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Truth Through Repetition

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Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetiion
Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition
ruth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition T
uth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Tr
th through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Tru
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through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth
through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth

poem by David Keig
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Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Mogg Megone - Part I.

Who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone,
Unmoving and tall in the light of the sky,
Where the spray of the cataract sparkles on high,
Lonely and sternly, save Mogg Megone?
Close to the verge of the rock is he,
While beneath him the Saco its work is doing,
Hurrying down to its grave, the sea,
And slow through the rock its pathway hewing!
Far down, through the mist of the falling river,
Which rises up like an incense ever,
The splintered points of the crags are seen,
With water howling and vexed between,
While the scooping whirl of the pool beneath
Seems an open throat, with its granite teeth!

But Mogg Megone never trembled yet
Wherever his eye or his foot was set.
He is watchful: each form in the moonlight dim,
Of rock or of tree, is seen of him:
He listens; each sound from afar is caught,
The faintest shiver of leaf and limb:
But he sees not the waters, which foam and fret,
Whose moonlit spray has his moccasin wet, -
And the roar of their rushing, he bears it not.

The moonlight, through the open bough
Of the gnarl'd beech, whose naked root
Coils like a serpent at his foot,
Falls, checkered, on the Indian's brow.
His head is bare, save only where
Waves in the wind one lock of hair,
Reserved for him, whoe'er he be,
More mighty than Megone in strife,
When breast to breast and knee to knee,
Above the fallen warrior's life
Gleams, quick and keen, the scalping-knife.

Megone hath his knife and hatchet and gun,
And his gaudy and tasselled blanket on:
His knife hath a handle with gold inlaid,
And magic words on its polished blade, -
'Twas the gift of Castine to Mogg Megone,
For a scalp or twain from the Yengees torn:
His gun was the gift of the Tarrantine,
And Modocawando's wives had strung
The brass and the beads, which tinkle and shine
On the polished breach, and broad bright line
Of beaded wampum around it hung.
What seeks Megone? His foes are near, -
Grey Jocelyn's eye is never sleeping,

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Bible Stories: Ruth (Part II)

A man of wealth great was Boaz-
A kinsman of Elimelech,
The (dead) husband of Naomi.

Ruth asked Naomi to permit
Her glean among the ears of grain
In rich Boaz’s field that day;
Naomi told her to do so.

Young Ruth began to glean the ears
After the reapers, in the field
Of rich Boaz, from morn that day;

From Bethlehem, then Boaz came
And told the reapers all that day,
‘May Lord, our God be with you all.’
And they replied, ‘May He bless you! ’

Boaz then asked his servant nigh,
‘Who is that young woman that gleans? ’
The servant said, ‘A Moabite
With Naomi, from Moab-land.’

Ruth begged Boaz, ‘Please let me glean
And gather grain after reapers! ’
Boaz told Ruth, ‘You may do so,
But venture not into next field.’

She could stay on with his maids there.
He told the servants, ‘Don’t touch her.’
If thirsty, drink from water-jars
Or from what servants shall too draw.

Ruth fell upon her face on ground
And bowed and asked, ‘Is it because
She was a foreigner, she found
Good favor in Boaz’s sight? ’

To this, Boaz replied to her,
‘I am aware of all you’ve done
For your mother-in-law after
Your husband died and how you’d left
Your parents and your place of birth
To people whom you never knew.’

‘May Lord, the God of Israel then
(Under whose wings, you take refuge)
Reward your work that looks so great
And pay wages in accordance.’

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Ruth

When Ruth was left half desolate,
Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone
She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;
Herself her own delight;
Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;
And, passing thus the live-long day,
She grew to woman's height.

There came a Youth from Georgia's shore--
A military casque he wore,
With splendid feathers drest;
He brought them from the Cherokees;
The feathers nodded in the breeze,
And made a gallant crest.

From Indian blood you deem him sprung:
But no! he spake the English tongue,
And bore a soldier's name;
And, when America was free
From battle and from jeopardy,
He 'cross the ocean came.

With hues of genius on his cheek
In finest tones the Youth could speak:
--While he was yet a boy,
The moon, the glory of the sun,
And streams that murmur as they run,
Had been his dearest joy.

He was a lovely Youth! I guess
The panther in the wilderness
Was not so fair as he;
And, when he chose to sport and play,
No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.

Among the Indians he had fought,

[...] Read more

poem by William Wordsworth
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I have a cousin named....

