A Song at Weicheng
A morning-rain has settled the dust in Weicheng;
Willows are green again in the tavern dooryard...
Wait till we empty one more cup –
West of Yang Gate there'll be no old friends.
poem by Wang Wei, translated by Witter Bynner
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
Yang Yang
Yang yang holds on to a giant phone,
Yang yangs soft voice goes on and on,
I hate you, I hate you, where did it go wrong?
Yangyang goes talking to himself on the phone.
Yang yang sends his men pebbles and stones,
Yang yang rips his women down to the bones.
I own you, I own you, so give us a song,
Yangyang goes talking to his world on the phone.
Yang yangs born with a phone cord round his neck,
Yang yang never fails to stick to his kick.
I want you, I want you, youre making me sick.
But yangyang, the chords never long enough
To reach your mommys trick.
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang, snap out,
Give up, cut out,
Tune up and join us,
Join the revolution,
Join the revolution.
No kick is good enough for lifetime substitution,
No brick will give you a lifetime consolation.
And whether you dig it or not,
We outnumber you in population.
And leave your private institution,
Get down to real communication,
Leave your scene of destruction
And join us in revolution.
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang yang yang yang,
Yang yang, wake up,
Give up, cut out,
Come out and join us,
Join the revolution,
Join the revolution.
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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February Rain
To be the mud, the bog, the mire;
To soak the bones in February –
Eons from the autumn shower–
Even from a summer berry!
Sparrows chirp a desperate call,
Darting questions at the cows –
Oblivious to the dousing squall, they
Churn the sludge with pastern ploughs.
The crying air was lost in rhythm:
Drums incessant in the drops;
Not a chance for rainbow prism –
Even if the hammering stops!
Metallic chills entrap machines –
Tractors hushed within the shed.
Inside the house, a full cuisine
To bless with mead – and little said!
But out across the tiring field,
A sodden fox is hunting down
His prey of sorts – but nil of yield;
Perhaps he’ll starve; perhaps he’ll drown.
Still the clouds are hammering,
Hammering home their dreary aim –
A chatterbox in constant yammering,
Drenching all to make a claim.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sang Pujaan
Dia terus saja memandangmu
Gadis yang melihat dari atas jendela
Dan gadis yang berpapasan di jalan
Dia jelas-jelas mengagumimu
Gadis pembuat kue
Dan gadis anak penjahit
Tapi mungkin kau tak menyadarinya
Hatimu begitu dingin dan acuh
Dia pasti mengincarmu
Gadis putri tuan tanah
Dan gadis penyanyi bar itu
Dia juga diam-diam mencintaimu
Gadis pemalu yang tak sanggup memandangmu
Dan gadis sahabat yang ada di dekatmu
Tapi mungkin kau tak peduli
Hatimu sangat dingin dan tak tersentuh
Siapakah dia yang akan kau ajak ke pesta?
Siapakah dia yang akan kau ajak berdansa?
Gadis yang cantikkah atau biasa saja
Siapakah dia yang akan kau pilih?
Siapakah dia yang mencuri perhatianmu?
Gadis yang ceriakah atau gadis yang lembut
Seisi kota begitu ingin tahu tentangmu
Tapi kau masih saja berjalan dengan santai
Mengapa kau begitu mempesona setiap gadis?
Mengapa tak kau pilih salah satu saja?
Gadis yang kau kenal baik atau gadis yang dijodohkan
Berilah kesempatan pada para gadis untuk mendapatkanmu
Juga beri kesempatan para pria untuk mendapat gadis
Bila tak juga mencari seisi kota akan menjadi gila
Dia yang mencintaimu akan menyelamatkanmu
Dia yang kau cintai akan menyelamatkan kami semua!
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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West End Girls
(....forever)
Sometimes youre better off dead
Theres gun in your hand and its pointing at your head
You think youre mad, too unstable
Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables
In a restaurant in a west end town
Call the police, theres a madman around
Running down underground to a dive bar
In a west end town
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
Too many shadows, whispering voices
Faces on posters, too many choices
If, when, why, what?
