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There starts to be an overlap between you and the character.

quote by Stephen Collins
Added by Lucian Velea
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The New Life

Ive burned my bridges
And Im free at last
All my chains are
In the past
The new life starts here
(I was trying to get happy
I thought it was hard
Until I found that
In my own back yard
The new life starts here)
The day is wide open
The sky is blue
The world is a miracle
And so are you
The new life starts here
My papers arrived
Stamped and complete
All previous dispatches
Are obsolete
The new life starts here
I can see my way so clear
Rejoice for...
The new life starts here
Theres a war in the gulf
But it aint in my head
I just declared a state of
Peace instead
The new life starts here
(tempters and tricksters
Banging at my door
Im not fighting with them
Anymore
The new life starts here
/
Users, abusers,
Banging at my door
Im not fighting with them
Anymore
The new life starts here
Tempsters and tricksters
Wondering how
To seize my attention
They cannot touch me now
The new life starts here)
Generals, presidents
How do you do?
I can make it with or
Without you
The new life starts here
I can see my way so clear

[...] Read more

song performed by Waterboys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Nature

Weather constantly changes.
No character, only dynamic.
Dull and dreary,
Or bitter and cold,
Or bright and shiny.
This is mother nature.
She is of this world.
She dictates the mood.
She affects mine.

Emotions, constantly changing.
Personality has dynamic,
But lacks character.
It is constantly changing.
Bitter and resentful,
Frustrated and annoyed
Happy & joyous.
This is human nature.
It is of this world.
It dictates our mood.
It affects another.

Mother nature cannot be controlled.
For she is not ours.
Yet mother nature controls me,
Though I am not hers.
Together, we must exist.
We must accept each as we both are.
Though one affects the other.
Based on emotion, not character.

During the storm,
The sky is still the sky,
The ground, is still the ground
The sun is still the sun.
This is the character of mother nature.
The snow may cover the ground,
But the ground remains.
The clouds may cover the sun,
But the sun remains.
Character is always constant.

Nature affects character.
Character is patience, kindness,
Compassion, empathy, forgiving.
Plain and simple,
Our character is love.
Human nature covers human character,
Although it might not be seen,
It still remains.

[...] Read more

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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It Starts With A Kiss

It starts with a kiss,
That brings the world down,
A kiss,
That makes my body give in,

It starts with a kiss,
And your hands,
Slowly moving down my back,
And lifting me up to put my legs around you,

It starts with a kiss,
Our lips will do what they do,
My lips will part,
When yours do,

It starts with a kiss,
With my hands through your hair,
And with your hands on my waist,
Man this world seems to quake,

It starts with a kiss,
Man this is so fair,
Your lips feel so good,
On mine that just sit their,

It starts with a kiss,
That makes the whole room stop,
They see sparks fly,
And the room glow in a light so pure,

It starts with a kiss,
But when your lips leave mine,
My neck feels their company,
Then my body gives into you,

It starts with a kiss,
Your lips seem to know what to do,
Cause they are moving up and down my neck,
Once that ends they find my lips again,

It starts with a kiss,
And my body sub comes to you,
And once again,
The Kiss Is Where It All Begins! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

poem by Tin Mouse
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Berenice by edgar allan poe

MISERY is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multiform. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow, its hues are as various as the hues of that arch, -as distinct too, yet as intimately blended. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow! How is it that from beauty I have derived a type of unloveliness? -from the covenant of peace a simile of sorrow? But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.

My baptismal name is Egaeus; that of my family I will not mention. Yet there are no towers in the land more time-honored than my gloomy, gray, hereditary halls. Our line has been called a race of visionaries; and in many striking particulars -in the character of the family mansion -in the frescos of the chief saloon -in the tapestries of the dormitories -in the chiselling of some buttresses in the armory -but more especially in the gallery of antique paintings -in the fashion of the library chamber -and, lastly, in the very peculiar nature of the library's contents, there is more than sufficient evidence to warrant the belief.

