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His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.

quote by Robert Burns
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Avenue C

BY B. CLAYTON, J HENDRICKS AND D. LAMBERT
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Brass: N. Y. I dig
Reeds: What about it?
Brass: N. Y. is big
Reeds: People tout it
Brass: I flip my wig
Reeds: What about?
Brass: 'Bout a street I dig
Piano (Basie's solo): One day I was walkin' n'
Finally came upon a series of alphabet streets
A-B-C and D, but I went for "C"
The most of the hard-to-forget streets
It's really and truly the dilly of all m'pet streets
Tenor sax: Hey, hey, hey everybody now
Brass: Come go walkin' with me now
Walk up avenue C now
Chicks all lookin' so pretty
They don't give me no pity
Avenue C is the grooviest in the city
Tenor sax: I never dug an avenue so enjoyable to me
"C" Avenue is groovy
Yes it was groovy as it could be
Brass: Walk with me down Avenue C
Tenor sax: Man I really hope to say
Brass: Come on baby, while we ramble
Walk beside me while we ramble
Tenor sax: You dig it too I feel you do
What a scenic hike
It's a walk that you're bound to like
Brass: Y'got "B" on the one side
Reeds: "A"
Brass: "D" on the other
Reeds: "B"
Brass: "C" in the middle
Reeds: "C"
Brass and Reeds: Baby!
Trumpet: The reason that you're feelin' so down, babe
Is 'cause you live in Stuyvesant Town, babe
I dug you down in Hamilton Fish, babe
And realized that you were my dish, babe
Walkin' home and you can walk with me
Walkin' hand in hand up Avenue C, Oh babe
And while we're walkin' we can do some talkin'
While the people dig us wonderin' what we're puttin' down
While we, happy as we can be, glide on
Takin' life in stride up to Murphy Park there beside the river
Brass: Well our feet got rhythm
Reeds: Pure pedal syncopation
Brass: 'N when we walk with 'em

[...] Read more

song performed by Barry Manilow
Added by Lucian Velea
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One Way To Go

Youve got to lift yourself up so high
Youve got to lift yourself up so high
You cant see the ground
You cant see the ground
You dont hear a sound
You dont hear a sound
Youve got to move it up so slow
Youve got to move it up so slow
You see it all
You see it all
Youll probably fall
Youll probably fall
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Id rather die than see you fly
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Than see you try
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
I dont care what I find
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
I dont know what Ill find
I dont care what I find
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
Youve got to move me up
I dont know what Ill find
So high it hurts
So high it burns
But if you let me down
Youve got to move me up
Dont bother to call
So high it hurts
Just let me fall
So high it burns
Id rather die than see you fly
But if you let me down
Than see you try
Dont bother to call
Id rather die than see you fly
Just let me fall
Than see you try
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
Id rather die than see you fly
I dont know what Ill find
Than see you try

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song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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One Way To Go

Youve got to lift yourself up so high
Youve got to lift yourself up so high
You cant see the ground
You cant see the ground
You dont hear a sound
You dont hear a sound
Youve got to move it up so slow
Youve got to move it up so slow
You see it all
You see it all
Youll probably fall
Youll probably fall
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Id rather die than see you fly
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Than see you try
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
I dont care what I find
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
I dont know what Ill find
I dont care what I find
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
Youve got to move me up
I dont know what Ill find
So high it hurts
So high it burns
But if you let me down
Youve got to move me up
Dont bother to call
So high it hurts
Just let me fall
So high it burns
Id rather die than see you fly
But if you let me down
Than see you try
Dont bother to call
Id rather die than see you fly
Just let me fall
Than see you try
Id rather die than see you fly
Than see you try
Its like pushing locked doors to get in your mind
Id rather die than see you fly
I dont know what Ill find
Than see you try

