The Sun
I wait for the Sun
But night does consume him whole
And rain blocks life's light
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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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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Song of Wink Star
The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages
story and text © Raj Arumugam, June 2008
☼ ☼
☼ Preamble
Come…children all, children of all ages…sit close and listen…
Come and listen to this happy story of the stars and of life…
Come children of the universe, children of all nations and of all races, and of all climates and of all kinds of space and dimensions and universes…
Come, dearest children of all beings of the living universe, come and listen to The Song of Wink Star…
Come and listen to this story, this happy story…listen, as the story itself sings to you…
Sit close then, and listen to the story that was not made by any, or written by a poet, or fashioned by grandfathers and grandmothers warming themselves at the fire of burning stars…
O dearest children all, come and listen to the story that lives
of itself, and that glows bright and happy….
Come…children all, children of all ages, come and listen to this happy story, the story so natural and smooth as life, as it sings itself to you….
☼ The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages
☼ 1
Night Child, always so light and gentle, slept on a flower.
And every night, before he went to sleep, he would look up at the sky.
He would look at the eastern corner, five o’clock.
And there he would see all the stars in near and distant galaxies that were only visible to the People of Star Eyes.
Night Child was one of the People of Star Eyes. And so he could see the stars. And of all the stars he could see, he loved to watch Wink Star.
Wink Star twinkled and winked and laughed.
Every night Wink Star did that. Winked and laughed.
[...] Read more
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Loves of the Angels
'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.
Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!
One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!
Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Moore
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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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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
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]
POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
POEMS
1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song
[...] Read more
poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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The Idols
An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore
Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.
Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.
Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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Venus and Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens;--O! how quick is love:--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
[...] Read more
poem by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Venus and Adonis
'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'
To the right honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Right honorable.
I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.
Your honour's in all duty.
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
[...] Read more
poem by William Shakespeare
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Fireflies
My fancies are fireflies, —
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.
he voice of wayside pansies,
that do not attract the careless glance,
murmurs in these desultory lines.
In the drowsy dark caves of the mind
dreams build their nest with fragments
dropped from day's caravan.
Spring scatters the petals of flowers
that are not for the fruits of the future,
but for the moment's whim.
Joy freed from the bond of earth's slumber
rushes into numberless leaves,
and dances in the air for a day.
My words that are slight
my lightly dance upon time's waves
when my works havy with import have gone down.
Mind's underground moths
grow filmy wings
and take a farewell flight
in the sunset sky.
The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.
My thoughts, like spark, ride on winged surprises,
carrying a single laughter.
The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow
which yet it never can grasp.
Let my love, like sunlight, surround you
and yet give you illumined freedom.
Days are coloured vbubbles
that float upon the surface of fathomless night.
My offerings are too timid to claim your remembrance,
and therefore you may remember them.
Leave out my name from the gift
if it be a burden,
but keep my song.
[...] Read more
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Dream
'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!
So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.
Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,
To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Tamar
I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.
The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Troubadour. Canto 2
THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?
When will the youth feel as he felt,
When first at beauty's feet he knelt?
As if her least smile could confer
A kingdom on its worshipper;
Or ever care, or ever fear
Had cross'd love's morning hemisphere.
And the young bard, the first time praise
Sheds its spring sunlight o'er his lays,
Though loftier laurel, higher name,
May crown the minstrel's noontide fame,
They will not bring the deep content
Of his lure's first encouragement.
And where the glory that will yield
The flush and glow of his first field
To the young chief? Will RAYMOND ever
Feel as he now is feeling?--Never.
The sun wept down or ere they gain'd
The glen where the chief band remain'd.
It was a lone and secret shade,
As nature form'd an ambuscade
For the bird's nest and the deer's lair,
Though now less quiet guests were there.
On one side like a fortress stood
A mingled pine and chesnut wood;
Autumn was falling, but the pine
Seem'd as it mock'd all change; no sign
Of season on its leaf was seen,
The same dark gloom of changeless green.
But like the gorgeous Persian bands
'Mid the stern race of northern lands,
The chesnut boughs were bright with all
That gilds and mocks the autumn's fall.
Like stragglers from an army's rear
Gradual they grew, near and less near,
Till ample space was left to raise,
Amid the trees, the watch-fire's blaze;
And there, wrapt in their cloaks around,
The soldiers scatter'd o'er the ground.
[...] Read more
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The City of Dreadful Night
Per me si va nella citta dolente.
--Dante
Poi di tanto adoprar, di tanti moti
D'ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa,
Girando senza posa,
Per tornar sempre la donde son mosse;
Uso alcuno, alcun frutto
Indovinar non so.
Sola nel mondo eterna, a cui si volve
Ogni creata cosa,
In te, morte, si posa
Nostra ignuda natura;
Lieta no, ma sicura
Dell' antico dolor . . .
Pero ch' esser beato
Nega ai mortali e nega a' morti il fato.
--Leopardi
PROEM
Lo, thus, as prostrate, "In the dust I write
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears."
Yet why evoke the spectres of black night
To blot the sunshine of exultant years?
Why disinter dead faith from mouldering hidden?
Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden,
And wail life's discords into careless ears?
