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Hitting is timing. Pitching is upsetting timing.

quote by Warren Spahn
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mr. Brown

[Bob Marley]
(Ooh - ooh - ooh - ooh)
(It's Mr Brown) Mr Brown is a clown who rides to town in a coffin.
(Well, here he comes) In the top is ... three rows on top and two inside there.
Oh, what a confusion! Ooh, yeah, yeah!
What a botheration! Ooh, now, now!
Who is Mr Brown? I wanna know now!
He is nowhere to be found.
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville, coffin runnin' around,
Upsetting, upsetting, upsetting the town,
Asking for Mr Brown.
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville, coffin runnin' around,
upsetting, upsetting, upsetting the town,
Asking for Mr Brown.
I wanna know who (is Mr Brown)?
Is Mr Brown controlled by remote?
O-o-oh, calling duppy conqueror,
I'm the ghost-catcher!
This is your chance, oh big, big Bill bull-bucka,
Take your chance! Prove yourself! Oh, yeah!
Down in parade
People runnin like a masquerade.
The police make a raid,
But the people - oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah - they think it
fade.
What a thing in town
Crows chauffeur-driven around,
Skankin' as if they had never known
The man they call "Mr Brown".
I can tell you where he's from now:
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville, coffin runnin' around,
Upsetting, upsetting, upsetting the town,
Asking for Mr Brown.
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville -
/fadeout/

song performed by Bob Marley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hard Times And Misery

(Marty Stuart)
Another day on Highway 41
It's a long black snake that runs to the sun
My mama told me since the day I was born
Son, down in the southland is where you belong
So, I'm pitching nickels, pitching dimes
Talking trash and drinkin' wine
It's just another day in the life of me
Hard times and misery
I got a mansion looks like a shotgun shack
I draw my money from a cotton sack
But I finally found one thing that's free
That's been hard times and misery
So, I'm pitching nickels, pitching dimes
Talking trash and drinkin' wine
It's just another day in the life of me
Hard times and misery
Watermelon's are hanging on the vine
Thirty some odd years of wasted time
When I wake up, Lord, that's all I see
It's hard times and misery
But there's a train that runs through this town
Every evening when the sun goes down
Tomorrow night at 8:03
No more hard times and misery
So, I'm pitching nickels, pitching dimes
Talking trash and drinkin' wine
It's just another day in the life of me
Hard times and misery

song performed by Travis Tritt
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Good-hearted Woman

(waylon jennings, willie nelson)
A long time forgotten
Dreams that just fell by the way.
The good life he promised,
It aint what shes living today.
Shes never complaining
Of the bad times and the bad things hes done.
Lord, she just talks about the good times theyve had
And the good times to come.
Shes a good-hearted woman
In love with a good-timing man.
She loves him in spite of his ways
That she dont understand.
Through teardrops and laughter
Theyll pass through this world hand in hand
A good-timing woman
In love with a good-hearted man.
He likes the bright lights and night life
And good-timing friends.
When the partys all over
Shell welcome him back home again.
Kinky!
Lord knows she dont understand him
She does the best that she can,
This good-hearted woman
Loving a good-timing man.
Kinky, aw!
Shes a good-hearted woman
In love with a good-timing man,
She loves me in spite of my wicked ways
She dont understand.
Through teardrops and laughter
Well pass through this world hand in hand,
A good-timing woman
In love with a good-hearted man.
Shes a good-timing woman
In love with a good-hearted man.
She loves me in spite of my donald duck ways
She dont understand.
(one more time!)
Through teardrops and laughter
Well pass through this world hand in hand
Kinky!
A good-timing woman
In love with a good-hearted man.
Ah-ooh!
A good-timing woman
In love with a good-hearted man.
Ah-ooh!
One, two, three

song performed by Kinky Friedman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Two Timer

