetts! Set your feet on Mammon's lie!
Perish banks and perish traffic, spin your cotton's latest pound,
But in Heaven's name keep your honor, keep the heart o' the Bay State sound!'
Where's the man for Massachusetts! Where's the voice to speak her free?
Where's the hand to light up bonfires from her mountains to the sea?
Beats her Pilgrim pulse no longer? Sits she dumb in her despair?
Has she none to break the silence? Has she none to do and dare?
O my God! for one right worthy to lift up her rushed shield,
And to plant again the Pine-Tree in her banner's tattered field!

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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In the Waiting Room

In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
to keep her dentist's appointment
and sat and waited for her
in the dentist's waiting room.
It was winter. It got dark
early. The waiting room
was full of grown-up people,
arctics and overcoats,
lamps and magazines.
My aunt was inside
what seemed like a long time
and while I waited and read
the National Geographic
(I could read) and carefully
studied the photographs:
the inside of a volcano,
black, and full of ashes;
then it was spilling over
in rivulets of fire.
Osa and Martin Johnson
dressed in riding breeches,
laced boots, and pith helmets.
A dead man slung on a pole
"Long Pig," the caption said.
Babies with pointed heads
wound round and round with string;
black, naked women with necks
wound round and round with wire
like the necks of light bulbs.
Their breasts were horrifying.
I read it right straight through.
I was too shy to stop.
And then I looked at the cover:
the yellow margins, the date.
Suddenly, from inside,
came an oh! of pain
--Aunt Consuelo's voice--
not very loud or long.
I wasn't at all surprised;
even then I knew she was
a foolish, timid woman.
I might have been embarrassed,
but wasn't. What took me
completely by surprise
was that it was me:
my voice, in my mouth.
Without thinking at all
I was my foolish aunt,
I--we--were falling, falling,

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Please Stir That Celery Flavoured Carrot Soup To Fight With The Life!

I just want to remind you that I was born under a travel star!
Time has come and orders were given from above it seems?
Then I have to go.
Beloved makes carrot soup every other day
And our bony horse is suffering from flu!
I gave him some of my expired antibiotics
And a sip secretly from my nightcap.
I polish the old brass lamp which I brought from a salvage ship.
And I sweep my gypsy caravan that full of rubbish papers.
I read my darling's complicated palm; 'This may be our last journey and your nutty vagabond is really tired.
Please do not worry and we won't give a burden to our daughters,
I'll prepare a letter right now to the Medical faculty in Massachusetts and let them know that we're ready to hand over our bodies one day for research to the responsible parties? '
By the end of November we reach there and our grandson would be very happy!
Beloved prepares the price tags of the goods for the moving sale, O my precious desktop you leave me very soon and how I scribble hereafter?
Daughter in Australia provides the Air tickets
And daughter in Massachusetts gives us the lodging!
We haven't seen her for five years
And worried about the eldest too.
'Life is a journey'; I explained to my beloved and she cried.
I watched her red eyes; 'We finish the journey together' that murmurs?

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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