I have a cousin named tru,
Who is always more excited than you,
He jumps an dhe bounces,
in so many houses,

I have a cousin named tru,
Who might belong in a zoo,
He moos and he poos,
while on the news.

I have a cousin named tru,
Who will try o say boo,
when you come out the lou.

I have a cousin named tru,
Who probably won't say goo,
Because he's ay older than two,
Whose name is not sue.

I cousin named tru...
I love you tru!

poem by Cleo Blue
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Forsaking All Others Part 5

I

TRAINED nurses, trained nurses everywhere­
Trained nurses by night, trained nurses by day -
In the corridors, on the stair,
Looking for towels, carrying a tray;
Saying, 'you mustn't,' 'you must,' 'you may.'
Smooth as to hair, stiff as to skirt,
Kind in a cool, impersonal way,­
Angels of mercy, bright-eyed, alert,
Hard young angels, sent to avert
That older angel of dark despair ­
Stiff starched angels, a trifle curt ­
Trained nurses, trained nurses everywhere.

II

A WHITE figure spoke from the doorway
In a tone deliberately bright:
'Would you like to see the patient
For a moment, and say goodnight?'

Shepherded in like a stranger
He stood beside her bed,
Gazed at those pale, blank eyelids
In that carven ivory head.

Took her hand and heard her
Murmur: 'Is that you, Jim?'
But he knew she was very tired ­
Tired even of him.

Too much spent with the struggle
Of drawing breath to afford
A brief smile - utterly weary,
And more than utterly bored.

III

NEVER before had Ruth been out of reach:
Barriers had been - but only of his making.
Now she had passed beyond the power of speech,
Quite, quite indifferent that his heart was breaking.

Here in the bedroom that he used to share
She lived day after day, averse to living,
Indifferent, unforgiving, unaware
That he had any need of her forgiving.

IV

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Great Women - Young and Old

The lights of Bethlehem still burn,
For Ruth’s mother-in-law to return.

Since her unfettered faith, so strong,
Convinced Ruth, with her, to come along.

Facing bravely the consequences of God’s plan,
Ruth, with Naomi, went to the Promised Land.

To live on in Bethlehem was their decision,
Both seeking to receive God’s provision.

God doesn’t stop being God in adversity
Is what Naomi taught Ruth to believe.

So there in Bethlehem, Ruth sought for a man
To help her with the consequences of God’s plan.

And Boaz of Bethlehem, Naomi’s rich kinsman,
Found Ruth to be both charming and winsome.

So he shared with Ruth the bounty of his field,
When he learned her faith, though foreign, was real.

Thus they became one with the grace of God’s will
And with a prophecy of God their duty to fulfill.

Ruth’s faith in Naomi’s God found reinforcement
While lovelorn Naomi was freed of her resentment.

God’s will it was to give Ruth and Boaz a boy,
And for Naomi to restore her spiritual joy.

poem by Albert Price
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Joy In Repetition

{crowd noise same as for alphabet street}
He like to frequent this club down up on 36th
Pimps and thangs like 2 hang outside and cuss for kicks
Talking 2 no one in particular, they say the baddest I am tonight
4 letter words are seldom heard with such dignity and bite.
All the poets and the part time singers always hang inside
Live music from a band plays a song called soul psychodelicide.
The songs a year long and had been playing 4 months when he
Walked into the place.
No one seemed to care, an introverted this-is-it look on most of their faces.
Up on the mic repeating 2 words, over and over again
Was this woman he had never noticed before he lost himself in the
Articulated manner in which she said them.
These 2 words, a little bit behind the beat.
I mean just enough 2 turn u on.
4 everytime she said the words another one of his doubts were gone.
Should he try 2 rap with her? should he stand and stare?
No one else was watching her, she didnt seem 2 care.
So over and over, she said the words til he could take no more, (no more)
He dragged her from the stage and together they ran through the back door
In the alley over by the curb he said tell me whats your name
She only said the words again and it started to rain (rain, rain, rain)
2 words falling between the drops and the moans of his condition
Holding someone is truly believing theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
She said love me, love me, what she say?
She say love me, love me.
Joy, why dont u love me baby, joy, why cant u love me baby
Joy, come on and love me baby, joy in repetition
Alright, joy in repetition,
Alright, joy in repetition,
Alright, joy in repetition,
Alright, joy, all my wishes add up to one
Love me, joy, love me, joy, love me, joy
Love me, love me, joy, joy, joy in repetition
Joy, joy in repetition,
Joy, joy (love me) in repetition,
Love me, love, joy, joy, joy in repetition
Joy, and Im gonna say it again, joy, joy, and Im gonna say it again,
Joy, Id like 2 go way up high and say, love me, joy
Ill say love me, joy
Joy, joy in repetition, joy in repetition
Theres joy in repetition

