Citatepedia^®.com

Propositions, Referendums and Canadians

The US has referendums and propositions which we don’t,
Ottawa politicians have been asked to allow them but they wont,
Reason enough why less than half Canadians bother to vote,
And why establishment Ottawa politicians can gloat.

Canadians have long been brainwashed and trained not to think,
And have been told that certain political subjects might stink,
Human rights and multiculturalism is the way to go,
Politically correct so all Canadians should know.

Canadians are not allowed to go and arrange to die,
No euthanasia or death with dignity and we don’t know why,
Blacklisted from being in the UN Security Council crowd,
By weird UN bought members who all feel so pompously proud.

New York has been too lenient with the pompous UN crowd,
Many of them terrorist dictatorships screaming out loud,
Where they can get their communist or strange propaganda heard,
And any normal UN stuff can be postponed and deferred.

Nov 24th,2010

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Brainwashed

Brainwashed in our childhood
Brainwashed by the school
Brainwashed by our teachers
and brainwashed by their rules
Brainwashed by our leaders
By our Kings and Queens
Brainwashed in the open and brainwashed
behind the scenes
God God God
A voice cried in the wilderness
God God God
it was on the longest night
God God God
An eternity of darkness
God God God
Someone turned out the spiritual light
Brainwashed by the Nikkei
Brainwashed by Dow Jones
Brainwashed by the FTSE
Nasdaq and secure loans
Brainwashed us from Brussels
Brainwashing us in Bonn
Brainwashing us in Washington
Westminster in London
God God God
You are the wisdom that we seek
God God God
The lover that we miss
God God God
Your nature is eternity
God God God
You are Existance, Knowlwedge, Bliss
The soul does not love, it is love itself
It does not exist, It is existence itself
It does not know, It is knowledge itself
"How to Know God" Page 130
They brainwashed my great uncle
Brainwashed my cousin Bob
They even got my grandma when she was
working for the mob
Brainwash you while you're sleeping
While you're in a traffic jam
Brainwash you while you're weeping
While still a baby in your pram
Brainwashed by the Military
Brainwashed under duress
Brainwashed by the media
You're brainwashed by the press
Brainwashed by computer
Brainwashed by mobile phones

[...] Read more

song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Politically Correct

If you sing out Baa Baa Blacksheep,
It will have a terrible effect,
Who tells us that this song is bad,
The Politically Correct.

Enter our country illegally,
Then show us no respect,
Will we send you straight back, no,
It's not,
Politically Correct.

We're told not to smack our children,
As their minds it will affect,
That is why they run amok,
Thanks,
The Politically Correct.

If you have a criminal mind,
Then join a violent sect,
We won't hold this against you,
We're,
Politically Correct.

If you break in to a house or bank,
Your booty to collect,
We'll put you up if you get caught,
That's,
Politically Correct.

If you're addicted to illegal drugs,
We'll rush in to protect,
We'll say you are a poor wee soul, why?
It's,
Politically Correct.

You can take cocaine and smoke your hash,
Illegal drugs you can inject,
We're not allowed to stop you because,
It's not,
Politically Correct.

If you say Shhhh! Black or White,
Then I'm afraid you can expect,
To be told you're out of order by,
The Politically Correct.

How dare you celebrate Christmas,
That's a time we must all reject,
All Christians are now redundant,
Who says?

[...] Read more

poem by Bri Mar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

You Stink!

'You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
Way off the beat without a syncopation given.'

All I've ever wanted from you,
Was your trust.
Although my honesty shows,
Perhaps I trust too much.

Can't you see,
I'd rather be in sync with you desperately.
But you think I should first prove,
My devotion is complete...
With a soothing approving beat you seek!

'You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
You stink!
Don't you know you're out of tune,
And out of rhythm.
Way off the beat without a syncopation given.'

'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink!
You stink.
You stink.
You stink! '

'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.
'You stink! '
I know this but I came without a motive.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Is Multiculturalism A Disaster Feb 21st 2011

Has multiculturalism become a monstrous disaster?
Strange language ghetto schools with their own strange headmasters,
Dividing old Canadians from new Canadians and much more,
Shut off behind a politically correct locked school doors.

