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The Wedding Ringer [trailer 3]

Cast: Kevin Hart, Josh Gad, Affion Crockett, Kaley Cuoco-Sweeting, Ken Howard, Jorge Garcia, Dan Gill

trailer for The Wedding Ringer, directed by Jeremy Garelick (2014)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Wedding Ringer

Cast: Kevin Hart, Josh Gad, Affion Crockett, Kaley Cuoco-Sweeting, Ken Howard, Jorge Garcia, Dan Gill

trailer for The Wedding Ringer, directed by Jeremy Garelick (2014)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Wedding Ringer [trailer 2]

Cast: Kevin Hart, Josh Gad, Affion Crockett, Kaley Cuoco-Sweeting, Ken Howard, Jorge Garcia, Dan Gill

trailer for The Wedding Ringer, directed by Jeremy Garelick (2014)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Gil Morrice. A Scottish Ballad

Gil Morrice was an erles son,
His name it waxed wide:
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor zet was mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.

'Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha',
And bid his lady cum?
And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.'

'O no! O no! my master dear!
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
For to triest furth his wife.'
'My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
My dear Willie,' he sayd:
'How can ze strive against the stream?
For I shall be obeyd.'

'Bot, O my master dear!' he cry'd,
'In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,
For fear ze should be tain.'
'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
Ill gar zour body bleid.

'Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd bot the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain:
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave.'

'Yes, I will gae zour blacke errand,
Though it be to zour cost;
Sen ze by me well nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.
The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt;
As ze will see before it's nicht,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Punch Up At 'Dart Man's Aim

Fifteen stone and just five foot eight
And yet he doesn't seem overweight
Deep, deep chest and shoulders wide
The strongest in this countryside.

He's the mighty Dan the frog
From the house beside the bog
Swarthy looking with raven hair
A happy man without a care.

He's no plans to take a wife
As he prefers the single life
And he's still a young man anyway
Just twenty five on his last birthday

Froggy is his dad's nickname
And that's from where the name frog came
But his nickname of frog he doesn't appreciate
In fact the word called frog he's grown to hate.

Fastest man for miles around
To part with the green back pound
In him you'll find nothing cheap
Money he can't seem to keep.

He's a happy sort of bloke
Happy even when he's broke
He's got the right mentality
Never down, always carefree.

Likes his guinness doesn't like beer
Drinks his liquor with good cheer,
Whiskey makes the man walk tall
And he likes whiskey best of all.

He is merciful though strong
And without good reason won't do wrong
But do him wrong and he will fight
And with his fists he'll put things right.

He'd prefer to crack your jaw
Than chastise you with the law
Solves his problems like a man
That's the way it is with Dan.

And though when need arise he can be hard
Dan the frog is no blaghguard
But his type you don't kick around
As men like him do not yield ground

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Duggan
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Sir Andrew Barton

The First Part
'When Flora with her fragrant flowers
Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
And Neptune with his daintye showers
Came to present the monthe of Maye;
King Henrye rode to take the ayre,
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.

'O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
Good saylors, welcome unto mee.'
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchants they cold not bee.
'To France nor Flanders dare we pass,
Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,
Who robbs us of our merchant ware.'

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
'I thought he had not beene in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright.'
The merchants sighed, and said, 'Alas!'
And thus they did their answer frame;
'He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.'

The king loot over his left shoulder,
And an angrye look then looked hee;
'Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?'
'Yea, that dare I,' Lord Howard sayes;
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.'

'Thou art but yong,' the kyng replyed,
'Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.'
'Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,
Or before my prince I will never appeare.'
'Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea.'

The first man that Lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realme,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten;
Good Peter Simon was his name.
'Peter,' sais hee, 'I must to the sea,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Ken

YOWWW! Ha!
We look to the left and to the right
We need help but nobody's in sight
Where is the man that we all need
Well tell him he's to come and rescue me
Chorus:
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Ken is the man that we all need
Ken is the leader of the GLC
Now head 'em up
Rope 'em in
Move 'em out
Now can't you see
That we need the leader of the GLC
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Ken is the man that we all need
Ken is the leader of the GLC
Who is the man we all need?
(KEN!!)
Who is the funky sex machine?
(KEN!!)
Who is the leader of the GLC?
(KEN!!)
Who is the man we all need?
(KEN!!)
Now head 'em up
Rope 'em in
Move 'em out
(KEN!!)
Can't you see
That we need ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Ken is the man that we all need
Ken is the WAHWHAYEAYEAYEAYEA!!!!
Who is the man we all need?
(KEN!)
(KEN!)
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Do do 'n do do 'n do dow
Ken is the man that we all need
Ken is the leader of the GLC!!

song performed by Kate Bush
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Tearful Tale Of Captain Dan

A sinner was old Captain Dan;
His wives guv him no rest:
He had one wife to East Skiddaw
And one to Skiddaw West.