The recollections of my earliest years are connected with that chamber, and with its volumes -of which latter I will say no more. Here died my mother. Herein was I born. But it is mere idleness to say that I had not lived before -that the soul has no previous existence. You deny it? -let us not argue the matter. Convinced myself, I seek not to convince. There is, however, a remembrance of aerial forms -of spiritual and meaning eyes -of sounds, musical yet sad -a remembrance which will not be excluded; a memory like a shadow, vague, variable, indefinite, unsteady; and like a shadow, too, in the impossibility of my getting rid of it while the sunlight of my reason shall exist.

In that chamber was I born. Thus awaking from the long night of what seemed, but was not, nonentity, at once into the very regions of fairy-land -into a palace of imagination -into the wild dominions of monastic thought and erudition -it is not singular that I gazed around me with a startled and ardent eye -that I loitered away my boyhood in books, and dissipated my youth in reverie; but it is singular that as years rolled away, and the noon of manhood found me still in the mansion of my fathers -it is wonderful what stagnation there fell upon the springs of my life -wonderful how total an inversion took place in the character of my commonest thought. The realities of the world affected me as visions, and as visions only, while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in turn, -not the material of my every-day existence-but in very deed that existence utterly and solely in itself.

Berenice and I were cousins, and we grew up together in my paternal halls. Yet differently we grew -I ill of health, and buried in gloom -she agile, graceful, and overflowing with energy; hers the ramble on the hill-side -mine the studies of the cloister -I living within my own heart, and addicted body and soul to the most intense and painful meditation -she roaming carelessly through life with no thought of the shadows in her path, or the silent flight of the raven-winged hours. Berenice! -I call upon her name -Berenice! -and from the gray ruins of memory a thousand tumultuous recollections are startled at the sound! Ah! vividly is her image before me now, as in the early days of her light-heartedness and joy! Oh! gorgeous yet fantastic beauty! Oh! sylph amid the shrubberies of Arnheim! -Oh! Naiad among its fountains! -and then -then all is mystery and terror, and a tale which should not be told. Disease -a fatal disease -fell like the simoom upon her frame, and, even while I gazed upon her, the spirit of change swept, over her, pervading her mind, her habits, and her character, and, in a manner the most subtle and terrible, disturbing even the identity of her person! Alas! the destroyer came and went, and the victim -where was she, I knew her not -or knew her no longer as Berenice.

Among the numerous train of maladies superinduced by that fatal and primary one which effected a revolution of so horrible a kind in the moral and physical being of my cousin, may be mentioned as the most distressing and obstinate in its nature, a species of epilepsy not unfrequently terminating in trance itself -trance very nearly resembling positive dissolution, and from which her manner of recovery was in most instances, startlingly abrupt. In the mean time my own disease -for I have been told that I should call it by no other appelation -my own disease, then, grew rapidly upon me, and assumed finally a monomaniac character of a novel and extraordinary form -hourly and momently gaining vigor -and at length obtaining over me the most incomprehensible ascendancy. This monomania, if I must so term it, consisted in a morbid irritability of those properties of the mind in metaphysical science termed the attentive. It is more than probable that I am not understood; but I fear, indeed, that it is in no manner possible to convey to the mind of the merely general reader, an adequate idea of that nervous intensity of interest with which, in my case, the powers of meditation (not to speak technically) busied and buried themselves, in the contemplation of even the most ordinary objects of the universe.

To muse for long unwearied hours with my attention riveted to some frivolous device on the margin, or in the topography of a book; to become absorbed for the better part of a summer's day, in a quaint shadow falling aslant upon the tapestry, or upon the door; to lose myself for an entire night in watching the steady flame of a lamp, or the embers of a fire; to dream away whole days over the perfume of a flower; to repeat monotonously some common word, until the sound, by dint of frequent repetition, ceased to convey any idea whatever to the mind; to lose all sense of motion or physical existence, by means of absolute bodily quiescence long and obstinately persevered in; -such were a few of the most common and least pernicious vagaries induced by a condition of the mental faculties, not, indeed, altogether unparalleled, but certainly bidding defiance to anything like analysis or explanation.

