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Sweet Memories

Those were really good times
When we were taught Nursery Rhymes,
Mummy catching our little fingers
Taking us together wherever she lingers,
We crying aloud innocently
When Dad scolds us accidentally,
And Mom taking us in her lap
Saying 'Dont cry dear, take a small nap',
Days when we cried for chocolates and ice-creams
Harassed everyone by our noise and screams,
Days when we were out teachers pet
Howsoever we torture them yet,
Those were really good times!
Those were really good times!

Now we do miss our childhood days
Those really good and naughty ways,
Now that we are grown-up pets
There is not at all any fun left,
How sweet are those memories
When we not at all had any worries,
I wish I go back to those days again,
Is it possible for me to regain? ? ?

poem by Kavita Iyer
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Shadow Hawk episode 3

[Angela’s House] Tuesday Nov 25 9: 23 am
[Angela and her mom are conversating in living room with Sam lying on couch unconscience]
Angela: He’s been out for about four days now
Mom: Who is he?
Angela: I think his name is Sam
Mom: (Places hands on hips) You think! ?
Angela: Mom I found him in the street, he was hurt.
Mom: (outraged) In the street! Angela you don’t know this boy.
Angela: I had to bring him here he was badly wounded. Plus I’m a CN.
Mom: Angela you know your father would be upset. He’s been gone to a business trip in Tokyo for two weeks and He’ll want to sit on his new leather couch.
Angela: I returned the favor.
Mom: What favor? Did you have se……..
Angela: No, he saved my life!
Mom: What?
Angela: (begins to cry) Three men chased me down the street into an alley they were going to mug me or worse. He came to my aide, and even gave me dinner.
Mom: (Embraces Angela and starts crying) I’m glad your alright.
Angela: He saved me mom.
Mom: Well I couldn’t have chosen a better boy to stay in my house. (smiles warmly)
Angela: Thanks for understanding.
Mom: He looks so cute when he’s sleeping.
Angela: I know mom, he looks like a little teddy bear. (they both giggle)
(door bell rings)
Mom: That’s your dad, let me do the talking.
(Opens door)
Dad: Hey honey I’m home.
Mom: I’ve missed you so much. (they kiss)
Dad: So how’s my little angel doing?
Angela: Fine dad. (smiles)
Dad: Well I guess I’ll go watch tv on my new leather couch.
Mom: You know it’s been two weeks Roger mabey we should go up stairs and “talk”.
Dad: Not right now Sarah, I’m tired. (advances towards living room)
Mom: Roger let me give you a back message up stairs.
Dad: No, Sarah.
Angela: You look tired dad why don’t you take a nap.
Dad: I will once I watch a little……. Who the heck is that on my $2,000 couch! ! !
Mom: Calm down Roger.
Dad: There’s blood on my new couch! ! ! !
Angela: Let me explain.
Dad: Yes Angela explain to me why there is some random boy in my house lying on my couch which is blood stained at that!
Mom: The boy was hurt Roger she had to bring him her.
Dad: And you knew about it Sarah?
Mom: Yes.
Dad: I thought we discussed this already!
Angela: He’s hurt dad.
Dad: Hurt! You want hurt I’ll give you hurt! (grabs baseball bat)
Mom: Don’t Roger put it d…….
Dad: Stay out of this Sarah! (goes to hit Sam)
Angela: (Throws herself on Sam) If you hit him you have to hit me too!
Dad: Move Angela.
Angela: No.

[...] Read more

poem by Jesse Overton
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Cursed (story)

I am Bill.I live with my brother, my dad, mom and my lil sis.There's always this thing that bothers my mind..it's because i believe that my mom and sis already died.It was almost a yearago yet not that old to be forgotten.our house was burnt for unknown reason.They we're found dead on the room i was staying.Burned, yet there's still mystery upon their death.