Now Ann Eliza was the name
Of her at East Skiddaw;
She was the most cantankerous
Female you ever saw.

I don’t know but one crosser-grained,
And of this Captain Dan
She was the wife at Skiddaw West—
She was Eliza Ann.

Well, this old skeesicks, Captain Dan,
He owned a ferryboat;
From East Skiddaw to Skiddaw West
That vessel used to float.

She was as trim a ferry-craft
As ever I did see,
And on each end a p’inted bow
And pilothouse had she.

She had two bows that way, so when
She went acrost the sound
She could, to oncet, run back ag’in
Without a-turnin’ round.

Now Captain Dan he sailed that boat
For nigh on twenty year
Acrost that sound and back ag’in,
Like I have stated here.

And never oncet in all them years
Had Ann Eliza guessed
That Dan he had another wife
So nigh as Skiddaw West.

Likewise, Eliza Ann was blind,
Howas she never saw
As Dan he had another wife
Acrost to East Skiddaw.

The way he fooled them female wives
Was by a simple plan
That come into the artful brain
Of that there Captain Dan.

[...] Read more

poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Adelaida: A Cuban Cinderella

Adelaida: A Cuban Cinderella
Written by Ana Monnar


{PAGE 1}
Once upon a time, on the island of Cuba lived two sisters named Adelaida and Marisol. Although identical twins in appearance, their personalities were as different as night and day. Adelaida was noble and loved to help others. She understood that the situation at home was not easy. Their father worked 14 hours a day and their mother was frail and very ill. So Adelaida would wake up very early every morning to cook breakfast and have it ready for her father before he’d go to work. They would eat together while they talked about many different matters.

{PAGE 2}
Adelaida would then prepare a tray for her mother; with love and tenderness she fed her each meal of the day. She also insisted on helping the nurse care for her much-loved mother. She spent time brushing her mami’s hair and would take pleasure in it.

{PAGE 3}
On the other hand, Marisol believed that the world revolved around her. After sleeping until noon, she expected a breakfast menu. From the moment that she stepped out of her bed, she would holler, “Adelaida, bring me my breakfast! ”
Adelaida would serve her sister bacon, eggs, toast, juice, and milk. She would hurry to take the plate to the table and cater to her sister. But Marisol always complained that the food was not hot enough, or the drinks not cold enough. No matter how much Adelaida would try to please her, it never seemed to be enough. Marisol often wanted favors during the very moment that her sister was caring for their mother, and so Adelaida would ignore her sister’s whining and tend to her mother first.

{PAGE 4}
During the long hours of each day Adelaida would sweep the floor, wash, iron, and do the dishes. In between chores, she would hurry each time Marisol rang a bell demanding her services. Marisol would command, “Curl my hair! ” “Wash and iron my clothes! ” “Make my bed! ” “I’m hungry! ” “I want chicken and yellow rice, salad, and custard for dinner! ”
Adelaida would just give in to her sister’s demands to avoid confrontations that would disturb their mother’s peace. Luckily Adelaida had dogs, cats, and birds that adored her and followed her around. Even the mice would come to keep her company and help out. Little Maria the mouse carried the napkin on top of her head to set the table. Sometimes Adelaida and her critters would have fun together carving a giant pumpkin to make pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, and pumpkin custard.

{PAGE 5}
One evening when their father came home from work he called both of his daughters. Adelaida and Marisol both kissed him and listened to what he had to say. With a frown, he mumbled, “My boss is having a dinner at his mansion and he wants our family to attend. Mr. Perez wishes to reward me for being the employee of the year. He also is very proud of his son who just finished his internship and graduated as a doctor. He is coming home just in time for the Christmas holidays and he would like for us to meet him.' In his mind he was thinking, ‘How am I going to get my wife to go? She is so weak and frail.’

{Page 6}
Adelaida, who felt and shared her father’s concern and sorrow, read his mind and replied, “Papi, you go ahead and enjoy the party and take Marisol with you. I will stay home with Mami and I promise to call the nurse if I need the extra help.”
Marisol leaped and yelped, “It sounds like a great plan to me! Take me shopping for a new dress, shoes, purse, and jewelry.” Deep in her mind she was scheming to snatch the young doctor. If she married rich she could have servants, a chef, and a chauffeur.
Their father tried to coax Adelaida into going with them. He said, “Adelaida, please come along with us and I will call the nurse to care for your mother during the few hours that we will be gone.” Adelaida gently but firmly begged her dad to let her stay. He finally agreed.

