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I'm not really a Jew; just Jew-ish, not the whole hog.

quote by Jonathan Miller
Added by Lucian Velea
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Yaw, Dot Ish So!

Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
"Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show."

I shmokes mine pipe,
I trinks mine bier,

Und efry day to vork I go;
"Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show;"
"Yaw, dot ish so !

Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
I don'd got mooch down here below,

I eadt and trink,
I vork und shleep,

Und find oudt, as I oldter grow,
I haf a hardter row to hoe;

Yaw, dot ish so!

Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
Dis vorldt don'd gife me haf a show;

Somedings to vear,
Some food to eadt;

Vot else ? Shust vait a minude, dough;
Katriua, und der poys! Oho!

Yaw, dot ish so!

Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
Dis vorldt don'd been a fleeting show.

I haf mine frau,
I haf mine poys,

To cheer me daily, as I go;
Dot's pest as anydings I know;

Yaw, dot ish so!

poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Spooniad

[The late Mr. Jonathan Swift Somers, laureate of Spoon River, planned The Spooniad as an epic in twenty-four books, but unfortunately did not live to complete even the first book. The fragment was found among his papers by William Marion Reedy and was for the first time published in Reedy's Mirror of December 18th, 1914.]

Of John Cabanis' wrath and of the strife
Of hostile parties, and his dire defeat
Who led the common people in the cause
Of freedom for Spoon River, and the fall
Of Rhodes' bank that brought unnumbered woes
And loss to many, with engendered hate
That flamed into the torch in Anarch hands
To burn the court-house, on whose blackened wreck
A fairer temple rose and Progress stood --
Sing, muse, that lit the Chian's face with smiles,
Who saw the ant-like Greeks and Trojans crawl
About Scamander, over walls, pursued
Or else pursuing, and the funeral pyres
And sacred hecatombs, and first because
Of Helen who with Paris fled to Troy
As soul-mate; and the wrath of Peleus' son,
Decreed to lose Chryseis, lovely spoil
Of war, and dearest concubine.
Say first,
Thou son of night, called Momus, from whose eyes
No secret hides, and Thalia, smiling one,
What bred 'twixt Thomas Rhodes and John Cabanis
The deadly strife? His daughter Flossie, she,
Returning from her wandering with a troop
Of strolling players, walked the village streets,
Her bracelets tinkling and with sparkling rings
And words of serpent wisdom and a smile
Of cunning in her eyes. Then Thomas Rhodes,
Who ruled the church and ruled the bank as well,
Made known his disapproval of the maid;
And all Spoon River whispered and the eyes
Of all the church frowned on her, till she knew
They feared her and condemned.
But them to flout
She gave a dance to viols and to flutes,
Brought from Peoria, and many youths,
But lately made regenerate through the prayers
Of zealous preachers and of earnest souls,
Danced merrily, and sought her in the dance,
Who wore a dress so low of neck that eyes
Down straying might survey the snowy swale
Till it was lost in whiteness.
With the dance
The village changed to merriment from gloom.
The milliner, Mrs. Williams, could not fill
Her orders for new hats, and every seamstress
Plied busy needles making gowns; old trunks

[...] Read more

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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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

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Harris Barham
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Lovin

Lovin u
Ish easy cuz ure beautiful
And makin luv wit u
Ish all I wanna do
Lovin u
Ish more than juss a dream come tru
And eberything that I do
Ish out of lovin u
Lalalalala...
Lalalalala...
Lalalalala...
Lalala~lalala...
Do-don-do-don-do-do
Aaahh..
No1 else can make meeh feel
Tha colors that u bring
Stay wit meeh while we grow old
And we will live each day
In the spring time cuz
Lovin u
Has made mah lyfe so beautiful
And eberyday of mah lyfe
Ish filled wit lovin u
Lovin u
I see ur soul come shining thru
And ebery time that we.. ooh..
Im more in luv wit yooh
Lalalalala...
Lalalalala...
Lalalalala...
Lalala~lalala...
Do-don-do-don-do-do
Aaahh..
No1 else can make meeh feel
Tha colors that u bring
Stay wit meeh while we grow old
And we will live each day
In the spring time cuz
Lovin u
Ish easy cuz ure beautiful
And eberyday of mah lyfe
Ish filled wit lovin u
Lovin u
I see ur soul come shining thru
And eberytime that we.. ooh..
Im more in luv wit yooh
Lalalalala...
Lalalalala...
Lalalalala...
Lalala~lalala...