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Forsaking All Others Part 4

I

WAYNE was looking near and far
After the theatre to find his car.
He had taken his wife to the play that night;

Broadway was glittering hard and bright
With every sort of electric light­
Green and scarlet and diamond-white;
And moving letters against the sky
Told you exactly the reason why
This or that was the thing to buy.
And suddenly there at his side was Nell
Vainly seeking her car as well
They talked. for a moment... of meeting again...
And how were Edward and Ruth, and then
'I wonder,' said Nell, 'if you ever see
My lovely friend...' 'You mean,' said he,
'That blue-eyed lady I once sat next.. '
'Exactly,' said Nellie. 'I feel so vexed
With Lee. I haven't seen her this season,
And between you and me, I know the reason.'
'Do you indeed? ' said Wayne.'Oh, yes,'
Nell answered. 'I know... at least I guess.
When a woman like that whom I've seen so much
All of a sudden drops out of touch,
Is always busy and never can
Spare you a moment, it means a MAN.'

Wayne did not smile. 'I am sure you are
Right,' he said. 'Do you go so far
In the magic art as to tell us who
The man may be? ' 'I certainly do,'
Said Nell. 'It's that handsome young romantic
Doctor who's driving the ladies frantic,
So that they flock to be cured in shoals
And talk of nothing but sex and souls,
And self-expression, and physical passion..
Of course, no wonder the man's the fashion.'

'Does Mrs. Kent flock? ' 'Oh, no, I meant
They've called him in to take care of Kent.
Imagine the long deep conversations,
The tears, the intimate revelations...
I wish to all ladies, lonely and sad,
Tied to a husband hopelessly mad
A handsome psychiatrist... good or bad.
Oh, there's my car,' and so with a gay
Good night to Wayne she was driven away.

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Ruth

All is well—in a prison—to-night, and the warders are crying ‘All’s Well!’
I must speak, for the sake of my heart—if it’s but to the walls of my cell.
For what does it matter to me if to-morrow I go where I will?
I’m as free as I ever shall be—there is naught in my life to fulfil.
I am free! I am haunted no more by the question that tortured my brain:
‘Are you sane of a people gone mad? or mad in a world that is sane?’
I have had time to rest—and to pray—and my reason no longer is vext
By the spirit that hangs you one day, and would hail you as martyr the next.

Are the fields of my fancy less fair through a window that’s narrowed and barred?
Are the morning stars dimmed by the glare of the gas-light that flares in the yard?
No! And what does it matter to me if to-morrow I sail from the land?
I am free, as I never was free! I exult in my loneliness grand!

Be a saint and a saviour of men—be a Christ, and they’ll slander and rail!
Only Crime’s understood in the world, and a man is respected—in gaol.
But I find in my raving a balm—in the worst that has come to the worst—
Let me think of it all—I grow calm—let me think it all out from the first.

Beyond the horizon of Self do the walls of my prison retreat,
And I stand in a gap of the hills with the scene of my life at my feet;
The range to the west, and the Peak, and the marsh where the dark ridges end,
And the spurs running down to the Creek, and the she-oaks that sigh in the bend.
The hints of the river below; and, away on the azure and green,
The old goldfield of Specimen Flat, and the township—a blotch on the scene;
The store, the hotels, and the bank—and the gaol and the people who come
With the weatherboard box and the tank—the Australian idea of home:

The scribe—spirit-broken; the ‘wreck,’ in his might-have-been or shame;
The townsman ‘respected’ or worthy; the workman respectful and tame;
The boss of the pub with his fine sense of honour, grown moral and stout,
Like the spielers who came with the ‘line,’ on the cheques that were made farther out.

The clever young churchman, despised by the swaggering, popular man;
The doctor with hands clasped behind, and bowed head, as if under a ban;
The one man with the brains—with the power to lead, unsuspected and dumb,
Whom Fate sets apart for the Hour—the man for the hour that might come.

The old local liar whose story was ancient when Egypt was young,
And the gossip who hangs on the fence and poisons God’s world with her tongue;
The haggard bush mother who’d nag, though a husband or child be divine,
And who takes a fierce joy in a rag of the clothes on the newcomer’s line.