Has multicultural ideas allowed this to come about?
Should we think about throwing multiculturalism out?
Or are Canadians being divided into this or that?
Where being united has as much appeal as a flying bat.

Has multiculturalism taken on the form of a religion?
A sickness not too different than a form of drug addiction?
Is multiculturalism a national poison taking effect?
Should we go to the doctor and get a medical check?

Feb 21st,2011

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Nothing Is Allowed To Change

No propositions, referendums or judicial reviews,
Never allowed plebiscites so we never get much to choose,
Therefore less than half Canadians even bother to vote,
And our politicians tend to think this is great, as they gloat.

If politicians refuse to see problems; there’s no need to fix,
They are locked into their secret party agenda and tricks,
It is not politically correct to mention any change,
No recall or referendums will ever be arranged.

And how dare you even think outside the box,
Ideas like that might cause a political party shock,
And if you keep that up they may even close down the Internet,
Less than half Canadians vote so no one can torment.

Jan 31st,2011

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.

Much malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stocked with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked, and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wonted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die,
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
Meanwhile she quenched her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cooled her blood.
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
To express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturbed the friendly meal.
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor failed she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgments herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Why Do Less Than Half Of Us Vote? Oct 23rd,2012

WHY DO LESS THAN HALF OF US VOTE? Oct 23rd,2012
BY
JAMES BREDIN

Why do less than half Canadians even bother to vote?
Do our appointed Ottawa aristocrats have us by the throat?
The Supreme Court decides what the government can or cannot do,
Therefore our elected politicians are stymied and don't have a clue.

Why is it that most Canadians don't even know about this?
And no binding referendums or recall like the Swiss,
With abortion clinics everywhere and DWD banned,
Therefore Canadians might tend to have problems in this Promised Land.

Why do our courts announce so many publication bans?
Why does the Youth Criminal Justice Act tend to tie our hands?
And the government denied permission to close the Insite Clinic down,
Why bother to vote if things in Ottawa can't be changed around?

Oct 23rd,2012

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

One Reason To Believe

Lighting candles in the church of my choice, loving strangers in the dark
Looking for someone to give me what I lack
Searching for something 'till you showed me the gun in my back
I'm human and I need it, I must have my beliefs
I open myself to the love, yeah
And I love you 'cause you showed me a merciful release
I'm living this time and I know you gave me the reason
Chorus:
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (to believe), one reason (my baby)
One reason (it's all I need), one reason (to believe)
One reason (my baby), one reason
Trying to get faith from the eight fifty paperbacks
Hoping they'll show me the way (the way to what?)
Man in a crisis, a young girl in his bed
She's trying to help him when she tells him it's all in his head
I'm human and I need it, I must have my beliefs
I open myself to the love, yeah
I love you 'cause you showed me a merciful release
I'm living this time and I know you gave me the reason
chorus
I bow to the east or I kneel to the west, it's a matter of faith
I'm the only one who has to believe it
chorus
(Solo)
One reason, one reason, one reason, one reason
I bow to the east or I kneel to the west, it's a matter of faith
I'm the only one who has to believe it
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (one reason), one reason (my baby)
One reason (that's all I need), one reason (to believe)
One reason (to believe), one reason (just give me one)
One reason (one reason), one reason (to believe)
One reason (it's all I need), one reason (my baby)
One reason (my baby), one reason (my baby)
One reason (you are the reason), one reason
One reason (that's all I want), one reason (that's all I need)...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Be Mine Tonight