{Page 7}
The dinner was only two weeks away and Marisol continued nagging about a dress, pair of shoes, purse, jewelry, and now even added perfume to her inventory. Finally, even after working 14-hour shifts, Papi took Marisol out on several occasions to buy her luxuries. If Adelaida, their mother, or the nurse tried to reason with her insistent demands, Marisol would weep and whine until she got her way. Their father looked fatigued and could barely keep his feet firmly on the ground. Adelaida hugged her father and whispered, “Papi, I love you.” He cracked a slight grin and kissed her on the top of her head.

{Page 8}
Adelaida felt sorry for her father and hoped her sister would grow up and mature someday. They were both 23 years old and even though they were twins, their actions and values were poles apart. Adelaida often proved to be as wise as an owl perched up high in a tree as the moon glistened and sparkled above.

{Page 9}
Finally the day of the invitation arrived and Marisol was ecstatic. This would be her big break for securing her future husband! She just wanted to get away from their home, which reeked of medicines, antiseptic, and illness. Adelaida helped Marisol into her gown, but instead of showing gratitude, Marisol's whimpering continued. Marisol applied globs of make-up. If someone were to wet a couple of fingers and roll them against her foundation, rouge, and eye shadow, they would have enough watercolors to cover a canvas with frolicking ocean waves. When she put on her big gold hoop earrings and dabbed on cologne, Marisol was thrilled by the look and smell created by these finishing touches.

{Page 10}
Marisol scurried to her mother’s room and waved good-bye from the door. The nurse could have been knocked over by a feather after observing such selfishness from Marisol. She pondered how one sister could be so kind, loving, and gentle, while the other was egotistical and self-centered. The nurse had been coming to the house for weeks, having been hired when the mother began to feel weaker and was confined to bed. She was a dutiful and observant nurse who continuously nourished those who needed her help. When the nurse went home for the evening, Adelaida would sit by her mother and hold her hand as she sang to her. Her soothing voice would help her mother fall asleep.

{Page 11}
Adelaida’s father kissed his wife’s forehead and then thanked Adelaida for being so caring and devoted. Marisol yelled from across the corridor, “Papi, hurry up or we’ll be late! ” Although he loved both his daughters equally and played no favorites, he could clearly see the difference in their behaviors.

{Page 12}
Marisol and her father arrived at the mansion. The butler greeted them and announced their appearance. Mr. Garcia’s gentle boss, wife, and son welcomed them. Mr. and Mrs. Perez inquired about the whereabouts of his wife and his other twin daughter. The humble Mr. Garcia replied softly with sad and shameful eyes, “My wife is ill, weak, frail, and bedridden so my other daughter Adelaida stayed home caring for her. She insisted that we come and have an evening out.” Young Dr. Perez did not even glance at Marisol. He just thought it odd that one sister was out partying, while the other was looking after her mother. Mr. and Mrs. Perez felt sorry for the family’s suffering and offered to take the meal to the Garcias’ home and eat there instead. Marisol was flabbergasted! ‘This can’t be happening! I must be having a nightmare! ’ she thought.



{Page 13}
Both families drove to the Garcia residence. The servants and chauffeur carried the meal inside. The Perez family members were guided to the master bedroom where Adelaida was brushing her mother’s hair as she sang so sweetly. Although Adelaida had no make-up and was wearing simple clothes, she looked cool, calm, collected, and as faithful as a saint. Young Dr. Perez looked at Adelaida’s emerald-green eyes and realized that this was one young lady that he would love to befriend. At the end of the corridor Marisol’s green eyes displayed her jealousy and envy.
They sat down around the ill Mrs. Garcia, spoke softly, and ate holding their plates with one hand and their forks with the other. They ate black beans, rice, pork, and fried plantains. Adelaida did not begin eating until she slowly and gently fed her mother first. By this point Marisol was starving, so she devoured her food.
After this very enlightening visit, the young doctor asked Mr. Garcia if he could come regularly to check up on Mrs. Garcia and visit Adelaida. Mr. Garcia was very grateful for his interest and agreed.

[...] Read more

poem by Ana Monnar
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The Brus Book 20

King Robert in Northumberland]

Sone eftre that the erle Thomas
Fra Wardaill thus reparyt was
The king assemblyt all his mycht
And left nane that wes worth to fycht,
5 A gret ost than assemblit he
And delt his ost in partis thre.
A part to Norame went but let
And a stark assege has set
And held thaim in rycht at thar dyk,
10 The tother part till Anwyk
Is went and thar a sege set thai,
And quhill that thir assegis lay
At thir castellis I spak off ar,
Apert eschewys oft maid thar war
15 And mony fayr chevalry
Eschevyt war full douchtely.
The king at thai castellis liand
Left his folk, as I bar on hand
And with the thrid ost held hys way
20 Fra park to park hym for to play
Huntand as all hys awn war,
And till thaim that war with him thar
The landis off Northummyrland
That neyst to Scotland war liand
25 In fe and heritage gave he,
And thai payit for the selys fe.