I can barely remember that i see mere smoke and huge fire.i was just 7 yet my mind works as if i was not.After the tragic happenings the ocean made noise and i saw a huge wave comming towards our direction.Crowds of neigbors, the police, the rescuers and even i, my lil bro and dad run away.

our house was swallowed by that huge wave.After that i don't know what else happened.I hear my dad yell and my lil bro crying.I see blurry lights and hear the sirens.I was asleep! am i? i see the lights striking in my eyelids yet i can not see any image.i hear the sound of waves smashing unto rocks then i'm

shocked to reality i'm just sitting on the deck before the emergency room in the city hospital.I was wonderin' what i'm doin' there but 'twas just a couple'o seconds when i saw my lil bro and dad walked out the emergency room, smiling and waved on me.My dad shouted com'mon bill let's go home.okey, well my dad's calling me.Gotta go!

i really don't know what happened but as we go back to where our house was build it was still there standing steady and strong.I looked around i saw our neighbor's house burnt.and i said' oh, bla bla i really don't know what's happening! ' and asked dad 'dad i thought it was our house burned? '

and as i always hear from him dad answered in a huge voice 'what? are you out of your mind? '

then i heared a soft voice saying 'John, let him rest.Maybe he's hallucinating.he's from kelly's house beside the shore.we all knew it's almost impossible for him to survive that huge fire.'

my pores closed, my spines shivered..and my heart pumped fast...

i shouted' who's that'? ... MOM?

and the voice answered 'yes dear.'

my dad then said' LEt's took him to the doctor, maybe the accident affected his mind too.'

'but DAD! ! , Mom and tricia died already! '

he answered: 'That's not funny bill! if yu're thinking this is the right time to crack pranks.well ITS NOT! ! ..Go to your room! ! '

'but DAD? '!

'NO buts, go to your room.NOW! '

okey, it seems like i really am hallucinating..maybe i came over kelly's house and caused fire and cause of the pressure and i was so scared that i would be charged for the accident i run out of my consciousness..yeah..maybe that's what happened..

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poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Tear Drops And Closed Caskets The Good Die Young.

I went to a party, Mom,
I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink and drive, Mom,
So I drank sprite instead.

I felt really proud inside, Mom,
The way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom,
Even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you're always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom,
As everyone drives out of sight.

As I got into my car, Mom,
I knew I'd get home in one piece,
Because of the way you raised me, Mom,
So responsible and sweet.

I started to drive away, Mom,
But as I pulled onto the road,
The other car didn't see me, Mom,
And it hit me like a load.

As I lie here on the pavement, Mom,
I hear the policeman say,
The other guy is drunk, Mom,
And now I'm the one who'll pay.

I'm lying here dying, Mom,
I wish you'd get here soon.
How come this happened to me, Mom?
My life burst like a balloon.

There is blood all around me, Mom,
Most of it is mine.
I hear the paramedic say, Mom,
i'll be dead in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn't drink.
It was the others, Mom,
The others didn't think.

He didn't know where he was going, Mom,
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, Mom,
He drank, and I will die.

[...] Read more

poem by Tamara Moir
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Meet My Mummy

as the thought gurgul's in my tummy
it's time for me to introduce you to my mummy
we have played the dating game
flowers, choclates and lot's of champange

meet my mummy
we have walked on the sea coast
to our health we have raised many toast's
but a peek on the cheek is all i have recived
i have tried all my idel bantter
but i know you won't give it to me till i make you meet my mummy

meet my mummy
she is a cute old dame
i have used her in many of my love games
when i am unsure that you will sleep with me
i know it's time for me to take you to mummy

meet my mummy
because mummy will reassure you
that i am ur real prince charming
my mummy's smile is very disarming
when nothing will do the trick
it's time to stop being a prick
it's time for you to meet my muumy

meet my mummy
when i have used all the bait
and taken you out for sevral dates
and still you shy away from holding my hand
it's time to play the mummy band

meet my mummy
when all my re-assurances have failed
when you are still unsure will our love sail
it's time to bring in the mummy gail

meet my mummy
she generally does the trick
beta beta you are so pretty
what lovely match you two will make
you can trust mummy to fix up the marriage cake

meet my mummy
now that you have her assurance
it's time to jump with me in bed
it's sex time kitten
it's a great script that my mummy has written

so folks

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poem by Anuj Tikku
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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,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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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
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Ice Ice Baby