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gentleman

Gentleman!
I am the type of guy,
That picks you up in a Bens,
I am the type of man that'll always represent.
I am the type of freak,
That calls you seven days a week.
You don't believe it?
You gotta understand.
You wouldn't call me gentleman,
If you only knew my plan.
You wouldn't take the chance to dance with dinamite,
Are you ready to explore with me tonight?
I'm a gentleman!
I send you flowers,
What's yours is ours.
I wanna tell ya that I care.
You think I'm gentle,
So sentimental.
You dont believe it but you gotta understand.
You wouldn't call me gentleman,
If you only knew my plan.
You wouldn't take the chance to dance with dinamite,
Are you ready to explore with me tonight?
I'm your man,
Yes I am.
I'm your man,
Yes I am.
I send you e mails,
With nasty details,
I wanna tell ya that I care.
You think I'm gentle,
So sentimental,
You dont believe it but you've gotta understand.
I'm a gentleman.
You wouldn't call me gentleman,
If you only knew my plan.
You wouldn't take the chance to dance with dinamite,
Are you ready to explore with me tonight?
Ladies, fasten your seatbelts,
Switch on your electronic devices,
And pump up the volume.
Let me know if we could flow like a river,
It's my quest baby,
To warm you up when you shiver.
I'm extra gentle,
Super duper sentimental,
I'm the man that understands.
You wouldnt, you wouldn't ,
You wouldn't call me gentleman,
If you only knew my plan.

[...] Read more

song performed by Lou Bega
Added by Lucian Velea
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Blue Collar Workers

Blue collar workers feeling used.
And being replaced,
By a robotic hasted pace.

Blue collar workers feeling used,
And moved...
From an assembled human touch,
To programmed computers...
More effective as tools.

Blue collar workers feeling used,
And moved...
From positions that were sacrificed,
To improve what they do.
Automated are these times,
And cheap labor too!

Booted by computers that leave nothing to do,
For the blue collar workers,
Feeling used and abused.

Delete.
Don't need.
Delete.
Don't need.

Booted by computers that leave nothing to do,
For the blue collar workers,
Feeling used and abused.

Blue collar workers feeling used,
And moved...
From positions that were sacrificed,
To improve what they do.
Automated are these times,
And cheap labor too!

Delete.
Don't need.
Delete.
Don't need.

Booted by computers that leave nothing to do,
For the blue collar workers,
Feeling used and abused.

Delete.
Don't need.
Delete.
Don't need.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Parliament Of Fowles

Here begynyth the Parlement of Foulys

THE PROEM

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne,
Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering,
The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne,
Al this mene I by love, that my feling
Astonyeth with his wonderful worching
So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke,
Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke.

For al be that I knowe nat love in dede,
Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre,
Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede
Of his miracles, and his cruel yre;
Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre,
I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore,
But God save swich a lord! I can no more.

Of usage, what for luste what for lore,
On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde.
But wherfor that I speke al this? not yore
Agon, hit happed me for to beholde
Upon a boke, was write with lettres olde;
And ther-upon, a certeyn thing to lerne,
The longe day ful faste I radde and yerne.

For out of olde feldes, as men seith,
Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere;
And out of olde bokes, in good feith,
Cometh al this newe science that men lere.
But now to purpos as of this matere --
To rede forth hit gan me so delyte,
That al the day me thoughte but a lyte.

This book of which I make of mencioun,
Entitled was al thus, as I shal telle,
`Tullius of the dreme of Scipioun.';
Chapitres seven hit hadde, of hevene and helle,
And erthe, and soules that therinnr dwelle,
Of whiche, as shortly as I can hit trete,
Of his sentence I wol you seyn the grete.

First telleth hit, whan Scipion was come
In Afrik, how he mette Massinisse,
That him for Ioye in armes hath y nome.
Than telleth hit hir speche and al the blisse
That was betwix hem, til the day gan misse;
And how his auncestre, African so dere,

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poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Release From Locked Up Cages Aged

Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages...
Aged.

Release from locked up cages.

Come everyone...
Release from locked up cages.
Come under the Sun...
Release from locked up cages.
Come feel the breezes.
With fresh air to keep!
And make it yours,
In your mind.
Get more than you need.
And...
Release from locked up cages.
Shake off the rust.

Release from locked up cages.
What's there to lust?

Or trust.

Worthy of your cussing.

Come everyone...
Release from locked up cages.
Come under the Sun...
Release from locked up cages.
Come feel the breezes.
With fresh air to keep!
And make it yours,
In your mind.
Get more than you need.

And...
Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages,
Aged.
Release from locked up cages...
Aged.