How much have you got?
Have you got it, do you get it, if so, how often?
And which do you choose, a hard or soft option?
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
Oooh west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
Youve got a heart of glass or a heart of stone
Just you wait till I get you home
Weve got no future, weve got no past
Here today, built to last
In every city, in every nation
From lake geneva to the finland station
(how far have you been? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
A west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how far have you been? )
Girls
East end boys
[...] Read more
song performed by Pet Shop Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Waktu yang Tepat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita secepat kilat
atau sewaktu berhitung cermat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila bergerak mendekat
atau bersabar menunggu penjerat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita melihat
atau ketika tak ada yang berbuat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita terus memahat
atau dimana semua sudah tersurat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kehormatan terdesak
atau kala keberanian terdapat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila musuh merapat
atau sewaktu tak terlambat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila kita menangkap waktu yang sesaat
atau saat melepas semua pemberat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila semua selamat
atau ketika datang mujizat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila emosi memuncak
atau dimana yang berkuasa adalah akal sehat
kapankah waktu yang tepat itu?
apakah bila janji sudah terikat
atau kala hidup dipenuhi karat
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Translated into English in 1859 by Edward FitzGerald
I.
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
II.
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
III.
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted -- "Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
IV.
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
V.
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one Knows;
But still the Vine her ancient ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
VI.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!" -- the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.
VII.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly -- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
VIII.
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life kep falling one by one.
[...] Read more
poem by Omar Khayyam
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The Ballad of the White Horse
DEDICATION
Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?
Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?
In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.
Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.
Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.
Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.
Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.
But who shall look from Alfred's hood
[...] Read more
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Thurso’s Landing
I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.
II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Sebuah bom yang meledak bernama sunyi (Indonesian)
: Teungku Abdullah Syafii in memoriam
(1)
Bilakah ini harinya bom yang engkau lemparkan bersama
Butir udara berinteraksi memekatkan cinta
Yang dinamakan kesumat tak akan ada yang
Bisa kuperbuat kecuali
Menikam waktu dan sebuah bom yang
Meledak engkau sebut sunyi,
Dari lukakah mengalirkan darah
Yang engkau sebut cinta yang
Akhirnya menghantarkan
Pada kilatan api dalam ketiadaan,
Ketiadaan Teungku yang menemukan
Aliran darahnya, ketiadaan hamba tanpa sunyi,
Dan engkau lemparkan sunyi, engkau lemparkan
Kepada waktu:
Sebuah bom meledak bernama sunyi
Lalu aku mencatatnya dengan cinta
(2)
Teungku: duka duri semak ada di dadamu, cinta manakah
Yang hendak dikuburkan, aku tepiskan
Tanpa memilih hidup ini akan dikemanakan
Mungkin bersama bayang-bayang hujan lalu
Sunyi ini akan diberikan kepada siapa?
Siapakah pembunuh waktu yang tak mengerti:
Luka ini berasal juga dari Cinta
Cinta berasal muasal dari duka keabadian
Mungkin kita ini bangsa yang lupa
Bahwa bendera kita bukanlah kemenangan
Tetapi kekalahan berkepanjangan
Sebagai hamba Duli Paduka, cinta manakah?