She thinks shes high fashion
She thinks she looks divine
And thats what I keep tellin her
I tell her all the time
And she tells me she likes fast cars
She says she likes mine the best
And just because of that, baby
You think shed forget the rest, no, no, no
Just call me a three time loser
Thats all Ill ever be
cause my babys such a two timer
You know shes two timing, shes a-two timing me
Two timer, my baby is a two timer
My babys a two timer
My babys a two timer
My baby, shes a-two timing me, timer
Two timer
Just call me a three time loser
Thats all Ill ever be
cause my babys such a two timer
You know shes two timing, shes a-two timing me
Two timer, two timer
My babys a two timer
My babys a two timer
My baby, shes a-two timing me, two timer
My baby is a two timer
Shes nothin but a two timer
Its the truth baby, youre a two timer
My baby is a two timer
My baby is a two timer

song performed by Kiss
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Veterinary Camps

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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Riding With Cats Eyes Nine Lives

riding with cats eyes nine lives
riding in dark or moonlight
riding in cloud shadow or rain
riding with a lucky stars roll
riding at speed in night magic

hitting judder bars in darkness
hitting judder bars hard fast
hitting judder bars all alone
hitting judder bars straight on
hitting judder bars at speed

is heightened airborne rush
is riding racing death in night
is riding in night fed wonder
is heightened seconds flying
is ready road rocket launch pad

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Twin State

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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On the other side of the Lomba river

There are flashes hitting in the distance,
bad weather hanging on the other side of the Lomba river
with tanks standing ablaze

nothing can stop the war clouds
(while the shots of enemy tanks resound)
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death

and Fapla, Cubans and Russians perish
and we also receive deadly shots.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,

where we teach them a final lesson in Africa
when the enemy appear
but olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars are stuck in a landmine field

and howitzer canons fire
at the beginning of the slaughter
with tanks standing ablaze

and there are olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars disappearing in the bush
with rockets raining down
when the enemy appear

which rip enemy weaponry into pieces
and division after division comes under restraint.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,

and the canons of howitzers, tanks and armoured cars fire continuously
while the smell of death is everywhere
with rockets raining down

with few enemy being still alive,
with some leaving intact tanks, fleeing to survive
with tanks standing ablaze

and I am conscious of the inhumanity
and feelings of powerlessness
while the smell of death is everywhere

and the slaughter goes on and on
and human life isn’t important.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
with tanks standing ablaze

and whatever you do or mean
nothing can stop the war clouds
and feelings of powerlessness
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Long Journey Ahead

Blinking at the bright light, I thought
“I’m all set for a long trip! I must!
Through many unfamiliar routs”

“I might have done it before! But
I lost my past at my last horizon
Which I left by accepting a covenant
Of oblivion, before reaching this zone”

Ending my musings, I gazed forward
To find two pairs of cool eyes looking into mine
From two masked persons with Steel blades
Bleeding in their hands! What a bad reception? !
Shocked, I remained in timid quietude

Then came an unexpected knock on my back
Someone has started hitting me, first with some heed
Then started speeding up, with sounds like
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud
I wanted to say, “Hey! Stop it! You freak!
My mumbled lips produced no sound

The hitting continued; with brisk strokes
This time on my belly as well
I felt vulnerable and weak
I wanted to weep; get out of this hell
I tried once again; this time with a crack
With full force I expelled, a shrilling yell

Now the hitting’ as slowed down to a somewhat
Systematic patting; to a more measured rhythm
Heartened; I shrieked again; with full throat
Louder and louder, hysterical, up to the acme
The hitting did cease, all abrupt

After a minute of silence I heard
My captors shouting with delight
“The baby has cried! The baby has cried! !

poem by Sathya Narayana
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The Clansman