Yet let me not be misapprehended. -The undue, earnest, and morbid attention thus excited by objects in their own nature frivolous, must not be confounded in character with that ruminating propensity common to all mankind, and more especially indulged in by persons of ardent imagination. It was not even, as might be at first supposed, an extreme condition or exaggeration of such propensity, but primarily and essentially distinct and different. In the one instance, the dreamer, or enthusiast, being interested by an object usually not frivolous, imperceptibly loses sight of this object in a wilderness of deductions and suggestions issuing therefrom, until, at the conclusion of a day dream often replete with luxury, he finds the incitamentum or first cause of his musings entirely vanished and forgotten. In my case the primary object was invariably frivolous, although assuming, through the medium of my distempered vision, a refracted and unreal importance. Few deductions, if any, were made; and those few pertinaciously returning in upon the original object as a centre. The meditations were never pleasurable; and, at the termination of the reverie, the first cause, so far from being out of sight, had attained that supernaturally exaggerated interest which was the prevailing feature of the disease. In a word, the powers of mind more particularly exercised were, with me, as I have said before, the attentive, and are, with the day-dreamer, the speculative.

My books, at this epoch, if they did not actually serve to irritate the disorder, partook, it will be perceived, largely, in their imaginative and inconsequential nature, of the characteristic qualities of the disorder itself. I well remember, among others, the treatise of the noble Italian Coelius Secundus Curio 'de Amplitudine Beati Regni dei'; St. Austin's great work, the 'City of God'; and Tertullian 'de Carne Christi, ' in which the paradoxical sentence 'Mortuus est Dei filius; credible est quia ineptum est: et sepultus resurrexit; certum est quia impossibile est' occupied my undivided time, for many weeks of laborious and fruitless investigation.

Thus it will appear that, shaken from its balance only by trivial things, my reason bore resemblance to that ocean-crag spoken of by Ptolemy Hephestion, which steadily resisting the attacks of human violence, and the fiercer fury of the waters and the winds, trembled only to the touch of the flower called Asphodel. And although, to a careless thinker, it might appear a matter beyond doubt, that the alteration produced by her unhappy malady, in the moral condition of Berenice, would afford me many objects for the exercise of that intense and abnormal meditation whose nature I have been at some trouble in explaining, yet such was not in any degree the case. In the lucid intervals of my infirmity, her calamity, indeed, gave me pain, and, taking deeply to heart that total wreck of her fair and gentle life, I did not fall to ponder frequently and bitterly upon the wonder-working means by which so strange a revolution had been so suddenly brought to pass. But these reflections partook not of the idiosyncrasy of my disease, and were such as would have occurred, under similar circumstances, to the ordinary mass of mankind. True to its own character, my disorder revelled in the less important but more startling changes wrought in the physical frame of Berenice -in the singular and most appalling distortion of her personal identity.

During the brightest days of her unparalleled beauty, most surely I had never loved her. In the strange anomaly of my existence, feelings with me, had never been of the heart, and my passions always were of the mind. Through the gray of the early morning -among the trellised shadows of the forest at noonday -and in the silence of my library at night, she had flitted by my eyes, and I had seen her -not as the living and breathing Berenice, but as the Berenice of a dream -not as a being of the earth, earthy, but as the abstraction of such a being-not as a thing to admire, but to analyze -not as an object of love, but as the theme of the most abstruse although desultory speculation. And now -now I shuddered in her presence, and grew pale at her approach; yet bitterly lamenting her fallen and desolate condition, I called to mind that she had loved me long, and, in an evil moment, I spoke to her of marriage.

And at length the period of our nuptials was approaching, when, upon an afternoon in the winter of the year, -one of those unseasonably warm, calm, and misty days which are the nurse of the beautiful Halcyon*, -I sat, (and sat, as I thought, alone,) in the inner apartment of the library. But uplifting my eyes I saw that Berenice stood before me.

*For as Jove, during the winter season, gives twice seven days of warmth, men have called this clement and temperate time the nurse of the beautiful Halcyon -Simonides.

Was it my own excited imagination -or the misty influence of the atmosphere -or the uncertain twilight of the chamber -or the gray draperies which fell around her figure -that caused in it so vacillating and indistinct an outline? I could not tell. She spoke no word, I -not for worlds could I have uttered a syllable. An icy chill ran through my frame; a sense of insufferable anxiety oppressed me; a consuming curiosity pervaded my soul; and sinking back upon the chair, I remained for some time breathless and motionless, with my eyes riveted upon her person. Alas! its emaciation was excessive, and not one vestige of the former being, lurked in any single line of the contour. My burning glances at length fell upon the face.