[The peace with England]

On this wys raid he destroyand
Quhill that the king of Ingland
Throu consaill of the Mortymar
30 And his moder that that tym war
Ledaris of him that than young wes
To King Robert to tret off pes
Send messyngeris, and sua sped thai
That thai assentyt on this way
35 Than a perpetuale pes to tak,
And thai a mariage suld mak
Off the King Robertis sone Davy
That than bot fyve yer had scarsly
And off Dame Jhone als off the Tour
40 That syne wes of full gret valour,
Systre scho wes to the ying king
That had Ingland in governyng,
That than of eild had sevyn yer.
And monymentis and lettrys ser
45 That thai of Ingland that tyme had

[...] Read more

poem by John Barbour
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Mephisto And Kevin

In 1986, the University of Californa at Davis
saw two of its all-time brightest stars,
Dr. Alphonse Mephisto and Dr. Arnie Abesacraben.
Dr. Mephisto worked hard towards his thesis - his goal
was to genetically duplicate the DNA structure of Asparagus,
so that all Asparagus would grow to the same girth and length,
Giving Asparagus a much more pleasent presentation in the world's
supermarkter vegetable bins.
Dr. Abesacraben's goal was to genetically create the greatest
musical entertainer the world had ever seen.
Dr. Abesacraben knew that if he could assemble the right elements,
he could theoretically build a DNA structure that would ensure
his creation had talent far surpassing the average individual.
At the time, one subject of urban myth was the story that
Michael Jackson - in an effort to maintain his youthful look and
feminie vocal characteristics - had his testicles surgically removed,
thereby making him a modern-day castrato.
If such a rumor were true, Michael Jackson more that likely would have
had some of his semen preserved before the surgery, to ensure his the
future of his name and lineage.
Word came back to Dr. Abesacraben of a secret cold storage locker
deep within the bowels of the UCLA research center, that not only
contained four containers of frozen semen, but also held a pair of
testicles, each was labeled with the name "Jack Michaelson".
I once heard a noise,
In the night the most sensual voice.
Song of love from a eight year-old boy,
Stuck in my head.
And this is what he said:
I am gopher boy!
Pondering reality!
I am gopher boy!
Who will buy my raspberries?
This had to be the seed of the king of pop!
Dr. Abesacraben was able to use his charm and and chissled Greek
feature to woo a young lab technician by the name of Jennifer, who of
course happened to have the proper access needed to obtain a small vial
of the precious semen.
The search for the egg was a short one - Dr. Mephisto simply ran an ad
in the classified section of an airline music magazine.The ad read:
"Wanted: unfertilized human eggs for genetic experiment.Donors must
have musical background."With a pleathera of young, eager wanna-be
music starlets willing to sell their eggs, the two doctors - after
rigorous
auditioning - picked... and purchased.
Dr. Abesacraben felt that it would be far less complicated legally if the
fetus were brought to term in the womb of a non-human.He had long since
secured the services of the University volleyball mascot, a llama by the
name of "Missy".
When the baby was ready, the child via cesarean.It was a healthy baby

[...] Read more

song performed by Primus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mephisto & Kevin