[...] Read more

song performed by One Voice
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Someone Elses Hog

(kenny chesney/david lowe)
Well I got a little girl and shes got a daddy
Whos got a lotta money and it makes me happy
To follow them around like a little whipped puppy dog
Well shes my honey but hes my sugar dad
This country boy aint doin too bad
Livin high on someone elses hog
Well, Im livin high on someone elses hog
I sit around all day like a twenty-four karat
Bump on a golden log
Well I traded that rusty ol gmc
Gotta long black cadillac limousine
Im a livin high on someone elses hog
Well this redneck boy from a blue-collar town
Has really moved up since he got tied down
I got a brand new life and I owe it to my daddy-in-law
Well he gave me a so-called executive position
Now I get up early every day and go fishin
Im a livin high on someone elses hog
Well, Im livin high on someone elses hog
I sit around all day like a twenty-four karat
Bump on a golden log
Well I traded that rusty ol gmc
Gotta long black cadillac limousine
Im a livin high on someone elses hog
Well, Im livin high on someone elses hog
I sit around all day like a twenty-four karat
Bump on a golden log
Well I traded that rusty ol gmc
Gotta long black cadillac limousine
Im a livin high on someone elses hog
Well I traded that rusty ol gmc
Gotta long black cadillac limousine
Im a livin high on someone elses hog

song performed by Kenny Chesney
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Breitmann In Paris

DER teufel's los in Bal Mabille,
Dere's hell-fire in de air,
De fiddlers can't blay noding else
Boot Orphee aux Enfers:
Vot makes de beoples howl mit shoy?
Da capo - Bravo! - bis!!
It's a Deutscher aus Amerika:
Hans Breitmann in Paris.

Dere's silber toughts vot might hafe peen,
Dere's golden deeds vot must:
Der Hans ish come to Frankenland
On one eternal bust.
Der same old rowdy Argonaut
Vot hoont de same oldt vleece,
A hafin all de foon dere ish-
Der Breitmann in Paris.

Mit a gal on eider shoulder
A holdin py his beard,
He tantz de Cancan, sacrament!
Dill all das Volk vas skeered.
Like a roarin hippopatamos,
Mit a kangarunic shoomp,
Dey feared he'd smash de Catacombs,
Each dime der Breitmann bump.

De pretty liddle cocodettes
Lofe efery dings ish new,
'D'ou vient il donc ce grand M'sieu?
O sacre nom de Dieu!'
In fain dey kicks deir veet on high,
And sky like vlyin geese,
Dey can not kick de hat afay
From Breitmann in Paris.

O vhere vas id der Breitmann life?
Oopon de Rond Point gay,
Vot shdreet lie shoost pehind his house?
La rue de Rabelais.
Aroundt de corner Harper's shtands
Vhere Yankee drinks dey mill,
Vhile shdraight ahet, agross de shdreet,
Der lies de Bal Mabille.

Id's all along de Elysees,
Id's oop de Boulevarce,
He's sampled all de weinshops,
Und he's vinked at efery garce.
Dou schveet plack-silken Gabrielle,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Godfrey Leland
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You Just Cant Stop It

