Homosexuality and the Roman Church
Give me a break, it's Rat again!
He's come straight from the Vatican,
The homosexuals have no hope
When dealing with the Panzer Pope!
Being queer is a disease
Like schizophrenia, if you please,
We must be careful, if we come
That it isn't in some fellah's bum! !
God won't forgive us, no indeed!
So, all you Fairies, please take heed,
Love each other, but don't do THAT
Or you'll offend the Holy Rat!
Ratswinger says it isn't nice
Indulging in this perverted vice.
A Loving God? That's all very well,
Let all the B*ggers burn in Hell! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Related quotes
XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Smile Please
A smiling face is on earth like star
A frown cant bring out the beauty that you are
Love within and youll begin smiling...
Therere brighter days ahead
Dont mess your face up with better tears
cause life is gonna be what it is
Its okay, please dont delay from smiling...
Therere brighter days ahead
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
A smiling face you dont have to see
cause its as joyful as a christmas tree
Love within and youll begin smiling...
Therere brighter days ahead
Loves not competing its on your side
Youre in life picture so why must you cry
So for a friend please begin to smile - please
Therere brighter days ahead
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Please smile for me
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Please smile for me
Bum - smile
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
song performed by Stevie Wonder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Best Man
I was getting fed up
With all your dipping out with every girl around town
You know what I'm talking 'bout
Cause you've been caught
And I forgave you many times
But now I slipped up
And while your friend was around
I gave him a taste of my love
I know that I broke your trust for a night of lust
But don't let that break us up
1 - Charge it to the game baby
I know what's going on when you say your alone
And you won't pick up the phone
Charge it to the game baby
You can't even hate
Don't get up in my face
Cause your boy got a taste
2 - He is your best man, your best friend
I guess you didn't know that I had him
I know that you hate that
It's like that
You were the best but yet he ain't so bad
Repeat 2
I needed a shoulder to cry on
But I got more than a shoulder that night
I know that you're mad and you're angry
Who gives a damn?
You didn't treat me right
You know that I love you
More than anything, you are the center of my life
It was just tit for tat, a little pay back
Let it go and leave it like that
Repeat 1
Repeat 2 (2x)
So many times you broke my heart
I never thought that it would heal
So I decided to return the pain
You always make me feel
Now I won't try to justify
What I did but I'll tell you why
If you think someone else is in my life
Then maybe you'll treat me right, yeah
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
[...] Read more
song performed by Faith Evans
Added by Lucian Velea
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Many People Hate To Make A Ripple
Not many people beating on their own drum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Not many people making music they hum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Cause many people hate to make a ripple.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Many people hate to make a ripple.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Clinging on a moan and a whine all the time.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Complaining to their neighbors and their neighbors don't mind.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Cause many people hate to make a ripple.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Many people hate to make a ripple.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Not many people beating on their own drum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Not many people making music they hum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Cause many people hate to make a ripple.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Cause many people hate to make a ripple.
Bumma dum bum.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Give The Po Man A Break
Give po man a break
Give po man a break
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
[...] Read more
song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Little Drummer Boy
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Come they told me
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
A new born king to see (ba bum)
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Our finest gifts we bring
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Little (little) baby
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
I am a poor boy too
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
I have no gift to bring
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
(ooohh)
Thats fit to give our king
Pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Then he smiled
Smiled at me!
Mary nodded
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
The ox and lamb kept time
Pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for him
Pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for him
Pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Me and my drum...
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Me and my drum (oh)
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Me and my (me and my, me and my...)
Drum...
song performed by Vanessa Williams
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.
The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.
ACT I
Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.
Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.
Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!
[...] Read more
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I Hate Schizophrenia
I hate schizophrenia-
Spending months in a locked ward,
Pacing up and down low piled carpeted halls
Between therapy groups, and those nothing to do weekends.
Oh, how I hate schizophrenia.
I hate having schizophrenia,
Having to take at least seven medications
To get me through the day, and to take Ativan
To assure me a normal night’s sleep.
I hate having schizophrenia.
I hate this illness I have called schizophrenia.
Taking the Seroquel and Abilfy that make me ravenous so
I feel that I must spend the day vigorously exercising to
Keep my weight at a normal range, and to live on rabbit food.
How I hate this illness called schizophrenia.
I hate my terrible illness, schizophrenia.
If I don’t take multiple medications,
I hallucinate, get paranoid and delusional,
Have sleepless nights after nights, and
I have no motivation.
I have schizophrenia and how angry it makes me feel.
Nurses, so called friends and therapists half my age
Treat me as if I were a child.