And a lad with a cloud on his heart who was lost in a world vague and dim—
No one dreamed as he drifted apart that ’twas genius the matter with him;
Who was doomed, in that ignorant hole, to its spiritless level to sink,
Till the iron had entered his soul, and his brain found a refuge in drink.

Perhaps I was bitter because of the tongues of disgrace in the town—
Of a boy-nature misunderstood and its nobler ambitions sneered

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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Bible Stories: Ruth (Part III)

Boaz Will Redeem Ruth:

Then Naomi told Ruth one day,
‘Should I not seek security
For you, my daughter, to be well?
Our kinsman Boaz winnows grain
With maids at threshing floor, tonight! ’

‘You therefore wash yourself, anoint
And wear your best clothes and be there;
Don’t tell him who you are until,
He finishes eating, drinking;
You note the place where he lies down;
Go uncover his feet and lie;
Then, he will tell you what to do.’

Ruth promised to obey her words;
She reached the threshing floor and did
All that her mother-in-law said;
When Boaz had his food and fill,
With merry heart, he lay down still;
Ruth secretly went near the man
His feet uncovered, she lay down.

In middle of the night, the man
Got startled, seeing a lady!
She asked her whoever she was.
“I’m Ruth your maid and relative.”
Then Boaz said, ‘Blessed of Lord,
You’ve been kind to not go after
Young men, whether the poor or rich!
Do not fear, my daughter, now,
You’re a woman of excellence;
I’ll do for you whatev’r you ask.

‘There is a closer relative;
Remain this night until the dawn;
If he redeems you, well and good;
If he does not, I surely will;
He told her to lie down till morn.’

He got up early and told them,
‘Let none know that the woman came;
He asked her cloak and measured six
Measures of barley onto it.

Ruth went into the city then;
And told Naomi everything;
She showed the barley that he gave;
‘My daughter, wait’ said Naomi,

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Bible Stories: Ruth (Part IV)

Boaz Marries Ruth:

As Boaz sat down near the gate,
There came the kinsman whom he sought;
He sat along with elders ten!
Boaz told them of Naomi
Who’d come away from Moab-land
After the death of her husband.

She has a plot of land to sell;
The kinsman had first right to buy,
And if he did, he should redeem
Ruth, widowed daughter-in-law too.

The kinsman told that he could not
And gave up right to redeem Ruth;
The man removed his shoe as sign,
‘Let Boaz buy the plot himself’
This was the practice in Israel! ’

So, Boaz told the elders there:
He had purchased Elimelech’s
And Naomi’s inheritance,
And Ruth, the wife of dead Mahlon.
Would be his new wife from then on.

This was to save the dead one’s kin,
From being cut off from brethren,
And all were witnesses that day,
Who sat to hear the news by gate!

The elders glorified the Lord,
And blessed the new wife of Boaz,
To build her house in Bethlehem,
And bear forth children: be famous
Like Rachel, Leah and too Tamar.

So, Ruth became Boaz’s wife,
And bore a son through grace of God
The women blessed and praised the Lord
Whose kindness saved Naomi’s clan.

Obed was son of Boaz, Ruth
And Naomi became its nurse!
Obed begot Jesse, father of
David, the King: Glory to God!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-24-2007

poem by John Celes
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Booz Endormi

Booz s'était couché de fatigue accablé ;
Il avait tout le jour travaillé dans son aire ;
Puis avait fait son lit à sa place ordinaire ;
Booz dormait auprès des boisseaux pleins de blé.

Ce vieillard possédait des champs de blés et d'orge ;
Il était, quoique riche, à la justice enclin ;
Il n'avait pas de fange en l'eau de son moulin ;
Il n'avait pas d'enfer dans le feu de sa forge.

Sa barbe était d'argent comme un ruisseau d'avril.
Sa gerbe n'était point avare ni haineuse ;
Quand il voyait passer quelque pauvre glaneuse :
- Laissez tomber exprès des épis, disait-il.

Cet homme marchait pur loin des sentiers obliques,
Vêtu de probité candide et de lin blanc ;
Et, toujours du côté des pauvres ruisselant,
Ses sacs de grains semblaient des fontaines publiques.

Booz était bon maître et fidèle parent ;
Il était généreux, quoiqu'il fût économe ;
Les femmes regardaient Booz plus qu'un jeune homme,
Car le jeune homme est beau, mais le vieillard est grand.

Le vieillard, qui revient vers la source première,
Entre aux jours éternels et sort des jours changeants ;
Et l'on voit de la flamme aux yeux des jeunes gens,
Mais dans l'oeil du vieillard on voit de la lumière.