In 1986, the university of californa at davis
Saw two of its all-time brightest stars,
Dr. alphonse mephisto and dr. arnie abesacraben.
Dr. mephisto worked hard towards his thesis - his goal
Was to genetically duplicate the dna structure of asparagus,
So that all asparagus would grow to the same girth and length,
Giving asparagus a much more pleasent presentation in the worlds
Supermarkter vegetable bins.
Dr. abesacrabens goal was to genetically create the greatest
Musical entertainer the world had ever seen.
Dr. abesacraben knew that if he could assemble the right elements,
He could theoretically build a dna structure that would ensure
His creation had talent far surpassing the average individual.
At the time, one subject of urban myth was the story that
Michael jackson - in an effort to maintain his youthful look and
Feminie vocal characteristics - had his testicles surgically removed,
Thereby making him a modern-day castrato.
If such a rumor were true, michael jackson more that likely would have
Had some of his semen preserved before the surgery, to ensure his the
Future of his name and lineage.
Word came back to dr. abesacraben of a secret cold storage locker
Deep within the bowels of the ucla research center, that not only
Contained four containers of frozen semen, but also held a pair of
Testicles, each was labeled with the name jack michaelson.
I once heard a noise,
In the night the most sensual voice.
Song of love from a eight year-old boy,
Stuck in my head.
And this is what he said:
I am gopher boy!
Pondering reality!
I am gopher boy!
Who will buy my raspberries?
This had to be the seed of the king of pop!
Dr. abesacraben was able to use his charm and and chissled greek
Feature to woo a young lab technician by the name of jennifer, who of
Course happened to have the proper access needed to obtain a small vial
Of the precious semen.
The search for the egg was a short one - dr. mephisto simply ran an ad
In the classified section of an airline music magazine. the ad read:
Wanted: unfertilized human eggs for genetic experiment. donors must
Have musical background. with a pleathera of young, eager wanna-be
Music starlets willing to sell their eggs, the two doctors - after
Rigorous
Auditioning - picked... and purchased.
Dr. abesacraben felt that it would be far less complicated legally if the
Fetus were brought to term in the womb of a non-human. he had long since
Secured the services of the university volleyball mascot, a llama by the
Name of missy.
When the baby was ready, the child via cesarean. it was a healthy baby

[...] Read more

song performed by Primus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Feast

Mari kita memulai kisah
Tentang sang raja dan sang singa
Anak manusia dan penguasa rimba
Dari padang rumput mereka terlahir
Dengan kebanggaan dan harapan
Dengan bahaya dan cobaan
Jauh, jauhkan dahulu kedengkian itu
Kita buka dengan babak penuh kedamaian
Menghisap embun pagi yang sama
Menatap dunia baru dengan mata terbuka
Alangkah manis pemandangan mereka yang tak berdosa
Lalu perjumpaan sederhana di tepi kolam
Di mana surga dan neraka amatlah tipis bedanya
Tempat kau mengangkat taring untuk musuh
Atau mencakar lembut tangan sahabat
Bermain bersama di sela-sela semak
Berguling penuh debu di bawah sinar matahari terik
Sungguhkah mereka akan menjadi raja dan singa
Tubuh yang tumbuh menjadi sempurna
Pikiran yang terjalin menjadi pemahaman
Gerbang kedewasaan mengantar mereka pada perpisahan
Peraturan istana dan insting liar
Demi kekuasaan dan harga diri
Mereka tidak berpisah dengan air mata
Karena mereka diajari untuk tidak menangis
Mereka berpisah dengan darah
Tradisi dan perburuan
Pembantaian dan penghinaan
Sang singa mengaum dengan keras
Dengan surainya yang kini lebat terurai
Sementara sang raja terpencil
Di tahtanya yang dingin dan sorak sorai penonton
Mereka merindukan masa-masa itu
Masa saat mereka bertatapan tanpa penuh kebencian
Dan bilamana bulu keemasan itu tiba di pangkuan sang raja
Sang raja menandai pemerintahannya
Dan sang singa mati demi sahabatnya
Ini bukanlah cerita yang perlu diratapi
Baik sang raja maupun sang singa

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Goody Blake and Harry Gill

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle grey, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still!

Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;
His voice was like the voice of three.
Old Goody Blake was old and poor;
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passed her door
Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling:
And then her three hours' work at night,
Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.
Remote from sheltered village-green,
On a hill's northern side she dwelt,
Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean,
And hoary dews are slow to melt.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,
Two poor old Dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one small cottage;
But she, poor Woman! housed alone.
'Twas well enough when summer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,
Then at her door the 'canty' Dame
Would sit, as any linnet, gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh then how her old bones would shake!
You would have said, if you had met her,
'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dead:

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poem by William Wordsworth
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The Court Of Love

With timerous hert and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that non intelligence
Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence;
Sauf that me list my writing to convey,
In that I can to please her hygh nobley.

The blosmes fresshe of Tullius garden soote
Present thaim not, my mater for to borne:
Poemes of Virgil taken here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfrid may not here sojorne:
Why nam I cunning? O well may I morne,
For lak of science that I can-not write
Unto the princes of my life a-right

No termes digne unto her excellence,
So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:
A world of honour and of reverence
There is in her, this wil I testifie.
Calliope, thou sister wise and sly,
And thou, Minerva, guyde me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mater not deface.

Thy suger-dropes swete of Elicon
Distill in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;
And thee, Melpomene, I calle anon,
Of ignoraunce the mist to chace away;
And give me grace so for to write and sey,
That she, my lady, of her worthinesse,
Accepte in gree this litel short tretesse,

That is entitled thus, 'The Court of Love.'
And ye that ben metriciens me excuse,
I you besech, for Venus sake above;
For what I mene in this ye need not muse:
And if so be my lady it refuse
For lak of ornat speche, I wold be wo,
That I presume to her to writen so.