I am ill so I cannot be trusted.
I have schizophrenia and how angry it makes me feel.
I hate schizophrenia.
It is an illness that has a stigma attached to it, and
It has a grip on me.
It impairs my functioning and
It mars my relationships.
I hate schizophrenia.
I despise and resent having this terrible illness.
All of my relatives are well adjusted and highly functional.
I was born the black sheep; Why am I this way?
It’s so unfair!
When I think of it tears stream down my face.
I must have removed my glasses a hundred times today to
Wipe the tears away, yet
They keep on flowing.
I despise and resent having this terrible illness.
I don’t like being diagnosed with schizophrenia.
Even in the darkness of the night on heavy medications
Voices haunt me.
[...] Read more
poem by Claudia Krizay
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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
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Satan Absolved
(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.
[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.
Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.
Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.
[...] Read more
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Acute Schizophrenia Paranoia Blues
Im too terrified to walk out of my own front door,
Theyre demonstrating outside I think theyre gonna start the third world war,
Ive been to my local head shrinker,
To help classify my disease,
He said its one of the cases of acute schizophrenia he sees.
Well the milkmans a spy, and the grocer keeps on following me,
And the woman next doors an undercover for the k.g.b.,
And the man from the social security
Keeps on invading my privacy,
Oh there aint no cure for acute schizophrenia disease.
Ive got acute schizophrenia paranoia too,
Schizophrenia, schizophrenia,
Ive got it, youve got it, we cant lose,
Acute schizophrenia blues.
Im lost on the river, the river of no return,
I cant make decisions, I dont know which way Im gonna turn,
Even my old dad, lost some of the best friends he ever had,
Apparently, his was a case of acute schizophrenia too.
I got acute schizophrenia paranoia too,
Schizophrenia, schizophrenia,
Ive got it, youve got it, we cant lose,
Acute schizophrenia blues,
Theyre watching my house and theyre tapping my telephone,
I cant trust nobody, but Im much too scared to be on my own
And the income tax collectors got his beady eye on me,
Oh there aint no cure for acute schizophrenia disease.
No there aint no cure for
Schizophrenia disease.
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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XII. The Book and the Ring
Here were the end, had anything an end:
Thus, lit and launched, up and up roared and soared
A rocket, till the key o' the vault was reached,
And wide heaven held, a breathless minute-space,
In brilliant usurpature: thus caught spark,
Rushed to the height, and hung at full of fame
Over men's upturned faces, ghastly thence,
Our glaring Guido: now decline must be.
In its explosion, you have seen his act,
By my power—may-be, judged it by your own,—
Or composite as good orbs prove, or crammed
With worse ingredients than the Wormwood Star.
The act, over and ended, falls and fades:
What was once seen, grows what is now described,
Then talked of, told about, a tinge the less
In every fresh transmission; till it melts,
Trickles in silent orange or wan grey
Across our memory, dies and leaves all dark,
And presently we find the stars again.
Follow the main streaks, meditate the mode
Of brightness, how it hastes to blend with black!
After that February Twenty-Two,
Since our salvation, Sixteen-Ninety-Eight,
Of all reports that were, or may have been,
Concerning those the day killed or let live,
Four I count only. Take the first that comes.
A letter from a stranger, man of rank,
Venetian visitor at Rome,—who knows,
On what pretence of busy idleness?
Thus he begins on evening of that day.
"Here are we at our end of Carnival;
"Prodigious gaiety and monstrous mirth,
"And constant shift of entertaining show:
"With influx, from each quarter of the globe,
"Of strangers nowise wishful to be last
"I' the struggle for a good place presently
"When that befalls fate cannot long defer.
"The old Pope totters on the verge o' the grave:
"You see, Malpichi understood far more
"Than Tozzi how to treat the ailments: age,
"No question, renders these inveterate.
"Cardinal Spada, actual Minister,
"Is possible Pope; I wager on his head,
"Since those four entertainments of his niece
"Which set all Rome a-stare: Pope probably—
"Though Colloredo has his backers too,
"And San Cesario makes one doubt at times:
"Altieri will be Chamberlain at most.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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I. The Ring and the Book
Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.
Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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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
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The Victories Of Love. Book II
I
From Jane To Her Mother
Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,
[...] Read more
poem by Coventry Patmore
Added by Poetry Lover
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I Saw It Myself (Short Verse Drama)
Dramatis Personae: Adrian, his wife Ester, his sisters Rebecca and Johanna, his mother Elizabeth, the high priest Chiapas, the disciple Simon Peter, the disciple John, Mary Magdalene, worshipers, priests, two angels and Jesus Christ.