Written by chuck jackson and marvin yancy
I feel the need so wont you please turn me on
And give to me some thought of you to keep me strong, yeah, baby
You say to me you gotta be on your way, well
On hands and knees Im begging you please stay
Im not worried about tomorrow
Let tomorrow take care of itself
Honey wont you be mine tonight, yeah
Honey wont you be mine
Daddy wont you be mine tonight
Sugar wont you be mine
Its you I want so baby dont leave me now, dont go
Why dont you stay awhile, make me smile, show me how
Im not worried about tomorrow
Let tomorrow take care of itself
Honey, wont you be mine tonight
Honey, wont you be mine
Sweet daddy, wont you be mine tonight
Darling, wont you be mine
Honey, honey be mine tonight
Daddy, wont you be mine
I want you to be mine tonight
I want you to be mine
I need you tonight
I want you to be mine
I want you to be mine tonight
Wont you be mine
I want you to be mine tonight
I want you to be mine tonight
Daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you be mine
Daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you
Daddy wont you be mine tonight
Daddy wont you come on be mine
Come on, come on, come on be mine tonight
Daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you,
Daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you,
Daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you,
Daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you, come on
Daddy, wont you, daddy, daddy, wont you,
Daddy, wont you, daddy, wont you
Your mamma waitin for you, come on
Daddy, wont you be mine tonight

song performed by Natalie Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Come let's wholeheartedly follow

There’s a sweet little child in all of us; come lets
wholeheartedly allow it to majestically blossom till
the pinnacle of resplendently ingratiating prosperity,

There’s a mesmerizing little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to evolve into an
unfathomably compassionate gorge of friendship; as
tangy as the rhapsodically ebullient oceans,

There’s an enchanting little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to marvelously burgeon
till times beyond iridescent eternity; and enthuse
even the most obfuscatedly alien of our times,

There’s a euphoric little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to spawn like an
insatiably fragrant flower of gorgeous companionship;
as the Sun blazed vibrantly from behind the
mellifluous hills,

There’s a poignant little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to enthrall even the most
obsoletely dithering nerves in our beleaguered bodies;
to the most stupendously unprecedented limits,

There’s a jubilant little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to ingratiatingly gallop
to kiss the epitome of dazzling timelessness; and for
centuries immemorial,

There’s a victorious little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to Omnipotently
transcend; over the pernicious precipices of our
disastrously dwindling derogatorily manipulative
souls,

There’s an innocuous little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to profoundly rejuvenate
our bizarrely estranged senses; with the vivaciously
sacrosanct tonic of life,

There’s an embellished little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to majestically drape our
insipidly feckless deliriousness; with cisterns of
unsurpassable sensuousness,

There’s a fantastic little child in all of us; come
lets wholeheartedly allow it to irrefutably overshadow
our disparagingly deteriorating gloom; with fountains
of timeless happiness,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Annus Mirabilis, The Year Of Wonders, 1666

1
In thriving arts long time had Holland grown,
Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;
Our King they courted, and our merchants awed.

2
Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow,
Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost:
Thither the wealth of all the world did go,
And seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast.

3
For them alone the heavens had kindly heat;
In eastern quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumaean balm did sweat,
And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew.

4
The sun but seem'd the labourer of the year;
Each waxing moon supplied her watery store,
To swell those tides, which from the line did bear
Their brimful vessels to the Belgian shore.

5
Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long,
And swept the riches of the world from far;
Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong:
And this may prove our second Punic war.

6
What peace can be, where both to one pretend?
(But they more diligent, and we more strong)
Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;
For they would grow too powerful, were it long.

7
Behold two nations, then, engaged so far
That each seven years the fit must shake each land:
Where France will side to weaken us by war,
Who only can his vast designs withstand.

8
See how he feeds the Iberian with delays,
To render us his timely friendship vain:
And while his secret soul on Flanders preys,
He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.

9
Such deep designs of empire does he lay

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

THEY CAN'T WIN Apr 30th,2011

Those who don’t vote, think that nothing can change and they may be right,
Without plebiscites or propositions trying to be polite,
No binding referendums or proportional representation,
So why bother to be involved or vote or make a donation?

They are not allowed to vote for their prime minister by name,
Can’t have political recall and no matter what, so they can’t blame,
There are no set-date elections so no one knows the date for sure,
And the name on the ballot they can vote for, is extremely obscure.

Can’t vote for an appointed senator or Supreme Court judge,
Can’t even have these thoughts because nothing is allowed to budge,
Can’t have death with dignity because that would be a sin,
So why bother to vote because Canadians may not win?