The forehead was high, and very pale, and singularly placid; and the once jetty hair fell partially over it, and overshadowed the hollow temples with innumerable ringlets now of a vivid yellow, and Jarring discordantly, in their fantastic character, with the reigning melancholy of the countenance. The eyes were lifeless, and lustreless, and seemingly pupil-less, and I shrank involuntarily from their glassy stare to the contemplation of the thin and shrunken lips. They parted; and in a smile of peculiar meaning, the teeth of the changed Berenice disclosed themselves slowly to my view. Would to God that I had never beheld them, or that, having done so, I had died!

The shutting of a door disturbed me, and, looking up, I found that my cousin had departed from the chamber. But from the disordered chamber of my brain, had not, alas! departed, and would not be driven away, the white and ghastly spectrum of the teeth. Not a speck on their surface -not a shade on their enamel -not an indenture in their edges -but what that period of her smile had sufficed to brand in upon my memory. I saw them now even more unequivocally than I beheld them then. The teeth! -the teeth! -they were here, and there, and everywhere, and visibly and palpably before me; long, narrow, and excessively white, with the pale lips writhing about them, as in the very moment of their first terrible development. Then came the full fury of my monomania, and I struggled in vain against its strange and irresistible influence. In the multiplied objects of the external world I had no thoughts but for the teeth. For these I longed with a phrenzied desire. All other matters and all different interests became absorbed in their single contemplation. They -they alone were present to the mental eye, and they, in their sole individuality, became the essence of my mental life. I held them in every light. I turned them in every attitude. I surveyed their characteristics. I dwelt upon their peculiarities. I pondered upon their conformation. I mused upon the alteration in their nature. I shuddered as I assigned to them in imagination a sensitive and sentient power, and even when unassisted by the lips, a capability of moral expression. Of Mad'selle Salle it has been well said, 'que tous ses pas etaient des sentiments, ' and of Berenice I more seriously believed que toutes ses dents etaient des idees. Des idees! -ah here was the idiotic thought that destroyed me! Des idees! -ah therefore it was that I coveted them so madly! I felt that their possession could alone ever restore me to peace, in giving me back to reason.

And the evening closed in upon me thus-and then the darkness came, and tarried, and went -and the day again dawned -and the mists of a second night were now gathering around -and still I sat motionless in that solitary room; and still I sat buried in meditation, and still the phantasma of the teeth maintained its terrible ascendancy as, with the most vivid hideous distinctness, it floated about amid the changing lights and shadows of the chamber. At length there broke in upon my dreams a cry as of horror and dismay; and thereunto, after a pause, succeeded the sound of troubled voices, intermingled with many low moanings of sorrow, or of pain. I arose from my seat and, throwing open one of the doors of the library, saw standing out in the antechamber a servant maiden, all in tears, who told me that Berenice was -no more. She had been seized with epilepsy in the early morning, and now, at the closing in of the night, the grave was ready for its tenant, and all the preparations for the burial were completed.

I found myself sitting in the library, and again sitting there alone. It seemed that I had newly awakened from a confused and exciting dream. I knew that it was now midnight, and I was well aware that since the setting of the sun Berenice had been interred. But of that dreary period which intervened I had no positive -at least no definite comprehension. Yet its memory was replete with horror -horror more horrible from being vague, and terror more terrible from ambiguity. It was a fearful page in the record my existence, written all over with dim, and hideous, and unintelligible recollections. I strived to decypher them, but in vain; while ever and anon, like the spirit of a departed sound, the shrill and piercing shriek of a female voice seemed to be ringing in my ears. I had done a deed -what was it? I asked myself the question aloud, and the whispering echoes of the chamber answered me, 'what was it? '

On the table beside me burned a lamp, and near it lay a little box. It was of no remarkable character, and I had seen it frequently before, for it was the property of the family physician; but how came it there, upon my table, and why did I shudder in regarding it? These things were in no manner to be accounted for, and my eyes at length dropped to the open pages of a book, and to a sentence underscored therein. The words were the singular but simple ones of the poet Ebn Zaiat, 'Dicebant mihi sodales si sepulchrum amicae visitarem, curas meas aliquantulum fore levatas.' Why then, as I perused them, did the hairs of my head erect themselves on end, and the blood of my body become congealed within my veins?