But myn entent and all my besy cure
Is for to write this tretesse, as I can,
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,
Feithfull and kind, sith first that she began
Me to accept in service as her man:

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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My Fault

the tears run down my face
for yet again they disprove of him
when will they like him cause
I will never date anyone else but him
so I’ll just have to put up with this
shit for two more years
I’m sure if we can make it through that
we can make it through anything

some times I wish for another
but I know I couldn’t be able to brake his heart
for his pain would be so great
that it might kill the both of us
for his pain becomes mine
and mine becomes his
because of the bond of life
has always been there under our noses
we were just to blind to notice
once we did notice we feel hard and fast.
the faster we fell
the harder it was to break us apart
right now I feel as if our bond and our lives
are consumed by our love
neither one of us could live with out the other in our lives
for we feed off of each other
I cant stand being away from him

but yet there is anther that they will approve of.
the other guy(josh) is tearing my heart into two pieces
and my beautiful relationship with my boyfriend
I really don’t want that to happen
so every day I tell my self
I don’t like josh a million times
but once I see him he takes my breath away
he makes me almost faint and as he comes closer to hug me
my knees become week and
I want to given to the little devil on my shoulder that’s saying
look at josh he is gorgeous go with josh
take him into your world and show him a good time
but the angle says no
you love mason take mason into your world and mason is hot
take mason into your world
not josh... no josh..... stay away from him he’s trouble

yes josh is gorgeous but I love mason
and I always will love mason
no matter what happens
not even a huge crush such as josh
cause I’ am mason’s soul mate and he is mine
we belong together and not apart for we are in love

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poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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The Abject Ones, Six Falling—Nightingale Confesses Into Straighter Teeth

The term Abjection literally means 'the state of being cast off.' In usage it has connotations of degradation, baseness and abasement of spirit.

'...descend and of the curveship lend a myth to God.' - from 'To Brooklyn Bridge'

The boys, six falling: Tyler Clementi, Raymond Chase, Asher Brown, Billy Lucas, Seth Walsh, Justin Aaberg

'What does a man come to with his virility gone? ' - Walt Whitman

'He sought for his beautiful body
and encountered his opened blood
Do not ask me to see it! ' - Federico Garcia Lorca*

My Dearest Valdosta,

Even the pigeons on my stoop are silent now.

One mourning dove coos tenderly for these who have taken their own lives publicly on our behalf, for untold scores gone before them with broken hearts enraged, no more to engage the unpersuaded world which, one of them, one of the public ones, in spite of murmuring wharves, in spite of amorous dark alleys bitter in the pitch in the hateful American Twentieth Century, Hart Crane, wrote before his leap from the ship beside the phallic curve where Cuba meets the lisping sea, took his tongue away which sang to us of chill dawns breaking upon bridges whose spans still freely splinter light returning hungover from night wharves' grottoes and denim grasps, World Wars' industrial embraces crushing every man, and now another one abandons his fingers and fiddling, o scattering light, takes flight from ledges to edge close to an embrace no longer forbidden—

And so it was I entered the broken world to trace the visionary company of love... - Hart Crane

I am at the 'Way of Peace Bistro, ' not your favorite place I remember—unkind to queens and 'Miss Things'—but the server whose cousins are the famous Wolf Boys in Jalisco, Mexico, hirsute himself, gives me free double espressos for very large tips, of course, and it is not as populated here on Saturdays with the braying brunch crowds, their hammers for pinkies poised...besides, the server just yesterday came out to me in my confessional booth here at the perpetually wobbly table in the far corner at the cracked window rocking with Hart's un-confessed bones wrapped in soothing silt which he now dreams to be his silken pall. Life is indeed strange above the veiled bottom. I do receive confessions here p.r.n. ('as needed, ' in medical jargon) and at my other, now, confessional spots, the usual cafes I weekly haunt for chasing down dreams, waves, receding horizons...why, I wonder, is each window where I sit cracked?

I am the itinerant priest who sits at meager feasts. Suffering 'congregants' (servers, busboys, cooks, regulars forlorn over their starfish and soup) , when their fellows are removed to basement or kitchen or groceries, come to me, ask about a dream, confess to some anguish or other, ask what should be done or undone. I consult espresso foam, open the nearest book willy nilly to see what advice or wisdom might be gained from that Eternal Logos sustaining us all here straining after some meaningful thing to keep us going when Hart and those too recent others obey some impulse to place at last the final period, reifiying the punctuate though unrepentant ending of this too too long run-on sentence of hate. One hopes this period holds fast, that Logos/meaning is somehow, plates of starfish with fork and knife beside, true or truing, at least.