Patrick simmons
Whos gonna make you feel just right
When that musics playin
You gotta kick out the doors and turn out the light
When that musics playin
When the thing cuts loose its out-a hand
You know you just cant stop it
Cant sit in your chair, you got to stand
You know you just cant stop it
We can make it, we can shake it in a little while
We can make it
Down to the corner where the nights goin hog wild
We can make it, we can shake it in a little while
We can make it
Down to the corner where the nights goin hog wild
Whole damn place keeps blowin higher, yeah
Guitar man sets the strings on fire
Hey, now its bout time to set things straight
You know you just cant stop it
So now its time to advocate
You know you just cant stop it
We can make it, we can shake it in a little while
We can make it
Down to the corner where the nights goin hog wild
We can make it, we can shake it in a little while
We can make it
Down to the corner where the nights goin hog wild
Whos gonna make you feel just right
When that musics playin
You gotta kick out the doors and turn out the light
When that musics playin
When the thing cuts loose its out-a hand
You know you just cant stop it
Cant sit in your chair, you got to stand
You know you just cant stop it
We can make it, we can shake it in a little while
We can make it
Down to the corner where the nights goin hog wild
We can make it, we can shake it in a little while
We can make it
Down to the corner where the nights goin hog wild

song performed by Doobie Brothers
Added by Lucian Velea
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Filippo Baldinucci on the Privilege of Burial

"No, boy, we must not"—so began
My Uncle (he's with God long since),
A-petting me, the good old man!
"We must not"—and he seemed to wince,
And lost that laugh whereto had grown
His chuckle at my piece of news,
How cleverly I aimed my stone—
"I fear we must not pelt the Jews!

"When I was young indeed,—ah, faith
Was young and strong in Florence too!
We Christians never dreamed of scathe
Because we cursed or kicked the crew.
But now, well, well! The olive-crops
Weighed double then, and Arno's pranks
Would always spare religious shops
Whenever he o'erflowed his banks!

"I'll tell you"—and his eye regained
Its twinkle—"tell you something choice!
Something may help you keep unstained
Your honest zeal to stop the voice
Of unbelief with stone-throw, spite
Of laws, which modern fools enact,
That we must suffer Jews in sight
Go wholly unmolested! Fact!

"There was, then, in my youth, and yet
Is, by our San Frediano, just
Below the Blessed Olivet,
A wayside ground wherein they thrust
Their dead,—these Jews,—the more our shame!
Except that, so they will but die,
Christians perchance incur no blame
In giving hogs a hoist to stye.

"There, anyhow, Jews stow away
Their dead; and,—such their insolence,—
Slink at odd times to sing and pray
As Christians do—all make-pretence!—
Which wickedness they perpetrate
Because they think no Christians see.
They reckoned here, at any rate,
Without their host: ha, ha, he, he!

"For, what should join their plot of ground
But a good Farmer's Christian field?
The Jews had hedged their corner round
With bramble-bush to keep concealed
Their doings: for the public road

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Pacchiarotto (1876)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Bishop and the Busman

It was a Bishop bold,
And London was his see,
He was short and stout and round about
And zealous as could be.

It also was a Jew,
Who drove a Putney 'bus -
For flesh of swine however fine
He did not care a cuss.

His name was HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON -
This 'bus-directing Jew.

The Bishop said, said he,
"I'll see what I can do
To Christianise and make you wise,
You poor benighted Jew."

So every blessed day
That 'bus he rode outside,
From Fulham town, both up and down,
And loudly thus he cried:

"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON -
This 'bus-directing Jew."

At first the 'busman smiled,
And rather liked the fun -
He merely smiled, that Hebrew child,
And said, "Eccentric one!"

And gay young dogs would wait
To see the 'bus go by
(These gay young dogs, in striking togs),
To hear the Bishop cry:

"Observe his grisly beard,
His race it clearly shows,
He sticks no fork in ham or pork -
Observe, my friends, his nose.

"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON -
This 'bus-directing Jew."