(vanilla ice, earthquake, m. smooth)
Yo, vip, lets kick it!
Ice ice baby, ice ice baby
All right stop, collaborate and listen
Ice is back with my brand new invention
Something grabs a hold of me tightly
Then I flow like a harpoon daily and nightly
Will it ever stop? yo -- I dont know
Turn off the lights and Ill glow
To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal
Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle.
Dance, bum rush the speaker that booms
Im killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom
Deadly, when I play a dope melody
Anything less than the best is a felony
Love it or leave it, you better gain way
You better hit bulls eye, the kid dont play
If there was a problem, yo, Ill solve it
Check out the hook while my dj revolves it
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Now that the party is jumping
With the bass kicked in, the vegas are pumpin
Quick to the point, to the point no faking
Im cooking mcs like a pound of bacon
Burning them if theyre not quick and nimble
I go crazy when I hear a cymbal
And a hi hat with a souped up tempo
Im on a roll and its time to go solo
Rollin in my 5.0
With my ragtop down so my hair can blow
The girlies on standby, waving just to say hi
Did you stop? no -- I just drove by
Kept on pursuing to the next stop
I busted a left and Im heading to the next block
That block was dead
Yo -- so I continued to a1a beachfront ave.
Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis
Rockman lovers driving lamborghinis
Jealous cause Im out geting mine
Shay with a gauge and vanilla with a nine
Reading for the chumps on the wall
The chumps acting ill because theyre so full of eight balls
Gunshots ranged out like a bell
I grabbed my nine -- all I heard were shells
Falling on the concrete real fast
Jumped in my car, slammed on the gas
Bumper to bumper the avenues packed
Im trying to get away before the jackers jack
Police on the scene, you know what I mean

[...] Read more

song performed by Vanilla Ice
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ice Ice Baby

(vanilla ice, earthquake, m. smooth)
Yo, vip, lets kick it!
Ice ice baby, ice ice baby
All right stop, collaborate and listen
Ice is back with my brand new invention
Something grabs a hold of me tightly
Then I flow like a harpoon daily and nightly
Will it ever stop? yo -- I dont know
Turn off the lights and Ill glow
To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal
Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle.
Dance, bum rush the speaker that booms
Im killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom
Deadly, when I play a dope melody
Anything less than the best is a felony
Love it or leave it, you better gain way
You better hit bulls eye, the kid dont play
If there was a problem, yo, Ill solve it
Check out the hook while my dj revolves it
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Now that the party is jumping
With the bass kicked in, the vegas are pumpin
Quick to the point, to the point no faking
Im cooking mcs like a pound of bacon
Burning them if theyre not quick and nimble
I go crazy when I hear a cymbal
And a hi hat with a souped up tempo
Im on a roll and its time to go solo
Rollin in my 5.0
With my ragtop down so my hair can blow
The girlies on standby, waving just to say hi
Did you stop? no -- I just drove by
Kept on pursuing to the next stop
I busted a left and Im heading to the next block
That block was dead
Yo -- so I continued to a1a beachfront ave.
Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis
Rockman lovers driving lamborghinis
Jealous cause Im out geting mine
Shay with a gauge and vanilla with a nine
Reading for the chumps on the wall
The chumps acting ill because theyre so full of eight balls
Gunshots ranged out like a bell
I grabbed my nine -- all I heard were shells
Falling on the concrete real fast
Jumped in my car, slammed on the gas
Bumper to bumper the avenues packed
Im trying to get away before the jackers jack
Police on the scene, you know what I mean

[...] Read more

song performed by Vanilla Ice
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Noise