Bagai berondongan pertanyaan ini menyergap
Dan Teungku: dekaplah damai keabadianMu
(3)
Duka sergap kematian ini semakin lekat, bila moncong menganga
Selalu berarah kepadamu, kenangan apakah
Jejak bayang-bayang hujan terlalu samar
Untuk siapakah engkau kirim kegelisahan ini
Senyap rerumputan memagut lelapmu
Sungai berdiri diam bisu
Menorehkan sederet kebahagiaan
Lewat peluru, mesiu dan bayang-bayang
Mawar, cinta dan kematian
Tak ada yang lebih menarik lagi
Tak ada yang lebih menarik lagi
[...] Read more
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Padam
Apa yang kau dapatkan, hargailah
Apa yang dipinjam, kembalikan
Sebelum semuanya menghilang
Dan api di dalammu padam
Apa yang kau simpan, rawatlah
Apa yang kau buang, relakan
Bila api di dalam dirimu telah padam
Kenangan pun tak lagi bisa membakar
Mimpi pun tak bisa lagi bersinar
Jadi jangan berhenti dulu
Sebab dewa masih memberimu waktu
Sebelum semuanya memudar
Dan api di dalammu padam
Apa yang kau inginkan, kejarlah
Apa yang kau takuti, hadapi
Sebelum semuanya menghilang
Dalam kegelapan yang kelam
Apa yang kau jaga, sayangilah
Apa yang kau benci, tangisi
Karena bila api yang ada telah padam
Ingatan pun tak lagi berarti
Jalan yang lebar pun tak lagi menarik
Jadi jangan mencemaskan hal yang tak perlu
Sebab meski terlihat tak ada waktu
Dan angin tak mau membantu
Kobaran di dadamu masih belum padam
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Rain,rain
Why am I here if youre there
So far away its not fair
To be without you like this
I miss you more than you know
The nights are long
The days slow
Without the warmth of your kiss
Wish you were back here with me
Cause out my window
All is see is
Rain , rain in the sky
Everywhere I look my eyes see
Rain , rain fallin down
Crying as it hits the ground
Rain , rain in my heart
Every day that were apart
Rain , rain
Falling rain , rain
Rain , rain
Only rain , rain
The sun is strong when youre near
But when youre gone it disappears
Behind an ocean of blue
The telephones not good enough
It cant reach out it cant touch
Me like the way you do
Wish you would knock at my door
Cause only you can stop the pouring
Rain , rain in the sky
Everywhere I look my eyes see
Rain , rain fallin down
Crying as it hits the ground
Rain , rain in my heart
Every day that were apart
Rain , rain
Falling rain , rain
Rain , rain
Only rain , rain
Maybe ill go outside
And walk beneath the clouds
Pretend its you thats watching over me
This isnt the only thing that comes
Between us now
Baby soon well be together
Oooo
( everywhere I look I see rain )
( everywhere I look I see rain )
Rain
( everywhere I look I see rain )
Everywhere I look I see rain
[...] Read more
song performed by Cher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
I
AWAKE! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
II
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
III
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
IV
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
V
Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamsh{'y}d's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
VI
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehleví, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to' incarnadine.
VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
VIII
And look--a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke--and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Fitzgerald
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Old Friends
Old friends
Are the best friends
All my old friends
Are my best friends
Old friends
Are the best friends
All my old friends
Are my best friends
Saw you walk into the club last night
Could not even believe what I was seein
How do I even stop thinkin of you?
cause in my eyes youre still mine
Nobody told me I would feel like this
Wanting you more as the years walk on by
Now Im not afraid to say what i, I believe
But I wish you were my wife
My old friend
Old friends
Are the best friends
All my old friends
Are my best friends
(my old friend)
Old friends
Are the best friends
All my old friends
Are my best friends
First time we met so cool, cool I never knew
You would become so closely to my heart
And now when I look back, girl I was so blessed
The rest never passed the test
Im choosy when it comes to newfound friends
And I wish they could be so smooth
(just like you)
And you never sweated me girl that was so tight
You were an angel in my life, oh, if
(I knew then)
What I know now
(what I know now)
Oh, yeah
(you wouldnt be with him)
You would be here
(youd be here with me)
My old friend
Old friends
Are the best friends
All my old friends
Are my best friends
(my old friend)
Old friends
Are the best friends
[...] Read more
song performed by New Edition
Added by Lucian Velea
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Menatap lurus matamu (Indonesian)
lalu belajar mengerti dari awal,
membaca kembali ejaan yang tak pernah kau berikan,
karena sebagaimana pengertian dari awalnya
bermula dari keterpaksaan,
penderitaan yang dijalani,
akar tunjang yang membelit tumbuh
di pokok batangnya,
rumput yang tumbuh
di segala musim,
kerelaan yang tumbuh
dari bola matamu,
memperkaitkan sepi pada pengertian,
alam benda-benda yang ada di kerajaan hati,
entah berapa kali aku mengemis padamu,
jangan buatkan sarang laba-laba yang menjebakku,
jadi magsamu,
terpikat masuk ke bola matamu,
terjebak sukma ruhmu,
melewati aliran nadi,
memenuhi hasrat,
pelajaran apalagi ini?