One serves where needed. And when. So come unto me you 'sad young men...All the news is bad again so kiss your dreams goodbye.'

Here at my confessional I can only plead mercy upon the gay boys of late who have jumped from bridges, hung themselves, cut, sliced, diced their sad and abused compulsive hands, exploded hearts, leaping dears, eyes ablaze in thrall of antlers, trembling flanks strong to fly decrying the violent hunt which always ends with a death, bequeathing these chopped bits to me and those others like me who remain at table, plates before, to stare at what is there to be later scattered, sown, those pieces in and for Love-without-name or, if named, is still a stain upon confused local deities, their wide-eyed supplicants, but there is no stain upon the promiscuous sea. The compliant sky is not confused, neither is all that is between confused, allowing birth and blessing, passing of all kinds in all manner of motive and motion. But in the human world, distressing, there will be more boys, more men growing up as from the very beginning where earliest enmity mythically grew strong before shoes, before hearts were capable of breaking before turgid theological floods spilled blood of brother by brother turning witness stones toward silence, echoing lamenting Federico:

Do not ask me to see it! I don't want to see it. I will not see it!

But I, but perhaps we, who remain to plant these petaled parts of these unwitting scapegoats whose eyes are milk now forever, we must bar sentimentality, must move toward genuine knowing which comes from the long hard stare beyond Milky Ways at the way things still inexorably are. Was it Fritz Perls who said, ''Nothing gets better (or changes for the better) until it is what it is'? But gay folk know what the 'is' is of the matter...it is the others, too many of them, who don't (or won't) know, who willingly refuse to see 'what is' in order to reach beyond the collective 'Nazi/NOT SEE-solutions' of heteronormative culture/religion.

Perhaps even in the deepest fault of the ocean that very visionary company in league with stuporous pigeons, a mourning dove, me here who remains, not-yet-remains, tearful over my espresso looking for signs, finding only an endlessly fracturing rainbow, remembering, too, the murmuring secrets of wharves and co-mingled breath—that very visionary company traces all the sunken ones, the jumping ones, those with other means for departure by their own hands empty now of demands for love.

Here I sit with my arthritic living hands still demanding, remembering full of past and present griefs the Violin with a cut throat in a youthful suicide note I once wrote years ago, hidden, hiding out, refusing to shout my rage and despair to almighty 'Nothing But':

Do not hear nothing but the cabin walls,
do not hear nothing but the late summer roses
petal by petal leaping from the still too white trellises,
leaping pinkly, redly, memory to breezes,
overwhelmed by trellises snagged with cut sleeves.

But not me. Not yet. I don't want to see it! I will not see it.

I wrote it all on the mute page—the Violin refusing to sing, in love with García Lorca, the goring horn of the Bull, the destined cornada, each and all appalling, commanding me to write during long nights working at the facility where the mentally ill wandered with me, the keys ironically in my hand, in the yellowing hallways with even more ironic EXIT signs brightly RED above the locked doors, silent companions somnolent but for the jangling joke of keys.

Still, I have now these better days in the Village, broke or near to it, with eggs and beans, cheap but edible things. An epicurean after all, I do luxuriously head to the Polish butcher shop nearby to gather meat but not any of the young butchers want to be gathered, too Catholic, for Poland is 'passing strange' with bad teeth, fingers stained with nicotine. Or is it rust from cast-off Iron Curtains, or the Blood of the Acetylene Virgin?

...but back to the meat...I get my meat, cook my greens, have good-enough feasts for garlic and the right spice make grander the demanded abstemiousness of current coinage. I steal my pleasure during eats in my dirty yet happy apron with a good aria on the radio to salt my food with tears, a blubbering fool beside his one low watt lamp, darkness too too comfortable like a pooch or cat at feet. What is that bleating in the darker corner? I shall wait for daylight to see what it can be. And if I can, I shall free it from its trap and in doing so perhaps free me from all this, all this witnessing as life demands I must, of young ones setting themselves 'free' because they are forced to do so by collective psychopathology now rendered even more effective and efficient via technology, via internet, emphasis upon the 'net, ' where the ills set free from Pandora's Modem have only begun to be revealed.

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poem by Warren Falcon
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O'Toole And McSharry

In the valley of the Lachlan, where the perfume from the pines
Fills the glowing summer air like incense spreading;
Where the silent flowing river like a bar of silver shines
When the winter moon it pallid beams is shedding;
In a hut on a selection, near a still and silent pool,
Lived two mates, who used to shear and fence and carry;
The one was known near and far as Dandy Dan O'Toole
And the other as Cornelius McSharry.