Dads stuck in the factory, machines are banging all around.
Mommas in the kitchen, she got the radio on all the time.
My little sisters screaming, and stamping on the ground.
And the radio keeps pumping out the same old boring sound.
All I hear is noise.
Cant get away from the noise.
Can you hear me above the noise?
Can you, can you, can you, can you, can you, can you hear me?
Can you hear the noise? (noise)
Cant get away from the noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
Can you, can you, can you, can you, can you, can you hear me?
Banging in my ears, in every direction.
Listen to the roar, hear that city[? ], poundin, poundin.
There oughta be a law, hey buddy, turn that radio down.
Sometimes I get used to it and I forget that its around.
But all I hear is noise. (noise)
Cant get away from noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
All of this confusion is ruining my day.
Let the noise be like the sunset, and slowly fade away.
Fading, fade.
Girl, I want to build a better world for me and you.
I wanna pull out all the plugs before I finally blow my fuse.
Wish all the confusion would slowly fade away.
Id tell you that I love you, but you dont hear what I way.
All you hear is noise. (noise)
Cant get away from noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
Can you, can you, can you, can you, can you, can you hear me?
Noise in the street, theyre digging up the pavement.
Noise in the air, those traffic jams are everywhere.
Noise on noise, to cover up the noise.
The pressures building up because theres no way to avoid,
All the noise. (noise)
Cant get away from noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
All of this confusion is ruining my day.
Let the noise be like the sunset, and slowly fade away.
Fading, fading.

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Death of an Innocent

I went to a party, mom, I remember what you said.
You told me not to drink, mom, so I drank soda instead.
I really felt proud inside, mom, even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing, mom, I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, mom, as everyone is driving out of site.
As I got into my car, mom, I knew I would get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me, mom, so responsible and sweet.

I stared to drive away, mom, but I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn’t see me, mom, and hit me like a load.
As I lay here on the payment, mom, I hear the policeman say,
The other guy is drunk, mom, and now I’m the one who will pay.

I’m lying here dying, mom, I wish you’d get here soon.
How could this happen to me, mom? My life just burst like a balloon.
There is blood all around me, mom, and most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, mom, I’ll die in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, mom, I swear I didn’t drink.
It was the others, mom. The others didn’t think.

He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank and I will die.

Why do people drink, mom? It can ruin your whole life.
I’m feeling sharp pains now, mom, pains just like a knife.
The guy that hit me is walking, mom, I don’t think it is fair.
I’m lying here dying, mom, and all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry, mom, tell daddy to be brave.
And when I go to haven, mom, put “daddy’s girl” on my grave.
Someone should have told him, mom, not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, mom, I would still be alive.

My breath is getting short, mom, I’m becoming very scared.
Please don’t cry for me, mom. When I need you, you were always there.

I have one last question, mom, before I say good bye.
I didn’t drink and drive, mom, so why am I the one to die?

poem by Kayla Woods
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

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poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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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

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Death of an Innocent

I went to a party mom, I remembered what you said, you told me
Not to drink mom, so I drank soda instead.
I felt really proud inside mom, the way you said I would.
I didn’t drink and drive mom even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing mom, I know you’re always right, now
The party is finally ending mom and everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car mom, I know I’d get home in one piece because
Of the way you raised me mom, so responsible and sweet.

I started to drive away, but as I pulled onto the road and the other
Driver didn’t see me and hit me like a load, as I lay here on the
Pavement mom, I heard the policeman say the other guy is drunk
And I’m the one who’ll pay.

I’m lying here dying mom I wish you’d get here soon, how come this
Happened to me mom my life burst like a balloon, there is blood all
Around me mom, most of it’s mine, I hear the paramedics say I’ll die
In a very short time.

I just wanted to tell you mom I swear I didn’t drink, it was the others mom,
The others didn’t think, he didn’t know where he was going mom, he was
Probably at the same party as I, the difference is mom he drank and I will die.

Why do people drink mom? It can ruin your whole life, I’m feeling sharp pains
Now mom, pains just like a knife. The guy who hit me is walking mom, I don’t
Think that is fair, I’m laying here dying mom while all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry mom, tell daddy to be brave and when I go to heaven
Put Daddy’s girl on my grave. Someone should have told him mom not to drink
And drive, if only they would have only taken the time mom I would still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter mom, I’m becoming very scared please don’t cry for
Me mom because when I needed you, you were always there. I have one last
Question mom before I say goodbye, I didn’t even drink mom, so why am I the
One to die.