There came a light tap at the library door, and pale as the tenant of a tomb, a menial entered upon tiptoe. His looks were wild with terror, and he spoke to me in a voice tremulous, husky, and very low. What said he? -some broken sentences I heard. He told of a wild cry disturbing the silence of the night -of the gathering together of the household-of a search in the direction of the sound; -and then his tones grew thrillingly distinct as he whispered me of a violated grave -of a disfigured body enshrouded, yet still breathing, still palpitating, still alive!

He pointed to garments; -they were muddy and clotted with gore. I spoke not, and he took me gently by the hand; -it was indented with the impress of human nails. He directed my attention to some object against the wall; -I looked at it for some minutes; -it was a spade. With a shriek I bounded to the table, and grasped the box that lay upon it. But I could not force it open; and in my tremor it slipped from my hands, and fell heavily, and burst into pieces; and from it, with a rattling sound, there rolled out some instruments of dental surgery, intermingled with thirty-two small, white and ivory-looking substances that were scattered to and fro about the floor.

poem by Erie Morganmaples
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Hyperactive

Shes got a date for lunch in Singapore,
Holds stock in I.B.M. and hates Dior.
She puts up her make-up on at 6.00am
She goes to work, gets home then puts it on again
And its a mystery how wild that girl can be;
Shes got so much energy;
Shes such an expert at surprising me.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
And shes so attracted to a wild romance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
she never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And Im persuaded by her argument.
Shes hyperactive.
The other dancers hypervantilate and start to sweat.
One look at her - I know the nights not over yet.
She says Where are we going now?
Her voice is sweet and soft.
I think she lost the key that turns her motor off.
And its a mystery how wild that girl can be;
Shes got so much energy;
Shes such an expert at surprising me.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
She never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And Im persuaded by her argument.
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
And shes so attracted to a wild romance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
And its a mystery how wild that girl can be;
Shes got do much energy;
Shes such an expert at suprising me.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
And shes so attracted to a wild romance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
she never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And Im persuaded by her argument.
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
She never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.
Shes hyperactive when she starts to dance.
She never missed a beat or missed a chance,
And more effective than a stimulant -
Shes hyperactive.

song performed by Robert Palmer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Do codons overlap? In other words, as we read along the genetic message do we find a base which is a member of two or more codons? It now seems fairly certain that codons do not overlap.

quote by Francis Crick
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The World Starts Tonight

(ronnie scott/steve wolfe)
Producers for bonnie: david mackay, ronnie scott, steve wolfe
Tonight Im gonna love you
Tonight Im gonna try
Tonight I will take my foot off that brake
Cause you made me grasp
What is over is past
And the world starts tonight
Oooh oooh oooh...the world starts tonight
Tonight Im gonna love you
Tonight I know Ill find
That the world still goes on
Just a part of its gone
Cause you made me grasp
What is over is past
And the world starts tonight
Oooh oooh oooh...the world starts tonight
Baby, oh baby, I made a mistake
I thought love was something, they no longer made
But since you have brought back, some love to my eyes
My doubting of people, no longer applies
Tonight I will take my foot off that brake
Cause you made me grasp
What is over is past
And the world starts tonight
Oooh oooh oooh...the world starts tonight
Oooh oooh oooh...the world starts tonight

song performed by Bonnie Tyler
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Jigsaw