And they'd share each other's blankets, and each other's horses ride,
And go off together shearing in the summer;
They would canter on from sunrise to the gloaming, side by side,
While McSharry rode the Barb and Dan the Drummer.
And the boys along the Lachlan recognised it as a rule
From Eugowra to the plains of Wanandarry,
That if ever love was stronger than McSharry's for O'Toole
'Twas the love O'Toole extended to McSharry.

And their love might have continued and been constant to the end
And they might have still been affable and jolly,
But they halted at a shanty where the river takes a bend,
And were waited on by Doolan's daughter, Polly.
Now, this pretty Polly Doolan was so natty, neat and cool
And so pleasant that they both agreed to tarry,
For she winked her dexter eyelid at susceptible O'Toole,
While she slyly winked the other — at McSharry.

So they drank her health in bumpers till the rising of the moon,
And she had them both in bondage so completely
That each time they talked of going she said, "Must you go so soon?"
And they couldn't go, she smiled at them so sweetly.
Dan O'Toole grew sentimental and McSharry played the fool,
Though they each had sworn an oath they'd never marry,
Yet the self-same dart from Cupid's bow that vanquished Dan O'Toole
Had gone through the heart of honest Con McSharry.

Then McSharry thought if Dandy Dan got drunk and went to bed,
He (McSharry) could indulge his little folly,
And Dan thought if McSharry once in drunken sleep lay spread,
He could have a little flirt with pretty Polly;
So they kept the bottle going till they both were pretty full,
And yet each rival seemed inclined to tarry;
The precise amount of pain-killer it took to fill O'Toole,
Was required to close the optics of McSharry.

So the rivals lost their tempers and they called each other names
And disturbed the Doolan children from their pillows,
And when Doolan came and told them that he wouldn't have such games,
They must go and fight it out beneath the willows.
So they went beneath the willows, near a deep and shady pool,

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poem by Thomas E. Spencer
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Here Begynneth A Lyttell Treatyse Cleped La Conusaunce Damours

Forth gone the virgyns euerychone
Replet with ioye/and eke felicite
To gether floures. And some vnto one
Haue more fantasy/whan they it se
Than to all that in the medowes be
Another shall incontrary wyse
Gether other after theyr deuyse.

So done clerkes/of great grauite
Chose maters/wheron they lyst to wryte
But I that am of small capacite
Toke on me this treatyse to endyte
Tauoyde ydelnesse/more than for delyte
And most parte therof/tolde was to me
As here after/ye may rede and se.

Thus endeth the prologue.

The thyrde idus/in the moneth of July
Phebus his beames/lustryng euery way
Gladdynge the hartes/of all our Hemyspery
And mouynge many/vnto sporte and playe
So dyd it me/the treuthe for to saye
To walke forth/I had great inclination
Per chaunce some where/to fynde recreation

And as I walked/ever I dyd beholde
Goodly yonge people/that them encouraged
In suche maner wyse/as though they wolde
Ryght gladly have songe or daunsed
Or els some other gorgious thynge deuysed
Whose demeanynge/made me ryght ioyous
For to beholde/theyr dedes amorous.

To wryte all thynges of plesure/that I se
In euery place/where I passed by
In all a day recunted it can nat be
Who coude discryue the fresshe beauty
Of dames and pusels/attyred gorgiously
So swete of loke/so amiable of face
Smilyng doulcely/on suche as stande in grace

Certaynly theyr boute/and curtesy
Ofte moueth me/for to do my payne
Some thynge to wryte/them to magnifye

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Of Ancient Mastodon, Sleepy Bee & Young Men Who Leap Too Soon From Bridges - Nightingale Confesses Into Straighter Teeth

'...descend, and of the curveship lend a myth to God.' - Hart Crane

Pueri aeterna, septem cadens
Etiam plures ad

The boys eternal, seven falling
Too many more to come

Jamey Rodemayer
Tyler Clementi
Raymond Chase
Asher Brown
Billy Lucas
Seth Walsh
Justin Aaberg

Sub olivae, pacem
Ut vos omnes adoremus orientatio

Under the olive trees, peace
May you all adore this orientation

******

"I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their
hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once
hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain."

- James Baldwin

'Ignacio goes up the tiers
with all his death on his shoulders.
He sought for the dawn
but the dawn was no more.
He seeks for his confident profile
and the dream bewilders him
He sought for his beautiful body
and encountered his opened blood

Do not ask me to see it! '

- Federico Garcia Lorca*

1

Even the pigeons on my stoop are silent now.

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poem by Warren Falcon
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