Release!
Be freed,
From locked up cages aged.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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White Collar Crime

I'm not hungry, (?) throw away the key (?)
It's outrageous, nobody cares,
White collar crime, you had the time,
Blue collar crime, you'll do time every time,
Stealing from the company, taking all the profits,
Sharing with your family, drinking all the benefits,
(?), shocking, it's all so mocking,
White collar crime, you don't have the time,
Blue collar crime, you'll do time every time,
You can get away with it, will they get away with it?
Do they get away with it? yes, they get away with it.
Burn money today, free money tomorrow,
(?) goes my mind, causes so much sorrow,
(?), it's all the same, it's a money power game
White collar crime, you do the time,
Blue collar crime, you do time every time
White collar crime, you don't have the time,
Blue collar crime, you do time every time
All the same, money power game,
It's all the same, money power game,
It's all the same, it's a money power game,
All the same, it's a money, a money, power, the power game,
It's all the same.

song performed by Grace Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Twa Dogs, A Tale

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle,
That bears the name o' auld King COIL,[1]
Upon a bonie day in June,
When wearing thro' the afternoon,
5 Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time.

The first I'll name, they ca'd him 'Cæsar',
Was keepet for his Honor's pleasure:
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,
10 Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;
But whalpit some place far abroad,
Whare sailors gang to fish for Cod.

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar
Shew'd him the gentleman an' scholar;
15 But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride, nae pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Ev'n wi' al tinkler-gipsey's messan:
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
20 Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stand, as glad to see him,
An' stroan'd on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie-
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
25 Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,
And in freak had 'Luath' ca'd him,
After some dog in Highland Sang,[2]
Was made lang syne,-Lord knows how lang.

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,
30 As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face
Aye gat him friends in ilka place;
His breast was white, his tousie back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
35 His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdie's wi' a swirl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,
And unco pack an' thick thegither;
Wi' social nose whiles snuff'd an' snowket;
40 Whiles mice an' moudieworts they howket;
Whiles scour'd awa' in lang excursion,
An' worry'd ither in diversion;
Till tir'd at last wi mony a farce,
Upon a knowe they set them down upon their -,
45 An' there began a lang digression.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Burns (1786)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Twa Dogs

A Tale

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle,
That bears the name o' auld King Coil,
Upon a bonie day in June,
When wearin' thro' the afternoon,
Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time.

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar,
Was keepit for His Honor's pleasure:
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,
Shew'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs;
But whalpit some place far abroad,
Whare sailors gang to fish for cod.

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar
Shew'd him the gentleman an' scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride, nae pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Ev'n wi' al tinkler-gipsy's messin:
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's collie-
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him,
And in freak had Luath ca'd him,
After some dog in Highland Sang,
Was made lang syne,-Lord knows how lang.

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face
Aye gat him friends in ilka place;
His breast was white, his touzie back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdie's wi' a swirl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,
And unco pack an' thick thegither;
Wi' social nose whiles snuff'd an' snowkit;
Whiles mice an' moudieworts they howkit;
Whiles scour'd awa' in lang excursion,
An' worry'd ither in diversion;
Until wi' daffin' weary grown

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Burns
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Kitty Collar Tight

watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
i hold your history
and i kiss the map
i'm looking back forwards
your tap drips, i...catch
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
your skin, my nails
your mirror, my face
your skin impaled
for your scars are my grace
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight

[...] Read more

song performed by Queen Adreena
Added by Lucian Velea
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Andromeda

Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward,
Dwells in the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired AEthiop people,
Skilful with needle and loom, and the arts of the dyer and carver,
Skilful, but feeble of heart; for they know not the lords of Olympus,
Lovers of men; neither broad-browed Zeus, nor Pallas Athene,
Teacher of wisdom to heroes, bestower of might in the battle;
Share not the cunning of Hermes, nor list to the songs of Apollo.
Fearing the stars of the sky, and the roll of the blue salt water,
Fearing all things that have life in the womb of the seas and the livers,
Eating no fish to this day, nor ploughing the main, like the Phoenics,
Manful with black-beaked ships, they abide in a sorrowful region,
Vexed with the earthquake, and flame, and the sea-floods, scourge of
Poseidon.
Whelming the dwellings of men, and the toils of the slow-footed oxen,
Drowning the barley and flax, and the hard-earned gold of the harvest,
Up to the hillside vines, and the pastures skirting the woodland,
Inland the floods came yearly; and after the waters a monster,
Bred of the slime, like the worms which are bred from the slime of the Nile-
bank,
Shapeless, a terror to see; and by night it swam out to the seaward,
Daily returning to feed with the dawn, and devoured of the fairest,
Cattle, and children, and maids, till the terrified people fled inland.
Fasting in sackcloth and ashes they came, both the king and his people,
Came to the mountain of oaks, to the house of the terrible sea-gods,
Hard by the gulf in the rocks, where of old the world-wide deluge
Sank to the inner abyss; and the lake where the fish of the goddess,
Holy, undying, abide; whom the priests feed daily with dainties.
There to the mystical fish, high-throned in her chamber of cedar,
Burnt they the fat of the flock; till the flame shone far to the seaward.
Three days fasting they prayed; but the fourth day the priests of the
goddess,
Cunning in spells, cast lots, to discover the crime of the people.
All day long they cast, till the house of the monarch was taken,
Cepheus, king of the land; and the faces of all gathered blackness.
Then once more they cast; and Cassiopoeia was taken,
Deep-bosomed wife of the king, whom oft far-seeing Apollo
Watched well-pleased from the welkin, the fairest of AEthiop women:
Fairest, save only her daughter; for down to the ankle her tresses
Rolled, blue-black as the night, ambrosial, joy to beholders.
Awful and fair she arose, most like in her coming to Here,
Queen before whom the Immortals arise, as she comes on Olympus,
Out of the chamber of gold, which her son Hephaestos has wrought her.
Such in her stature and eyes, and the broad white light of her forehead.
Stately she came from her place, and she spoke in the midst of the people.
'Pure are my hands from blood: most pure this heart in my bosom.
Yet one fault I remember this day; one word have I spoken;
Rashly I spoke on the shore, and I dread lest the sea should have heard it.
Watching my child at her bath, as she plunged in the joy of her girlhood,
Fairer I called her in pride than Atergati, queen of the ocean.
Judge ye if this be my sin, for I know none other.' She ended;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Kingsley
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A Fable For Critics

Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
And I can't count the obstinate nymphs that he brought over
By a strange kind of smile he put on when he thought of her.
'My case is like Dido's,' he sometimes remarked;
'When I last saw my love, she was fairly embarked
In a laurel, as _she_ thought-but (ah, how Fate mocks!)
She has found it by this time a very bad box;
Let hunters from me take this saw when they need it,-
You're not always sure of your game when you've treed it.
Just conceive such a change taking place in one's mistress!
What romance would be left?-who can flatter or kiss trees?
And, for mercy's sake, how could one keep up a dialogue
With a dull wooden thing that will live and will die a log,-
Not to say that the thought would forever intrude
That you've less chance to win her the more she is wood?
Ah! it went to my heart, and the memory still grieves,
To see those loved graces all taking their leaves;
Those charms beyond speech, so enchanting but now,
As they left me forever, each making its bough!
If her tongue _had_ a tang sometimes more than was right,
Her new bark is worse than ten times her old bite.'

Now, Daphne-before she was happily treeified-
Over all other blossoms the lily had deified,
And when she expected the god on a visit
('Twas before he had made his intentions explicit),
Some buds she arranged with a vast deal of care,
To look as if artlessly twined in her hair,
Where they seemed, as he said, when he paid his addresses,
Like the day breaking through, the long night of her tresses;
So whenever he wished to be quite irresistible,
Like a man with eight trumps in his hand at a whist-table
(I feared me at first that the rhyme was untwistable,
Though I might have lugged in an allusion to Cristabel),-
He would take up a lily, and gloomily look in it,
As I shall at the--, when they cut up my book in it.

Well, here, after all the bad rhyme I've been spinning,
I've got back at last to my story's beginning:
Sitting there, as I say, in the shade of his mistress,
As dull as a volume of old Chester mysteries,

[...] Read more

poem by James Russell Lowell
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 39

The son of a faqih said to his father: ‘These heart-ravishing words of moralists make no impression upon me because I do not see that their actions are in conformity with their speeches.’

They teach people to abandon the world
But themselves accumulate silver and corn.
A scholar who only preaches and nothing more
Will not impress anyone when he speaks.
He is a scholar who commits no evil,
Not he who speaks to men but acts not himself.
Will you enjoin virtue to mankind and forget your own souls?
A scholar who follows his lusts and panders to his body
Is himself lost although he may show the way.