(fish / marillion)
We are jigsaw pieces aligned on the perimeter edge
Interlocked through a missing piece
We are renaissance children becalmed beneath the bridge of sighs
Forever throwing firebrands at the stonework
We are siamese children related by the heart
Bleeding from the surgery of initial confrontation
Holding the word scalpels on trembling lips
Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye
Stand straight, weve drifted past the point of reasons why
Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today
And the problem always seems to be were picking up the pieces on the ricochet
This is the ricochet
Drowning tequila sunsets, stowaways on midnight ships
Refugees of romance plead asylum from the real
Scrambling distress signals on random frequencies
Forever repatriated on guilt laden morning planes
We are pilots of passion sweating the flight on course
To another summit conference, another breakfast time divorce
Screaming out a ceasefire, snowblind in an avalanche zone
Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye
Stand straight, weve drifted past the point of reasons why
Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today
And the problem always seems to be were picking up the pieces on the ricochet
This is the ricochet
Are we trigger happy?
Russian roulette in the waiting room
Empty chambers embracing the end
Puzzled visions haunt the ripples of a trevi moon
Dream coins for the fountain or to cover your eyes
We reached ignition point from the sparks of pleasantries
We sensed the smoke advancing from horizons
You must have known that I was planning an escape
Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye
Stand straight, weve drifted past the point of reasons why
Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today, starts today
And the problem always seems to be were picking up the pieces on the ricochet
This is the ricochet
Ill be seeing you again, on the ricochet
Will you show me the pieces next time, on the ricochet
Ill be seeing you again, on the ricochet
Theres a problem, theres a ricochet

song performed by Marillion
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An Injustice

God knows how much I love her
Though she has loose character!
God knows how much I want her
Though she has loose character!

God knows how much I need her
Though she has loose character!
I can’t even walk with her
Though she has loose character!

I can’t even talk to her
Though she has loose character!
I can’t even look at her
Though she has loose character!

poem by Asif Andalib
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Character

One should exert character,
For character exhibits your soul
And the soul has a murky appearance,
It decided to be mysterious
But not when you gain character.

The character is an infinity, a logic
For the soul to create, so it does.
My soul worked like yours,
Once it even behaved like a saint
Opening the life around, then virtues surround.

My character is to be a mathematical puzzle,
My character is grand, my grand puzzle.
I have been this achievement from that achievement.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Columbiad: Book VI

The Argument

British cruelty to American prisoners. Prison Ship. Retreat of Washington with the relics of his army, pursued by Howe. Washington recrossing the Delaware in the night, to surprise the British van, is opposed by uncommon obstacles. His success in this audacious enterprise lays the foundation of the American empire. A monument to be ere on the bank of the Delaware. Approach of Burgoyne, sailing up the St. Laurence with an army of Britons and various other nations. Indignant energy of the colonies, compared to that of Greece in opposing the invasion of Xerxes. Formation of an army of citizens, under the command of Gates. Review of the American and British armies, and of the savage tribes who join the British standard. Battle of Saratoga. Story of Lucinda. Second battle, and capture of Burgoyne and his army.

But of all tales that war's black annals hold,
The darkest, foulest still remains untold;
New modes of torture wait the shameful strife,
And Britain wantons in the waste of life.

Cold-blooded Cruelty, first fiend of hell,
Ah think no more with savage hordes to dwell;
Quit the Caribian tribes who eat their slain,
Fly that grim gang, the Inquisitors of Spain,
Boast not thy deeds in Moloch's shrines of old,
Leave Barbary's pirates to their blood-bought gold,
Let Holland steal her victims, force them o'er
To toils and death on Java's morbid shore;
Some cloak, some color all these crimes may plead;
Tis avarice, passion, blind religion's deed;
But Britons here, in this fraternal broil,
Grave, cool, deliberate in thy service toil.
Far from the nation's eye, whose nobler soul
Their wars would humanize, their pride control,
They lose the lessons that her laws impart,
And change the British for the brutal heart.
Fired by no passion, madden'd by no zeal,
No priest, no Plutus bids them not to feel;
Unpaid, gratuitous, on torture bent,
Their sport is death, their pastime to torment;
All other gods they scorn, but bow the knee,
And curb, well pleased, O Cruelty, to thee.