bermula dari kekosongan mengisi setiap rongga jiwa,
penderitaan adalah awal persetubuhan,
persetubuhan yang akan menjadi puing-puing
kenangan dalam matamu,
hendakkah kau buang,
bagi matamu yang penyair,
barangkali akan tinggalkan sebagai kata,
yang kembali dieja dengan apa saja judul puisimu,
tetapi tetap saja persetubuhan kita tak kekal,
hanya kekal dalam matamu dan mataku,
suatu kali kita bangun kerajaan dalam semalam,
aku puaskan membangunkan pualam istana,
cuma dalam matamu,
setelah kekeringan yang punah,
dibakar, apalagi ini?
lalu belajar mengerti kembali…..
(2001)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Yin-yang-yin
A teacher asked a student
To define life
The student could craft
Thoughts out of naught
He started to chant something like this
Yin-yang-yin
Yo-yo
Yo-yo
Yo
When yin sleeps
Yang wake-up
Yin yang yin
Yo-yo
Yo-yo
Yo
Together they fit
To form a whole
Yin-yang-yin
Yo-yo
Yo-yo
Yo
Opposite they are
But still seeking balance
Yin-yang-yin
Yo-yo
Yo-yo
Yo
Contrary but still
Not in opposition
Yin-yang-yin
Yo-yo
Yo-yo
Y o
Two aspects
Of a single truth
Yin-yang-yin
Yo-yo
Yo-yo
Yo
Rather than trying to replace each other
They transform into a single reality
Yin-yang-yin
Yo-yo
[...] Read more
poem by Gul Naz
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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All Day Sucker
Come on up you say
Cause you can feel your love comin down
I find myself rushin over to
Do something for your love
I knock on the door
You answer askin what am I there for
I say I thought you wanted me to
Do something for your love
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something to get nothin
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something but to get none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
You call me up to say
Youre sorry for what went down the other day
And could I come over today
Do something for your love
One knuck gets me in
But then you say how very nice its been
That lets me know that I will once again
Get nothin fom your love
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something to get nothin
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something but to get none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
You drop by to say
Youre sorry for what went down the other day
[...] Read more
song performed by Stevie Wonder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rain Drops
If the rain drops,
It doesn't fall on one man's head;
So, this poem is about to make you learn.
If the rain drops were sticks of cigarettes,
Many of us will smoke to death;
If the rain drops were bullets from heaven,
Many of us will dropp dead at once;
If the rain drops were roses of love,
Many of us will make love one night;
If the rain drops were trees,
Many of us will sleep on them;
If the rain drops were stones,
Many of us will be admitted in the hospitals;
If the rain drops were men,
Many women will fight for them;
If the rain drops were women,
Many men will kill for them;
If the rain drops were birds,
Many of us will learn to fly;
If the rain drops were acid,
Many of us will be admitted in hell;
If the rain drops were flowers,
Many of us will beautify our homes;
If the rain drops were spies,
Many of us will be exposed of our nakedness;
If the rain drops were guns,
Many of us will join the Third World War;
If the rain drops were teachers,
Many of us will be well educated;
If the rain drops were students,
Many of us will still roam the streets;
If the rain drops were parents,
Many of us will be at home;
If the rain drops were bicycles,
Many of the cars will be grounded;
If the rain drops were diamonds,
Many of the mines will be closed down;
If the rain drops were candies,
Many of us will visit the toilet;
If the rain drops were houses,
Many of us will not be homeless;
If the rain drops were Whites,
Many of the Blacks will not be seen;
If the rain drops were Blacks,
Many of the Whites will not be heard of;
If the rain drops were envelopes,
Many of the post offices will work overtime;
If the rain drops were Television Sets,
Many of us will be glued to them;
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Canto the Fourth
I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.
III.
In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.
V.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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