The father replied: ‘My son, it is not proper merely on account of this vain fancy to turn away the face from the instruction of advisers, to travel on the road of vanity, to accuse the ullemma of aberration, and whilst searching for an immaculate scholar, to remain excluded from the benefits of knowledge, like a blind man who one night fell into the mud and shouted: “O Musalmans, hold a lamp on my path.” Whereon a courtesan who heard him asked: “As thou canst not see the lamp, what wilt thou see with the lamp?” In the same way the preaching assembly is like the shop of a dealer in linen because if thou bringest no money thou canst obtain no wares and if thou bringest no inclination to the assembly thou wilt not get any felicity.’

He said: ‘Listen with thy soul’s ear to a scholar Although his actions may not be like his doctrines.’

In vain does the gainsayer ask:
‘How can a sleeper awaken a sleeper?
A man must receive into his ears
The advice although it be written on a wall.’

A pious man came to the door of a college from a monastery. He broke the covenant of the company of those of the Tariq. I asked him what the difference between a scholar and a monk amounts to? He replied: ‘The former saves his blanket from the waves Whilst the latter strives to save the drowning man.’

poem by Sa di
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Lipstick On Your Collar

When you left me all alone at the record hop
Told me you were goin out for a soda pop
You were gone for quite a while -- half-an-hour more
You came back and man, oh, man, this is what I saw:
Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you
Lipstick on your collar said you were untrue
Bet your bottom dollar you and I are through
cause lipstick on your collar told a tale on you! yeah!
You said it belonged to me, made me stop and think
And then I noticed yours was red; mine was baby pink
Who walked in but mary jane, lipstick all a mess?
Were you smoochin my best friend? guess the answers yes
Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you
Lipstick on your collar said you were untrue
Bet your bottom dollar you and I are through
cause lipstick on your collar told a tale on you! boy!
Told a tale on you! man!
Told a tale on you! yeah! (fade)

song performed by Cyndi Lauper
Added by Lucian Velea
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Blue Collar Man

(Travis Tritt/Gary Rossington)
I don't like hangin' out with a high dollar crowd
I ain't no socialite I'm a little too loud
I don't do garden parties sippin' hot tea
Down in some honky tonk, brother
That's the place for me
A hard days livin' is all that I understand
Well, I owe my soul to MasterCard
I'm a blue collar man
I bust my bottom every day eight to five
I come home draggin' feelin' barely alive
The kids are screamin', house is turned upside down
Need a bulldozer just to find my way around
Don't like caviar, we like our soup from a can
Yeah, I keep my life simple
I'm a blue collar man
Don't need computers handlin' my bank account
Balance my checkbook there's a zero amount
Four-carat diamond's not on my lady's hand
We live a life rich folks could never understand
I make my livin' with these two hard workin' hands
Won't ever be no millionaire
I'm a blue collar man
Won't ever be no millionaire
I'm a blue collar man
I'm a blue collar man
I'm a blue collar man

song performed by Travis Tritt
Added by Lucian Velea
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Some Boys

You've got to,
Nip some boys from the collar.
Be strong and do not 'hollah'.
If you want your boys to stop,
And...
Rise like men to the top!

Some boys...
Do not know what it is to be a man.
They understand only play plans.

Some boys...
Aren't discipline enough to be thinking men.
No comprehension is within them.

You've got to,
Nip some boys from the collar.
Be strong and do not 'hollah'.
If you want your boys to stop,
And...
Rise like men to the top!

Some boys!

You've got to,
Nip some boys from the collar.
Be strong and do not 'hollah'.
If you want your boys to stop,
And...
Rise like men to the top!

Some boys...
Aren't discipline enough to be thinking men.
No comprehension is within them.

Some boys...
Do not know what it is to be a man.
They understand only play plans.

You've got to,
Nip some boys from the collar.
Be strong and do not 'hollah'.
If you want your boys to stop,
And...
Rise like men to the top!

Some boys...
You've got to,
Nip some boys from the collar.
Be strong and do not 'hollah'.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Wind-Clouds And Star-Drifts

FROM THE YOUNG ASTRONOMER'S POEM

I.