Come then, curst goddess, where thy votaries reign,
Inhale their incense from the land and main;
Come to Newyork, their conquering arms to greet,
Brood o'er their camp and breathe along their fleet;
The brother chiefs of Howe's illustrious name
Demand thy labors to complete their fame.
What shrieks of agony thy praises sound!
What grateless dungeons groan beneath the ground!
See the black Prison Ship's expanding womb
Impested thousands, quick and dead, entomb.
Barks after barks the captured seamen bear,
Transboard and lodge thy silent victims there;
A hundred scows, from all the neighboring shore,
Spread the dull sail and ply the constant oar,
Waft wrecks of armies from the well fought field,
And famisht garrisons who bravely yield;

[...] Read more

poem by Joel Barlow
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Heart

(tennant/lowe)
--------
(beat)
(h-h-heartbeat)
Every time I see you something happens to me
Like a chain reaction between you and me
My heart starts missing a beat
My heart starts missing a beat
Every time
Oh oh oh, every time
Oh oh oh, every time
If I didnt love you, I would look around for someone else
But every time I see you, you have the same effect
My heart starts missing a beat
My heart starts missing a beat
Every time
Oh oh oh, every time
Oh oh oh, every time
Every time
I hear your heart beat next to me
Im in love with you; I mean what I say
Im in love with you, and you dont know
What it means to be with you
(beat)
(beat)
(beat)
(h-h-heartbeat)
(beat)
(beat)
(beat)
(h-h-heartbeat)
Every time I see you, no matter what we do
Theres a strange reaction, can you feel it too?
My heart starts missing a beat
My heart starts missing a beat
Every time
Oh oh oh, every time
Oh oh oh, every time
I hear your heart beat next to me
Im in love with you; I mean what I say
Im in love with you, and you dont know
What it means to be with you
Oh oh oh, every time
Oh oh oh, every time
Oh oh oh, every time
Oh oh oh, every time
(beat)
(beat) every time
(beat)
(beat) every time

[...] Read more

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Na Tian Piet's Sha'er Of The Late Sultan Abu Bakar Of Johor

In the name of God, let his word begin:
Praise be to God, let praises clear ring;
May our Lord, Jesus Christ's[8] blessings
Guide my pen through these poetizings!

This sha'er is an entirely new composition
Composed by myself, no fear of imitation.
It's Allah's name, I will keep calling out
While creating this poem to avoid confusion.

This story I'm relating at the present moment
I copy not, nor is it by other hands wrought;
Nothing whatsoever is here laid out
That hereunder is not clearly put forth.

Not that I am able to create with much ease,
To all that's to come I'm yet not accustomed;
Why, this sha'er at this time is being composed
Only to console my heart which is heavily laden.

I'm a peranakan[9], of Chinese origin,
Hardly perfect in character and mind;
I find much that I can not comprehend,
I'm not a man given to much wisdom.

Na Tian Piet[10] is what I go by name
I have in the past composed stories and poems;
Even when explained to - most stupid I remain
The more I keep talking the less I understand.

I was born in times gone by
In the country known as Bencoolen[11];
Indeed, I am more than stupid:
Ashamed am I composing this lay.

Twenty-four years have gone by
Since I moved to the island of Singapore;
My wife and children accompanied me
To Singapore, a most lovely country.

I stayed in Riau[12] for some time
Together with my wife and children;
Two full years in Riau territory,
Back to Singapore my legs carried me.

At the time when Acheh[13] was waging war
I went there with goods to trade,
I managed to sell them at exhorbitant prices:
Great indeed were the profits I made.

[...] Read more

poem by T. Wignesan
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Good Character

I once sojourned in a land,
Seeking for solution to my bewildermernt.
The more I probed, the more I was confused.
Why do some fail where others succeed?
I called upon the deep to open my eyes
Suddenly, I found honour as the offspring
Of good character,
I also discorvered that success
Is embeded in good attitude
I then concluded that:
Good character is the torchlight to our paths
Good attitude is like a garment we wear daily
Through which people measure us
It is the mirror of our lives
I now know that good character
Is the backbone of success
Your father may have plenty
Like the Altilantic ocean
Your mother may have fleet of ships
You may have great inheritance
If you lacked good character
Your success will be like putrefied eggs
People will run away from
Like an isolated leper.
So, in all your ways
Be of good character

poem by Babatunde Aremu
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Character

There is a secret
no one talks about;
one that we have mystified
and camouflaged.

Simply put
it begins with
the Morning Test,

which is
no one but you
can get out of bed.

That you have to do
for your self.

Others may call;
alarms may ring;
but in the end
you have only you

to motivate
to get yourself
out of bed.