This is the end mom I wish I could look you in the eye to say these final words
I love you and goodbye.

Written by Tami Fields-Hilger

poem by Tami Fields
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Stacy's Mom

Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stcy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy can I come over after school?
Stacy can I come over after school?
(After school)
We can hang around by the pool
We can hang around by the pool
Did your mom get back from her buisness trip?
(Hang by the pool)
Is she there or is she trying to give me the slip?
Did your mom get back from her buisness trip?
(Business trip)
You know I'm not the little boy that I used to be
Is she there or is she trying to give me the slip?
I'm all grown up now baby cant you see
(Give me the slip)
Stacy's mom has got it going on
You know I'm not the little boy that I used to be
She's all I want and I 've waited for so long
I'm all grown up now baby cant you see
Stacy cant you see your just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong but I'm in love with Stacy's mom
Stacy's mom has got it goin' on
She's all I want and I've waited for so long
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
Stacy, can't you see you're just not the girl for me?
Stacy's Mom has got it going on
I know I might be wrong but
I'm in love with Stacy's mom
Stacy do you remeber when I mowed your lawn
Your mom came out with just a towel on
Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn?
I could tell she liked me by the way she stared
(Mowed your lawn)
And the way she said you missed a spot over there
Your mom came out with just a towel o-o-o-on
(Towel on)
And I know that you think it's just a fantsy
I could tell she liked me from the way she stared
But since your dad walked out your mom could use a guy like me
(Way she stared)
And the way she said "You missed a spot over there"
Stacy's Mom has got it going on.
(Spot over there)

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song performed by Fountains Of Wayne
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Victories Of Love. Book I

I
From Frederick Graham

Mother, I smile at your alarms!
I own, indeed, my Cousin's charms,
But, like all nursery maladies,
Love is not badly taken twice.
Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,
My playmate in the pleasant days
At Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,
The twins, so made on the same plan,
That one wore blue, the other white,
To mark them to their father's sight;
And how, at Knatchley harvesting,
You bade me kiss her in the ring,
Like Anne and all the others? You,
That never of my sickness knew,
Will laugh, yet had I the disease,
And gravely, if the signs are these:

As, ere the Spring has any power,
The almond branch all turns to flower,
Though not a leaf is out, so she
The bloom of life provoked in me;
And, hard till then and selfish, I
Was thenceforth nought but sanctity
And service: life was mere delight
In being wholly good and right,
As she was; just, without a slur;
Honouring myself no less than her;
Obeying, in the loneliest place,
Ev'n to the slightest gesture, grace
Assured that one so fair, so true,
He only served that was so too.
For me, hence weak towards the weak,
No more the unnested blackbird's shriek
Startled the light-leaved wood; on high
Wander'd the gadding butterfly,
Unscared by my flung cap; the bee,
Rifling the hollyhock in glee,
Was no more trapp'd with his own flower,
And for his honey slain. Her power,
From great things even to the grass
Through which the unfenced footways pass,
Was law, and that which keeps the law,
Cherubic gaiety and awe;
Day was her doing, and the lark
Had reason for his song; the dark
In anagram innumerous spelt
Her name with stars that throbb'd and felt;

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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Fifth Book

AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature,–with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God,
In still new worlds?–with summer-days in this,
That scarce dare breathe, they are so beautiful?–
With spring's delicious trouble in the ground
Tormented by the quickened blood of roots.
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers?–
With winters and with autumns,–and beyond,
With the human heart's large seasons,–when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves?–with all that strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls? with mother's breasts,
Which, round the new made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres?–
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great out-goings of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world
Beyond our mortal?–can I speak my verse
So plainly in tune to these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them, if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgic nature? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man,–and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Inclined to ponder the precipitous sides
Of difficult questions; yet, obtuse to me,–
Of me, incurious! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion!–ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a tolerant gentleness,–
Too light a book for a grave man's reading! Go,
Aurora Leigh: be humble.
There it is;
We women are too apt to look to one,
Which proves a certain impotence in art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it's something great to do,
Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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