Act I
Scene I.- Adrian’s house in Jerusalem. Adrian has just returned home after a business journey in Galilee, in time to attend the Passover feast. He sits at the table with his wife Ester and his sisters, Rebecca and Johanna. It’s just before sunset on the Friday afternoon.
Adrian. (Somewhat puzzled) Strange things are happening,
some say demons dwell upon the earth,
others angelic beings, miracles take place
and all of this when they had put a man to death,
had crucified a criminal. Everybody knows
the cross is used for degenerates only!
Rebecca. (With a pleasant voice) Such harsh words used,
for a good, a great man brother?
They say that without charge
he healed the sick, brought back sight,
cured leprosy, even made some more food,
from a few fishes and loafs of bread…
Adrian. (Somewhat harsh) They say many things!
That he rode into Jerusalem
to be crowned as the new king,
was a rebel against the state,
even claimed to be
the very Son of God,
now that is blasphemy
if there is no truth to it!
Johanna. I met him once.
He’s not the man
that you make him, brother.
There was a strange tranquilly to Him.
Some would say a divine presence,
while He spoke of love that is selfless,
visited the sick, the poor
and even the destitute, even harlots.
Adrian. (Looks up) There you have it!
Harlots! Tax collecting thieves!
A man is know by his friends,
or so they say and probably
there is some truth to it.
Ester. Husband, do not be so quick to judge.
I have seen Him myself, have seen
Roman soldiers marching Him to the hill
to take His life, with a angry crowd
following and mocking Him.
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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Whatever
Im liking you too much
Dont take advantage of
My tender heart and everything about me
In giving you my trust
Im giving you my love
So do take care, please be gentle with my heart
cause everything I do is bout you, baby
Baby, I dont wanna be apart, ooh
Ive been loving you from the start
Heres my heart, heres my heart
Everything I do is all about you, baby
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
I want it all the time, I want it every night
I cant stop thinking, cant stop thinking about you
Im burning with desire, my heart and soul on fire
So do take care, please be careful with my heart
(bum, bum, bum) anything you do, I crave it, baby, baby, baby
(bum, bum, bum) I cant get you out a my mind
(bum, bum, bum) loving you I cant deny youre in my heart
(bum, bum, bum) deep inside, everything I do is all about you, baby
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
I maybe a fool for you, baby
Well, I cant help myself
Maybe Im too in love
What else can I do but go crazy
For your love, boy, Id give anything
(bum, bum, bum)
(bum, bum, bum)
(ho?h?h
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
[...] Read more
song performed by En Vogue
Added by Lucian Velea
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IV. Tertium Quid
True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Better Be Good
If I ain't cool
My daddy gonna send me
To Military School
If I ain't nice
My girlie gonna freeze me
With cold shoulder ice
If I'm real late
My teacher gonna use me
For alligator bait
So, I better be good
I better be good
If I jump on the gas
The cops are gonna jump
All over my back
If I smoke too much
Doctor says he's gonna
Put my lungs in a crutch
If I'm caught without my pants
Consuelo's dad is gonna shoot
Until he sees me dance
So, I better be good
I had better be good
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - you better be
Nice, nice, nice - Uh, uh, uh, uh
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
Nice, nice, nice
You better be nice tonight
If I spray it on the seat
Lady gonna tie a big knot
In the meat
If I spewey too fast
Lover's gonna stick
My Wrangler in a cast
If zipper grabs skin
I'll know I had it out
When I shoulda kept it in
Ow.
I better be good
I better be good
I better be good
Ooh.
You better be nice
You better be nice
You better be nice
[...] Read more
song performed by Alice Cooper
Added by Lucian Velea
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Come Back To Me My Love
Orbison/melson
Bum bum bum da de da oh oh oh yeah yeah
Bum bum bum da de da ah come back to me my love
Come back to me
16 years ago today early one sunday morn
Just before the break of day a cute little girl was born
From that very moment on her lifes been gay and free
Laughing eyes and loving ways as sweet as she could be
Bum bum bum da de da oh oh oh yeah yeah
Bum bum bum da de da ah come back to me my love
Come back to me
We had a quarrel I cant forget the night I made her cry
Her tender heart just fell apart as she said good-bye
Now today is her birthday my babys sweet 16
But someone else is in my place to hold my every dream
Bum bum bum da de da oh oh oh yeah yeah
Bum bum bum da de da ah come back to me my love
Come back to me
song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
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