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Raschi In Prague

Raschi of Troyes, the Moon of Israel,
The authoritative Talmudist, returned
From his wide wanderings under many skies,
To all the synagogues of the Orient,
Through Spain and Italy, the isles of Greece,
Beautiful, dolorous, sacred Palestine,
Dead, obelisked Egypt, floral, musk-breathed Persia,
Laughing with bloom, across the Caucasus,
The interminable sameness of bare steppes,
Through dark luxuriance of Bohemian woods,
And issuing on the broad, bright Moldau vale,
Entered the gates of Prague. Here, too, his fame,
Being winged, preceded him. His people swarmed
Like bees to gather the rich honey-dew
Of learning from his lips. Amazement filled
All eyes beholding him. No hoary sage,
He who had sat in Egypt at the feet
Of Moses ben-Maimuni, called him friend;
Raschi the scholiast, poet, and physician,
Who bore the ponderous Bible's storied wisdom,
The Mischna's tangled lore at tip of tongue,
Light as a garland on a lance, appeared
In the just-ripened glory of a man.
From his clear eye youth flamed magnificent;
Force, masked by grace, moved in his balanced frame;
An intellectual, virile beauty reigned
Dominant on domed brow, on fine, firm lips,
An eagle profile cut in gilded bronze,
Strong, delicate as a head upon a coin,
While, as an aureole crowns a burning lamp,
Above all beauty of the body and brain
Shone beauty of a soul benign with love.
Even as a tawny flock of huddled sheep,
Grazing each other's heels, urged by one will,
With bleat and baa following the wether's lead,
Or the wise shepherd, so o'er the Moldau bridge
Trotted the throng of yellow-caftaned Jews,
Chattering, hustling, shuffling. At their head
Marched Rabbi Jochanan ben-Eleazar,
High priest in Prague, oldest and most revered,
To greet the star of Israel. As a father
Yearns toward his son, so toward the noble Raschi
Leapt at first sight the patriarch's fresh old heart.
'My home be thine in Prague! Be thou my son,
Who have no offspring save one simple girl.
See, glorious youth, who dost renew the days
Of David and of Samuel, early graced
With God's anointing oil, how Israel
Delights to honor who hath honored him.'
Then Raschi, though he felt a ball of fire

[...] Read more

poem by Emma Lazarus
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The Thong Song

This thing right here
Is lettin all the ladies know
What guys talk about
You know
The finer things in life
Hahaha
Check it out
Ooh dat dress so scandalous
And ya know another nigga couldnt handle it
See ya shakin that thang like whos da ish
With a look in ya eye so devilish
Uh
Ya like to dance at all the hip hop spots
And ya cruise to the crews like connect da dots
Not just urban she likes the pop
Cuz she was livin la vida loca
Bridge
She had dumps like a truck truck truck
Thighs like what what what
Baby move your butt butt butt
Uh
I think to sing it again
She had dumps like a truck truck truck
Thighs like what what what
All night long
Let me see that thong
Chorus
I like it when the beat goes da na da na
Baby make your booty go da na da na
Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That thong th thong thong thong
I like it when the beat goes da na da na
Baby make your booty go da na da na
Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That thong th thong thong thong
That girl so scandalous
And I know another nigga couldnt handle it
And she shakin that thang like whos da ish
With a look in her eye so devilish
Uh
She like to dance at all the hip hop spots
And she cruise to the crews like connect da dots
Not just urban she likes the pop
Cuz she was livin la vida loca
Bridge
Chorus (2x)
Whoaaa
That dress so scandalous
And I swear another nigga couldnt handle it
See ya shakin that thang like whos da ish

[...] Read more

song performed by Craig David
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Sir Gilbert

As Sullivan's musical catalyst
Sir Gilbert, the lyrical satirist
Wrote words so amazing
His most clever phrasing
Was crammed with many a patter-twist

His uplifting view of the masses
Spoofed society's uppity classes
He created a fool-bah
In haughty old Pooh Bah
Who's foolishness, no one surpasses

At dispensing justice, The Mikado was an oficionado
He played this role with grandiose bravado
'His object so sublime
Fit punishment to crime'
Did this all-mighty Emperor, The Mikado

Their Comic Operas, not at all bore-ish
Their word-gems so Pinafore-ish
'Trial By Jury's' a laugher
'The Penzeance' a gaffer
They wrote nothing at all amateur-ish