AMBITION

ANOTHER clouded night; the stars are hid,
The orb that waits my search is hid with them.
Patience! Why grudge an hour, a month, a year,
To plant my ladder and to gain the round
That leads my footsteps to the heaven of fame,
Where waits the wreath my sleepless midnights won?
Not the stained laurel such as heroes wear
That withers when some stronger conqueror's heel
Treads down their shrivelling trophies in the dust;
But the fair garland whose undying green
Not time can change, nor wrath of gods or men!

With quickened heart-beats I shall hear tongues
That speak my praise; but better far the sense
That in the unshaped ages, buried deep
In the dark mines of unaccomplished time
Yet to be stamped with morning's royal die
And coined in golden days,--in those dim years
I shall be reckoned with the undying dead,
My name emblazoned on the fiery arch,
Unfading till the stars themselves shall fade.
Then, as they call the roll of shining worlds,
Sages of race unborn in accents new
Shall count me with the Olympian ones of old,
Whose glories kindle through the midnight sky
Here glows the God of Battles; this recalls
The Lord of Ocean, and yon far-off sphere
The Sire of Him who gave his ancient name
To the dim planet with the wondrous rings;
Here flames the Queen of Beauty's silver lamp,
And there the moon-girt orb of mighty Jove;
But this, unseen through all earth's ions past,
A youth who watched beneath the western star
Sought in the darkness, found, and shewed to men;
Linked with his name thenceforth and evermore
So shall that name be syllabled anew
In all the tongues of all the tribes of men:
I that have been through immemorial years
Dust in the dust of my forgotten time
Shall live in accents shaped of blood-warm breath,
Yea, rise in mortal semblance, newly born
In shining stone, in undecaying bronze,
And stand on high, and look serenely down
On the new race that calls the earth its own.

[...] Read more

poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Added by Poetry Lover
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Some Get Erotic

Some get erotic,
When the bottom drops...
And they hit the rocks.

Like their heads had knocked against,
Acknowledged nonsense.

Some get erotic,
When the bottom drops...
And they hit the rocks.

Like they got up from a shock,
That all their bubbles popped!

And they found out...
They were isolated and locked.
And they found out...
Life is not about what they've got!

And they found out...
They were isolated and locked.
And they found out...
The bottom rushes to the top.
When you're dropping,
Isolated.
When your'e dropping,
And locked.

Some get erotic,
When the bottom drops...
And they hit the rocks.

Like they got up from a shock,
That all their bubbles popped!

And they found out...
They were isolated and locked.
And they found out...
The bottom rushes to the top.
When you're dropping,
Isolated.
When your'e dropping,
And locked.

When you're dropping,
Isolated.
When your'e dropping,
And locked.

Some get erotic,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Pennsylvania Pilgrim

Prelude

I sing the Pilgrim of a softer clime
And milder speech than those brave men's who brought
To the ice and iron of our winter time
A will as firm, a creed as stern, and wrought
With one mailed hand, and with the other fought.
Simply, as fits my theme, in homely rhyme
I sing the blue-eyed German Spener taught,
Through whose veiled, mystic faith the Inward Light,
Steady and still, an easy brightness, shone,
Transfiguring all things in its radiance white.
The garland which his meekness never sought
I bring him; over fields of harvest sown
With seeds of blessing, now to ripeness grown,
I bid the sower pass before the reapers' sight.

The Pennsylvania Pilgrim

Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day
From Pennsylvania's vales of spring away,
Where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets lay

Along the wedded rivers. One long bar
Of purple cloud, on which the evening star
Shone like a jewel on a scimitar,

Held the sky's golden gateway. Through the deep
Hush of the woods a murmur seemed to creep,
The Schuylkill whispering in a voice of sleep.

All else was still. The oxen from their ploughs
Rested at last, and from their long day's browse
Came the dun files of Krisheim's home-bound cows.

And the young city, round whose virgin zone
The rivers like two mighty arms were thrown,
Marked by the smoke of evening fires alone,

Lay in the distance, lovely even then
With its fair women and its stately men
Gracing the forest court of William Penn,

Urban yet sylvan; in its rough-hewn frames
Of oak and pine the dryads held their claims,
And lent its streets their pleasant woodland names.

Anna Pastorius down the leafy lane
Looked city-ward, then stooped to prune again

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Added by Poetry Lover
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