(harris)
Wake alone in the hills
With the wind in your face
It feels good to be proud
And be free and a race
That is part of a clan
And to live on highlands
And the air that you breathe
So pure and so clean
When alone on the hills
With the wind in your hair
With a longing to feel ..
Just to be free
Is it right to believe
In the need to be free
Its a time when you die
And without asking why
Cant you see what they do
They are grinding us down
They are taking our land
That belongs to the clans
Not alone with a dream
Just want to be free
With a need to belong
I am a clansman .....freedom
Its a time wrought with fear
Its a land wrought with change
Ancestors could hear
What is happening now
They would turn in their graves
They would all be ashamed
That the land of the free
Has been written in chains
And I know what I want
When the timing is right
Then Ill take what is mine
I am the clansman
And I swear to defend
And well fight to the end
And I swear that Ill never
Be taken alive
And I know that well stand
And well fight for our land
And I swear that my bairns will be born free
And I know what I want
When the timing is right
Then Ill take what I want
I am the clansman .....freedom
And I know what I want when the timing is right
Then Ill take what is mine I am the clansman

[...] Read more

song performed by Iron Maiden
Added by Lucian Velea
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You know, my hair is very upsetting to people, but it's upsetting on purpose. It is important to look old so that the young will not be afraid of dying. People don't like old women. We don't honor age in our society, and we certainly don't honor it in Hollywood.

quote by Tyne Daly
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Soul Of Sin

The sorrowful soul collects dirt that drives us down in sin,
Inner workings of the organ that collapses are huge;
This mishmash of thoughts and sentiments is immense,
Offering us no explanation, no controversy but nature.
To highlight one opinion carries the harm of upsetting,
And if upsetting is absurd then let torture be not.
For the mind works so hard in its quest to fineness,
Total disregard for it relies on willpower and ardour.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Impact

It hits!
No one knows,
How to deal with it.
An upsetting impact strikes.
And the suddenness of this,
Finds many unprepared.
It does not fit.
There is no choice,
To accept or resist.
It hits!
Unexpectedly.
And no one knows,
How it was imposed.
An upsetting impact strikes.
And the suddenness of this,
Finds many unprepared.
It does not fit.
There is no choice,
To accept or resist.
This impact scatters a consciousness.
Storming mentalities and doing it quick.
And this no one believes.
All exits are closed.
With eyes opened wide...
Leaving those feeling exposed.
There is no where to flee.
Some receive this as a gift.
But what are they going to do with it?
It hits!
But how can it be described?
When the impact attacks from inside.
It hits.
An evolution stirs a higher consciousness.
An impact comes...
To split and lift!
As if assisted by a divine shift!
Without debates or mandates to pick.
It hits.
And we are in the midst of it!
Beset...
Or bothered not!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Upsetting 'and' Appalling

Expressing shock and dismay,
Over embarrassing conduct exposed...
By collegiate athletes.
Quickly removing their cleats...
To have discreet sex,
With paid prostitutes.
Has reduced them and their precious images,
From their gladiator pedestals.

And to think such high standards,
Executed by a marketing done...
Of a decadence anyone can get,
On their TV sets.
And freely obtained over the internet.
Or purchased on any street easily,
Is...
At best,
Upsetting 'and' appalling.

How and why can any of this,
Be solicited to corrupt the innocence...
Of our respecting and disciplined children?

How and why can any of this,
Slip by unnoticed...
As the doting concerns,
Of protective and value conscious parents...
Monitor with interest,
The future of their kids?

Upsetting 'and' appalling as this is,
There is definitely a conspiracy...
To undermine and smudge with a smearing,
Those high and lofty standards...
Embraced by those envious and jealous,
Of a quality of life all who uphold these truths...
To be self evident,
With such a sustaining willpower...
Is difficult for anyone to fathom.

Shocking has been the revelation,
Of such disturbing and jaw dropping news.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I think we match up with anybody because our pitching. In a short series you run your big three out there or four out there. That generally is what wins a series - pitching and defense. If we can catch the ball and not give away any runs like we do sometimes.

quote by Dusty Baker
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Baseball is all about pitching, and we know we have to improve our pitching.

quote by Tom Hicks
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Baby Tortoise

You know what it is to be born alone,
Baby tortoise!
The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell,
Not yet awake,
And remain lapsed on earth,
Not quite alive.