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Wont Be Long

(j. l. mcfarland)
Baby, here I am
A-by the railroad track
Oh, waitin for my baby
Hes a-comin back
A-comin back to me
On 5:03, eah
And it wont be long, no, no
It wont a-be long
I get so lonesome
Since hes been gone
There aint a thing worth mentioning
No, a-been goin on
And thats a-why I know
When the whistle blows, yeah
And it wont be long, no, no
It wont be long
My daddy told me
When he said goodbye, yes he did
Ill be back, baby
Oh, baby, bye and bye
Thats why Ive waited
So doggone long, yeah
A-cant you see how happy I am
Because my man is a-comin back?
So now here Ill be
A-by the railroad track
Oh, waitin for my baby, yeah
Hes a-comin back
A-comin back to me
On 5:03, hey
And it wont be long, no, no
It wont a-be long
I aint had no lovin
Since you know when
Hes a lonesome old rooster
And Im a lonesome hen
Thats a-why I know, yeah
When the whistle blows, yeah
And it wont a-be long, no, no
It wont be long
Mmm, Im so excited
My knees are shakin, yeah
Mr. engineer, oh, dont you keep me waitin
Hear me tellin you
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry
A-baby, here I am
Oh, by the railroad track, yeah
Waitin for my baby
Hes a-comin back

[...] Read more

song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Referendum Game Aug 19th,2012

THE REFERENDUM GAME AUG 19TH,2012
BY
JAMES BREDIN

The separatists in Quebec are already screaming for change,
Ottawa pays little attention and why is that so strange?
Because they don't like referendums which their aristocrats hate,
No death with dignity, referendums, separation or debate.




But we should all have referendums and have them by next year,
Why is this something that our Ottawa aristocrats fear?
Now is our chance to get ahead in this referendum game,
And in isolated Ottawa; there would be no need to inflame.




Several referendums could cause the separatists to think,
That Ottawa is not stuck in the mud though it seldom blinks,
Canadian politicians extremely reluctant to change,
Unlike Quebec separatists who want to rearrange.

AUG 19TH,2012

poem by James Bredin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Farewell

_P_. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell
To all the follies which in Europe dwell;
To Eastern India now, a richer clime,
Richer, alas! in everything but rhyme,
The Muses steer their course; and, fond of change,
At large, in other worlds, desire to range;
Resolved, at least, since they the fool must play,
To do it in a different place, and way.
_F_. What whim is this, what error of the brain,
What madness worse than in the dog-star's reign?
Why into foreign countries would you roam,
Are there not knaves and fools enough at home?
If satire be thy object--and thy lays
As yet have shown no talents fit for praise--
If satire be thy object, search all round,
Nor to thy purpose can one spot be found
Like England, where, to rampant vigour grown,
Vice chokes up every virtue; where, self-sown,
The seeds of folly shoot forth rank and bold,
And every seed brings forth a hundredfold.
_P_. No more of this--though Truth, (the more our shame,
The more our guilt) though Truth perhaps may claim,
And justify her part in this, yet here,
For the first time, e'en Truth offends my ear;
Declaim from morn to night, from night to morn,
Take up the theme anew, when day's new-born,
I hear, and hate--be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.
_F_. Thy country! and what then? Is that mere word
Against the voice of Reason to be heard?
Are prejudices, deep imbibed in youth,
To counteract, and make thee hate the truth?
'Tis sure the symptom of a narrow soul
To draw its grand attachment from the whole,
And take up with a part; men, not confined
Within such paltry limits, men design'd
Their nature to exalt, where'er they go,
Wherever waves can roll, and winds can blow,
Where'er the blessed sun, placed in the sky
To watch this subject world, can dart his eye,
Are still the same, and, prejudice outgrown,
Consider every country as their own;
At one grand view they take in Nature's plan,
Not more at home in England than Japan.
_P_. My good, grave Sir of Theory, whose wit,
Grasping at shadows, ne'er caught substance yet,
'Tis mighty easy o'er a glass of wine
On vain refinements vainly to refine,
To laugh at poverty in plenty's reign,
To boast of apathy when out of pain,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!