'Let's give three cheers, I'll lead the way'
For Sir Gilbert's comical lyric buffet
For all his buffoonery
To Sullivan's tune-ery
'Hurrah Hurrah Hooray, Hurrah Hurrah Hooray'

poem by Stanley Cooper
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Im A Hog For You Baby

Im a hog for you baby, cant get enough of your love
Im a hog for you baby, cant get enough of your love
When I go to sleep at night thats the only thing Im thinking of
One little piggie ate a pizza (yeah)
One piggie ate potato chips (yeah)
But heres a little piggie comin over your house
Gonna grab a love of your sweet lips
cause Im a hog for you baby, cant get enough of your love
When I go to sleep at night thats the only thing Im thinking of
Yeah!
One little piggie went to london (yeah)
One piggie went to hongkong ([? ])
This little piggies comin over your house
Gonna love ya all night long
cause Im a hog for you baby, cant get enough of your love
When I go to sleep at night thats the only thing Im thinking of
When I go to sleep at night thats the only thing Im thinking of

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ants On A Log

Ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But not gettin anywhere
Our steerin wheels
Just aint connected
And we cant jump off like flees on a dog
Cant fly away like flies on a hog
Were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
I got an uncle
He plays a game
He cant win it
Hes got a mold
Tries to fit everybody else in it
Whens he gonna learn hes bangin his head on the wall?
He aint gonna change
And he looks at me strange
When I tell him that I think were all
Just ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But not gettin anywhere
Our steerin wheels
Just aint connected
And we cant jump off like flees on a dog
Cant fly away like flies on a hog
Were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
We all know people
Who yell at the cars and the traffic
Folks in a hurry
Lifes full of heartache and havok
I finally learned how to lay back and let life happen
I just image the angels up in heaven
Lookin down at us and laughin
At ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But not gettin anywhere
Our steerin wheels
Just aint connected
And we cant jump off like flees on a dog
Cant fly away like flies on a hog
Were really just along for the ride like ants on a log
And just about the time you think youre rollin in clover
Along comes a rabbit
And the world tips over
Ants on a log
Floatin down a river
Runnin around
But never gettin anywhere

[...] Read more

song performed by Randy Travis
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Sir Hugh; Or The Jew's Daughter

Four-and-twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba,
And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,
And he playd o'er them a'.

He kickd the ba with his right foot
And catchd it wi his knee,
And throuch-and-thro the Jew's window
He gard the bonny ba flee.

He's doen him to the Jew's castell
And walkd it round about;
And there he saw the Jew's daughter,
At the window looking out.

'Throw down the ba, ye Jew's daughter,
Throw down the ba to me!'
'Never a bit,' says the Jew's daughter,
'Till up to me come ye.'

'How will I come up? How can I come up?
How can I come to thee?
For as ye did to my auld father,
The same ye'll do to me.'

She's gane till her father's garden,
And pu'd an apple red and green;
'Twas a' to wyle him sweet Sir Hugh,
And to entice him in.

She's led him in through ae dark door,
And sae has she thro nine;
She's laid him on a dressing-table,
And stickit him like a swine.

And first came out the thick, thick blood,
And syne came out the thin;
And syne came out the bonny heart's blood;
There was nae mair within.

She's rowd him in a cake o lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep;
She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' the bairns came hame,
When every lady gat hame her son,
The Lady Maisry gat nane.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Lang
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Visits to St Elizabeths

This is the house of Bedlam.

This is the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a wristwatch
telling the time
of the talkative man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the honored man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the roadstead all of board
reached by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the old, brave man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

These are the years and the walls of the ward,
the winds and clouds of the sea of board
sailed by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the cranky man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
beyond the sailor
winding his watch
that tells the time
of the cruel man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a world of books gone flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
of the batty sailor
that winds his watch

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Gernutus the Jew of Venice

The First Part

In Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie,
As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew,
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.

His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good
Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lieth in a whoard;
Which never can do any good,
Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurper,
He cannot sleep in rest,
For feare the thiefe will him pursue
To plucke him from his nest.

His hearte doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.