A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean.

To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would never open,

Like some iron door;
To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower base
And reach your skinny little neck
And take your first bite at some dim bit of herbage,
Alone, small insect,
Tiny bright-eye,
Slow one.

To take your first solitary bite
And move on your slow, solitary hunt.
Your bright, dark little eye,
Your eye of a dark disturbed night,
Under its slow lid, tiny baby tortoise,
So indomitable.
No one ever heard you complain.

You draw your head forward, slowly, from your little wimple

And set forward, slow-dragging, on your four-pinned toes, Rowing slowly forward.
Whither away, small bird?
Rather like a baby working its limbs,
Except that you make slow, ageless progress
And a baby makes none.

The touch of sun excites you,
And the long ages, and the lingering chill
Make you pause to yawn,
Opening your impervious mouth,
Suddenly beak-shaped, and very wide, like some suddenly gaping pincers;
Soft red tongue, and hard thin gums,
Then close the wedge of your little mountain front,
Your face, baby tortoise.

Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn your head in its wimple
And look with laconic, black eyes?
Or is sleep coming over you again,
The non-life?

You are so hard to wake.

[...] Read more

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Faded Photographs

Some pictures hang upon my wall
Of baseball players from the past-
Gionfriddo’s catch of DiMaggio’s ball-
Lou Gehrig standing at the mike-
Babe Ruth pitching in the Bronx-
And the one place that links them all.

They happened at the lumberyard
The place on River Avenue
The place where Bombers came to play
Now sad, diminished, and by Fall-
a victim of the wrecking ball.

One other theme is intertwined
Within the pictures on my wall
Each enshrines the final time
These men enjoyed a curtain call..

Babe was pitching his last time
The season ender (33’)
He never pitched another game
A complete game shutout
Against the Sox.

Gehrig speaking at the mike
A hot July 4th holiday
At home plate for the final time
He stood on the unaccustomed side

Gionfriddo’s speed won the game
By making his miraculous catch
But next day he sat on the bench
And never played a game again

How bittersweet these moments are
for a scrub or a superstar
To know, at last, you’ve reached the end
To still have done the best you can.

Their time has passed, these men have died
And now their park has seen its day
I’ve only photographs to show

[...] Read more

poem by John F. McCullagh
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If You Handled Your Business

Come on and handle it quick.
Your business.
Handle it quick and then split.
Your business.
Tired am I of your lip.
It's twisted.
And I deserve none of it.
It's real sick.

'Cause you're too busy pitching what's imagined,
But,
Does no exist.
It's unrealistic and I feel ballistic.

Come on and handle it quick.
Your business.
Handle it quick and then split.
Your business.
Tired am I of your lip.
It's twisted.
And I deserve none of it.
It's real sick.
It's unrealistic and I feel ballistic.

And if you handled your business,
The air between us would not stay thick!

Come on and handle it quick.
Your business.
Handle it quick and then split.
Your business.
'Cause...
You're too busy pitching what's imagined,
But...
Does no exist.
It's unrealistic.
I feel ballistic.

And if you handled your business,
The air between us would not stay thick!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No One Here Has Been Invited To Do The Boogey

With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
Reminisces up my ancestors.
With a reminiscing up their lives...
And what it takes,
For me to stay...
As I am this day today.
Is a reason why I pride my dignity.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!

That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!

No time to do a hi-dee-hey!
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay,
To be buzzed around...
From midnight until dawn!

No...
No time to do a hi-dee-hey.
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay...
To whisper gossip,
With a nonstop to dropp it.
Like if I cropped it.
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!

With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
No!
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
Like if I cropped it,
With a nonstopping to it?
No!

That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!

That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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