Donc, Booz dans la nuit dormait parmi les siens ;
Près des meules, qu'on eût prises pour des décombres,
Les moissonneurs couchés faisaient des groupes sombres ;
Et ceci se passait dans des temps très anciens.

Les tribus d'Israël avaient pour chef un juge ;
La terre, où l'homme errait sous la tente, inquiet
Des empreintes de pieds de géants qu'il voyait,
Etait mouillée encore et molle du déluge.

Comme dormait Jacob, comme dormait Judith,
Booz, les yeux fermés, gisait sous la feuillée ;
Or, la porte du ciel s'étant entre-bâillée
Au-dessus de sa tête, un songe en descendit.

Et ce songe était tel, que Booz vit un chêne
Qui, sorti de son ventre, allait jusqu'au ciel bleu ;
Une race y montait comme une longue chaîne ;
Un roi chantait en bas, en haut mourait un dieu.

[...] Read more

poem by Victor Hugo
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Forsaking All Others Part 3

I

THERE was an instant when he might have said
He could not see the lady; but instead
He nodded with a blank, impassive face,
And waited, never moving from his place
Beside the window, till a moment more
And she was there, leaning against the door
Which she had closed. She stood there, silent, staring,
Trembling with fear at her own act of daring,
But not with fear of him. Erect and slim,
White as the daytime moon, she spoke to him.

'I know,' she said, 'that it was not your plan
That we should ever meet: I know a man
Assumes despotic power, assumes his voice
In cases such as ours shall have the choice...

'But is that just, I ask... is that fair play
That you should have the right to throw away,
Crush and destroy and utterly deny
Our joint possession... or rather mine, for I
Value our friendship so much more than you
Appear to...' 'No,' he said, 'That is not true.'

She shook her head. 'Ah, if you thought it rare,
Precious and wonderful, you would not dare
Destroy it by yourself... not even you.'

He answered: 'I not only would. I do.
You speak of friendship. What a silly word,
And as dishonest as I ever heard.
Let us at least be candid, for God's sake,
And speak the truth... what difference does it make?
It is not friendship we are speaking of,
But the first moments of a passionate love....'

'You're wrong,' she cried, 'you're absolutely wrong.
Not everything emotional and strong
Between a man and woman needs must be
Physical love... People like you and me
Are wise enough and old enough to take
This fiery elemental thing and make
Something for every day, serene and cool...
I am not of the all-or-nothing school.'

He smiled. 'We light hell-fires, and you engage
They'll warm our palsied hands in our old age,'
At this she paused, and then she said:'Your tone
Wounds me. I live so terribly alone,

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Bible Stories: Ruth (Part Ib)

Her daughters-in-law wept aloud;
Orpah kissed her mother-in-law
And left towards her mother’s house;
Ruth, howev’r clung to Naomi!

Although Naomi advised her,
Ruth refused to leave, like Orpah;
Ruth told her not to compel her;
She loved to follow Naomi;
She’d stay wherever, she would stay;
Her God and people would be hers!

She was ready to die with her,
And be buried, where she would be;
She did not care if worse things came;
She wouldn’t desert her, until death!
When Naomi saw Ruth was firm,
She didn’t dissuade her thereafter!

They both entered Bethlehem town;
Seeing them, the city got stirred;
They asked if she was Noami.
“Call me Mara, Naomi wept!
The Lord has been bitter to me.”

“I went out full but come empty.
The Lord has afflicted me now.”
Thus, Naomi with Ruth returned
From Moab to Bethlehem town,
When barley harvest had begun!

poem by John Celes
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The Cruise of the 'In Memoriam

The wan light of a stormy dawn
Gleamed on a tossing ship:
It was the In Memoriam
Upon a mourning trip.
Wild waves were on the windward bow,
And breakers on the lee;
And through her sides the women heard
The seething of the sea.

“O Captain!” cried a widow fair,
Her plump white hands clasped she,
“Thinkst thou, if drowned in this dread storm,
That savèd we shall be?”

“You speak in riddles, lady dear,
How savèd can we be
If we are drowned?” “Alas, I mean
In Paradise!” said she.

“O I’ve sailed North, and I’ve sailed South”
(He was a godless wight),
“But boy or man, since my days began,
That shore I ne’er did sight!”

The Captain told the First Mate bold
What that fair lady said;
The First Mate sneered in his black beard—
His eyes burned in his head.