His wife must lend a shilling,
For every weeke a penny,
Yet bring a pledge that is double worth,
If that you will have any.

And see, likewise, you keepe your day,
Or else you loose it all;
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow she did it call.

Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need,
Unto Gernutus came:

Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelve month and a day;

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Mammal

Standing in between extinction in the cold
And explosive radiating growth
So the warm blood flows
Through the large four-chambered heart
Maintaining the very high metabolism rate they have
Mammal, mammal
Their names are called
They raise a paw
The bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog
Koala bear and hog
One of us might lose his hair
But youre reminded that it once was there
From the embryonic whale to the monkey with no tail
So the warm blood flows
With the red blood cells lacking nuclei
Through the large four-chambered heart
Maintaining the very high metabolism rate they have
Mammal, mammal
Their names are called
They raise a paw
The bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog
Koala bear and hog
Placental the sister of her brother marsupial
Their cousin called monotreme
Dead uncle allotheria
Mammal, mammal
Their names are called
They raise a paw
The bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog
Koala bear and hog
The fox, the ox
Giraffe and shrew
Echidna, caribou

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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(Addiction Poem) Bad Habit

Burning crosses
Blowing up bridges
Taking out the stitches
Confinement
Locked up abroad
Slaughtering the filthy hog
Choking on the cities smog
Leaning on the rock

I'm jittery
I'm not so pretty
Things are getting ugly
Another fight
Break out tonight
Take flight

Burning crosses
Blowing up bridges
Taking out the stitches
Confinement
Locked up abroad
Slaughtering the filthy hog
Choking on the cities smog
Leaning on the rock

I'm fiending
I'm getting mean
Drunk and obliterated
No consultation
With such actions
No chance to make retractions
These are my statements
No way to prevent it
It will happen again
Flashbacks
Flash
Flash
One two three
Somebody stop me please

Burning crosses
Blowing up bridges
Taking out the stitches
Confinement
Locked up abroad
Slaughtering the filthy hog
Choking on the cities smog
Leaning on the rock

So broke

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Lob

At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travelling
In search of something chance would never bring,
An old man's face, by life and weather cut
And coloured, - rough, brown, sweet as any nut,
A land face, sea-blue-eyed, - hung in my mind
When I had left him many a mile behind.
All he said was: 'Nobody can't stop 'ee. It's
A footpath, right enough. You see those bits
Of mounds - that's where they opened up the barrows
Sixty years since, while I was scaring sparrows.
They thought as there was something to find there,
But couldn't find it, by digging, anywhere.'

To turn back then and seek him, where was the use?
There were three Manningfords, - Abbots, Bohun, and Bruce:
And whether Alton, not Manningford, it was,
My memory could not decide, because
There was both Alton Barnes and Alton Priors.
All had their churches, graveyards, farms, and byres,
Lurking to one side up the paths and lanes,
Seldom well seen except by aeroplanes;
And when bells rang, or pigs squealed, or cocks crowed,
Then only heard. Ages ago the road
Approached. The people stood and looked and turned.
Nor asked it to come nearer, nor yet learned
To move out there and dwell in all men's dust.
And yet withal they shot the weathercock, just
Because 'twas he crowed out of tune, they said;
So now the copper weathercock is dead.
If they had reaped their dandelions and sold
Them fairly, they could have afforded gold.

Many years passed, and I went back again
Among those villages, and looked for men
Who might have known my ancient. He himself
Had long been dead or laid upon the shelf,
I thought. One man I asked about him roared
At my description: ' 'Tis old Bottlesford
He means, Bill.' But another said: 'Of course,
It was Jack Button up at the White Horse.
He's dead, sir, these three years.' This lasted till
A girl proposed Walker of Walker's Hill,
'Old Adam Walker. Adam's Point you'll see
Marked on the maps.'
'That was her roguery.'
The next man said. He was a squire's son
Who loved wild bird and beast, and dog and gun
For killing them. He had loved them from his birth,
One with another, as he loved the earth.
'The man may be like Button, or Walker, or

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poem by Edward Thomas
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