Because a cold rage seizes one at whiles
To show the bitter old and wrinkled truth
Stripped naked of all vesture that beguiles,
False dreams, false hopes, false masks and modes of youth;
Because it gives some sense of power and passion
In helpless innocence to try to fashion
Our woe in living words howe'er uncouth.
Surely I write not for the hopeful young,
Or those who deem their happiness of worth,
Or such as pasture and grow fat among
The shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth,
Or pious spirits with a God above them
To sanctify and glorify and love them,
Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.
For none of these I write, and none of these
Could read the writing if they deigned to try;
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Rain
Billy said this town is dying,
it's dying just to be like me.
He was fighting everything in sight,
died when he was 23.
I used to meet him down at his cafe,
he had one eye on the door
and the other on the writing on the wall.
He'd get restless and angry and we'd all laugh
'cause we weren't really scared,
we was his friends, he wouldn't hurt us at all
And all he'd say was rain, rain, rain
rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain.
We gotta leave this town.
And Glover was a dancer,
imitating Eddie Cochran by the jukebox.
In the corner of the room
'till he was lost.
Barry 'n me, we used to escape, playing I Go Ape
wearing Italian clothes drinking cider talking in the rain
Hey babe, come over here, let me buy you a beer, what's your name,
she said "Boy, it doesn't really matter, don't you see?
You ain't what I want, you ain't what I need,
you ain't what I fancy, you ain't what I dream of 'n I'd silently leave
?? you're ugly.
Rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain.
I gotta leave this place.
My history is a cop-out
Somewhere in the dark I got scared 'cause I knew I was gonna loose.
You know that feeling you get in your guts, all that frustration when you know
you're going nuts.
You gotta make a move.
There was Billy and Glover and Pacer and Taylor and Valerie and Barry
I remember what he said about that town.
He said "I went to London once, came back,
wiped the tears from my eyes, looked out the window,
and it was still pouring down,
more of that rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain,
rain, rain, rain."
I'm gonna get a train,-a
song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
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Can't Wait To Be With You
(Will Smith)
(I can't wait to be with you, uh)
I can't wait to be with you (yeah)
I can't wait to see you (uh)
I can't wait to be with you (haha)
Loving you is all I want to do
10 o'clock my flight lands
Can't wait to hold the palm of your hand
Been 7 long days, since the last that I saw you
And every free moment I get, I got to call you
Takin' every chance, to glance at your cute face
And lookin' at your 8 by 10 in my suitcase
Ain't been with my honey in a long while
And when I get a hold of you, mmm child (oh, yeah)
No tellin' what I might do
Cause I would be like a kid that got a toy and it's brand new
Can't wait to hold you, can't wait to see you
Can't wait to treat you, can't wait to be with you (oh, yeah)
I can't wait to be with you
I can't wait to see you
I can't wait to be with you
Loving you is all I want to do
Bein' in love is like an amusement ride, G (woo)
I feel like it's a party inside me
Smile on my face, and there's a twinkle in my eye
Time to go to work, but it's so hard to say goodbye (oh, oh)
And as I think of you, it's like I had a drink or two
I feel dizzy, damn where is she?
Pick up the phone and call you about three (Female voice: hello)
Yeah baby it's me, just to hear your voice, just the thought of you
Got me trippin', it's why I just bought a new
Cellular phone, so I don't have to postpone
When my beeper goes off, no more runnin' to a pay phone
Your astoundin', it's why I'm expondin'
So vivacious, and baby your face is
That of a goddess, it's makin' me feel numb
A fe fi fo fum, yo baby come and get some
Of the man, the myth, so debonair
What said while fair, is a pair
We extraordinary, me and you as a team, it's kinda swell ain't it
Love is hole and I tripped, then I feel in it (oh, that's why)
From the mountain, to the valley, to the deep blue sea
All I can do is hope and pray, you want to be with me
I'm sayin' this from my heart, that's how you know that it's true
Yo, I can't wait to be with you
Girl I know it's true
I can't wait to be with you
I can't wait to see you
I can't wait to see you baby
I can't wait to be with you
[...] Read more
song performed by Will Smith
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rain
(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)
[...] Read more
song performed by Missy Elliott
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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The Four Seasons : Summer
From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
And ever fanning breezes, on his way;
While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face; and earth, and skies,
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade,
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom;
And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large,
And sing the glories of the circling year.
Come, Inspiration! from thy hermit-seat,
By mortal seldom found: may Fancy dare,
From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptured glance
Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look
Creative of the Poet, every power
Exalting to an ecstasy of soul.
And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend,
In whom the human graces all unite:
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart;
Genius, and wisdom; the gay social sense,
By decency chastised; goodness and wit,
In seldom-meeting harmony combined;
Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal
For Britain's glory, liberty, and Man:
O Dodington! attend my rural song,
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line,
And teach me to deserve thy just applause.
With what an awful world-revolving power
Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along
The illimitable void! thus to remain,
Amid the flux of many thousand years,
That oft has swept the toiling race of men,
And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course;
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: such the All-perfect hand!
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole.
When now no more the alternate Twins are fired,
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,
Short is the doubtful empire of the night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek'd-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east:
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;
And, from before the lustre of her face,
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
Added by Poetry Lover
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