This is the secret.

While we gain comfort
with faith, and kin

the sad news is
that while
this offers succor;
no one can feel the pain
that's yours;

no one can die in your place
put on your face
be inside you
really, deeply understand you.

No one can love another but you;
there is no love that is proxy love.

We humans paper this over
we don't tell the children-
we obscure this;
whole societies take the premise
that we are not

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Every 6 Seconds

Every six seconds
Every six seconds
Baby I can't stop
My mind from slipping
Every six seconds or less
Preoccupation of the opposite sex
And you're the one I blame
For making me go crazy
I think of you in different ways
Fourteen thousand times a day

Victoria's Secret I've been keepin'
And its getting harder all the time
I can't keep it undercover
I need your soft lips kissing mine

Every six seconds
My body starts beggin
Your sweet thing is wreckin me
Until you give me some
Ten times a minute
Six hundred times an hour
Another cold shower
Until you give me some
(Until you give me some)

I picture you in red matte lipstick
Sponging all over me
Leaving a mark on my fantasy
Or swimming in water wearing nothing but moonlight
Both of us soaking wet (splash)
Half way to the towel is as far as we get

Victoria's Secret I've been keepin'
And its getting harder all the time
I can't keep it undercover
I need your soft lips kissing mine

Every six seconds
My body starts beggin
Your sweet thing is wreckin me
Until you give me some
Ten times a minute
Six hundred times an hour
Another cold shower
Until you give me some
(Until you give me some)

Every six seconds
My body starts beggin

[...] Read more

song performed by O-Town from O-Town
Added by Lucian Velea
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Old Habits Die Hard

(graham lyle / terry britten)
Its my decision
You look my way
With innocent expression
Just as if to say
It would be easy
The mood is right
Forget for just one moment
Who we are tonight
I start
To weaken the musics strong
My conscience speaks, I know its wrong
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday
Give it up
Thats the way it starts
Discover old habits die hard
Temptation makes a fool out of us all
I made my mind up
It had to end
So why this indecision?
When youre close again
Oh, the thoughts appealing
I cant deny
With those old memories stealing
Back across my mind
I thought by now that the flame had gone
I realise that Im still holding on
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday, no
Give it up
Thats the way it starts
Discover old habits die hard
Temptation makes a fool out of us all, ooh, ooh, ooh
Ill just keep holding on
Its easier said than done
(old habits die hard)
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday, no
Give it up
Thats the way it starts
Discover old habits die hard
Give it up
Remember what you said
This kind of loving doesnt happen everyday, no
Give it up
Thats the way it starts

[...] Read more

song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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8-3-1

The way I want you babe
Its embarrassing
I cant control myself
Its just too much for me
I cant concentrate
I dont know what to say
Except your name baby
The sweetest name
And when we kiss that kiss
Thats when it hits
With my heart and soul I say this
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
When you say my name
I begin to shake
I break out in a sweat
This is the best it gets
Theres nothing second rate
About this feeling babe
Its forever come what may
Its what I hope and pray yeah
And when we kiss that kiss
Thats when it hits
With my heart and soul I say this baby
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
Its understanding and its understood
And baby it sure feels good
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts
And when we kiss that kiss
Thats when it hits
With my heart and soul I say this baby
8 letters, 3 words, one meaning
In my heart
8 letters, 3 words, one feeling
When it starts

song performed by Lisa Stansfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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When I Love My Worlds Starts To Stagger

When I love my worlds starts to stagger,
when your depths enclose me shuddering
then I want to go deeper, do not want to escape,
when I love my worlds starts to stagger

when your depths enclose me shuddering
all other things suddenly want to fade,
when I suddenly dare to enter a new universe,
when your depths enclose me shuddering

all other things suddenly want to fade,
I do not worry about persons drowning,
if meteorites fall upon the earth,
all other things suddenly want to fade,

I do not worry about persons drowning,
when I love my worlds starts to stagger
I find myself in another outside world
I do not worry about persons drowning,

when I love my worlds starts to stagger
when your depths enclose me shuddering
then I want to go deeper, do not want to escape,
when I love my worlds starts to stagger.

poem by Gert Strydom
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