“Full forty souls are here aboard,
A-sailing on the wave—
Without the crew, and, ’twixt us two,
I think they’ve none to save—

“Full forty souls, and each one is
A mourner, as you know.
They weep the scuppers full; the ship
Is waterlogged with woe.”

Again he sneered in his black beard:
“The cruise is not so brief,
But, ere we land on earthly strand,
All will have found relief.”

“Nay, nay,” the Captain said, “First Mate,
You have forgotten one
With eyes of blue; the tears are true
From those dear eyes that run!

“She mourns her sweetheart drowned last year,

[...] Read more

poem by Victor James Daley
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Repetition

You get up in the morning
And every single day
Is just a repetition
Its always been that way
You live alone inside your head
Incommunicado, in the land of living dead
Each days a repetition
Of the one that went before
Like watching an old movie
You cant sit through anymore
Why dont you kick the habit
And walk right out that door?
From all the repetition
Day after day
All the repetition
Its always been that way
Its in your head, its in your eyes
Youre boring and its no surprise
With all the repetition
Day after day
All the repetition
They say its time to start all over
And call it a day
But you go right back where you started
Day after day
You go right back to where you started
Day after day, after day, after day, after day
You look in the mirror
Is anybody there?
Its only a reflection
That doesnt really care
Youre a product of your time
Looking hard for something, but you never saw the sign
Lock inside a prison
But thats where you wanna be
Stuck in solitary
And youve thrown away the key
You say you want your freedom
But you dont wanna get away
Then you wake up, its time for you
To start another day
With all the repetition, day after day, all the repetition
All the repetition day after day
Another chance, another day
You know its time to get away from all the repetition
Day after day
How long you gonna sit and wait
Youre getting on its getting late
They say its time to start all over
And call it a day

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Poem For My Little Lady

She's young and soft and kind
And she deserves a who-ole lot be-etter
Than a guitar pickin' drifter
Who never ga-a-ave a damn
And if loving me is all she ever wants
I'm gonna le-et her
And I'll try to be the ki-ind of ma-a-an
She thinks I-I am
She makes those little kitten sou-ou-ounds
And trembles when I-I lo-ove her
She makes me feel so bi-ig and stro-ong and mea-hean
She whispers how she cannot wai-ai-ait
To be my baby-y's mo-other
She's the only glimpse of God I've ever seen
Her mama should have war-arned her
Never take up wi-ith a po-oet
For poet's trave-el rocky roa-oa-oads
In search of tru-uth in life
I'm the only blemish on her virgin soul
But she don't know-ow it
And I thank the Lord she's lyin' gentle
By my si-ide to-night....

song performed by Kenny Rogers
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 09

IX

Lady that in the prime of earliest youth,
Wisely hath shun'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the Hill of heav'nly Truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth,
Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,
And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fixt and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light,
And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure
Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

Note: 5 with Ruth] the Ruth 1645.

poem by John Milton
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Sects Therapy

Lead vocal: frankie howerd
I was lonely and depressed
Having fled the family home
When I met an old acquaintance
I had only barely known
And I told her over tea
Of my worries and my woes
And a morbid fear of eating beans
In tightly fitting clothes
And she said psychoanalysis was just the thing for me
And she knew a mayfair analyst I really ought to see
So I went round to his rooms
And he saw me right away
Though he asked a sum of money I could ill afford to pay
But I lay down on the couch
By a bowl of flaccid flowers
And I talked and talked and talked and talked
For hours and hours and hours
And he told me tales of oedipus with great authority
And he asked me if my mother
Wore stiletto heels and rubber
And I realised that this poor soul
Was more confused than me
Well the shock was so profound
That I fled into the strand
Where I saw a hare krishna group
And joined in with the band
This was just the life for me
Free of worldly goods and care
And I chanted and I ranted
Round and round trafalgar square
I converted tens of thousands and they joined us then and there
But the bagwan was so jealous
That he called me over zealous
Then he threw me out
When I refused to cut off all my hair
(dr. ruth, dr. ruth, why not write to dr. ruth? )
So I wrote to dr. ruth
And she helpfully proposed
I should join a nudist colony
And throw away my clothes
All that sun upon my flesh
Would set my libido free
And would guarentee much more of it
Whatever it may be
But I dont feel that I was quite equipped for such a life
Fair of skin just like my sisters
Too much sun would give me blisters
So I think Ill turn the whole thing in
And go home to the wife

song performed by Alan Parsons Project
Added by Lucian Velea
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