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a.......Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

As Godse and Apte hooded, swung to the tune of the newly dead
Echo’s lingered on the Ambala walls of the gallows shed,
The pair’s verses sung, still lingered as if to defy reality
‘Akhand Bharat Amar Rah’, [‘India united, may it be forever, ’ ]
Godse’s hand that did the deadly deed grasped and twitched,
As a spirit hand ripped out the soul of a body bewitched.
Now ended the people’ choice, their Mahatma grand
His name, his work for ever will with the test of time stand,
The gang of eight cowards their plot conceived connived,
Their hate of appeasement simmered nights of the long knives,
The British lead religious division of India was the flaw,
That loaded the assassins’ gun three bullets to close life’s door,
On life for Gandhi, with hands in greeting cried ‘HE RAM’ [Oh God],
The plight of fellow man his cause, no more the path that he hath trod,
Their ears never attuned to their victim’s forgiving love rule ways
Whose bloodless coup enriched forever India’s days.
In moments assassin Nathuram Godse was quickly brought to hand,
Soon the news spread around the world in every land, ,
Sorrow and tears that would not even dry in the sand.
Looking beautiful draped in white with flower petals round Gandhi lying in state,
That sad remember day thirtieth of January Nineteen forty eight.

NB. On fathers day 1997 my daughter gave me a book by Yogesh Chadha titled 'Rediscovering Gandhi' a wonderful book, Ironically in my library it sits next to 'Einstein The Life and Times'. Einstein said of Gandhi......
' Generations to come, it may be, will scarce believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth.'

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Wake! Asia! Wake! (Part One)

Part One

It is night yet in the West
and the planes land between listlessly burning tarmac lamps
stealthy fingers scurrying through diadems of neons halogens and amber
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

The cowherds' bare blistered feet already trample yesterday's dust into mud
and cartwheels strain in crusted fissures where rains only once or twice fell
while dreams fester in cosy centrally-heated silken beds in luxury flats
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

Tomorrow is yesteryear's planned strikes
buses trains taxis office machines lie soundlessly asleep
and will not wake until the battle over psychic comfort comes to an end
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

For You there is no respite no pause
no tea-breaks with cheese biscuits or croissants
there's only the last container to crane over the dock in unpaid overtime
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

Your eyes will hurt in the twilight's hazy glimmer
no time to brush your teeth nor shave in hot and cold running water
nor the right to flush a toilet nor heedlessly course through in cosy tubes to work
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

The sirens rave through boulevards in broad night-light
rushing hypertensic cardiac cases from their delight-full beds
cholestrol and diabetic cane sugar within reach of every child in supermarkets
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

Let those who succeeded their former masters
sip their sweet sweatless porto before the hors-d'oeuvres
and flap their tabliers hiding their secret shame under cabalistic arms
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

Wake! there's little time left for your own bickering differences to fester
the dawn signals the tasks that lie ahead unfinished
and the carrion hunters trained in their old master's image club together
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

Wake! and see the extent to which you're still enslaved
enslaved by your own kind who hanker after conditioning platitudes
the clubby comfort of secretly oath-taking power cliques
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!

Remember! Remember Haidar Ali his son Tipu and Akbar
remember Sivaji and Chandra Bose and Kattapomman and Asoka
remember O! remember the one and only Mahatma

[...] Read more

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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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[...] Read more

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A Day at the Office (Minimum Wage)

I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants,
And then I folded a pair of pants.

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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.


II.

[...] Read more

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United

Look around
They're moving in
Hold your ground
When they begin
We can do it
We can do it and if they wanna they can try
But they'll never get near
Then they can get out of here
Gonna keep on driving
Never stop
United, united, united we stand
United we never shall fall
United, united, united we stand
United we stand one and all
So keep it up
Don't give in
Make a stand
We're gonna win
We can do it
We can do it and if they wanna they can try
But they'll never get near
Then they can get out of here
Gonna keep on driving
Never stop
United, united, united we stand
United we never shall fall
United, united, united we stand
United we stand one and all
So keep it up
United, united, united we stand
United we never shall fall
United, united, united we stand
United we stand one and all
United, united, united we stand
United we never shall fall
United, united, united we stand
United we stand one and all
United, united, united we stand
United we never shall fall
United, united, united we stand
United we stand one and all
(fade)

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Sung for norway's riflemen

Fly the banner, fly the banner!
For our freedom fight!
'Neath the banner, 'neath the banner,
Riflemen unite!
Graybeard in the Storting
Gives his vote for right and truth,
Rifle-voice supporting
Of our armèd youth.
Music runeful
Ring out tuneful
Bullets sent point-blank,
Fiery coursing,
Freedom forcing
Way to royal rank;
They from silent valleys
To the Storting's rallies
Bring the clear 'Rah! Rah!'
And there clamors o'er us
Loud the rifle chorus,
Piercing and repeated: 'Rah! Rah!
Rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah.'

As the lingering echo rattles,
Listens sure our Mother Norway,
That her sons can go the war-way,
Fight her freedom's future battles.

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Boom

Yo Bloodhound Gang and Rob Van Winkle together on this track

Stop as we drop this bomb
Blow up this place like another Vietnam
Heavy like a Tyson blow to the dome
Back up son give me room give me room
To set it off like this don't give it up
I'm all up in you till you just can't get enough
Real hard to the bone you want more
I sneak up on you like a sniper at your back door
Phat flavor for your brain you know the time
So check the wrath it's for real I'm gonna get mine
Roll up on you like Eastwood
Blowing up fifteens as I'm riding through your neighborhood
I spreads butter like Parkay
Real smooth with flow and even when I parlay
Do what you feel and check the skill
I'm in your grill peep this I got the raw deal
I'm in your Jeep Grand Cherokee or Land Cruiser
When you're rolling through the hood you want to use a
Track like this all up in your eardrum
So check the E.Q. and let them speakers hum
And gets crazy like Prozac
Hype enough to start a party and illy as a heart attack
Round one round two knockout
Straight to your head my round never lights out
Tah rah tah rah tah rah boom dee
Tah rah tah rah tah rah boom dee a

Jimmy Jimmy y'all Jimmy damn Jimmy yea
Gimme the mic Rob so I can take it away
Got more lines than the welfare office
Are you upset you'll never get to be as clever as this?
Spreadin' quicker than your mom have a feel but don't cop it
Yea I stole your beat but that's cause you dropped it
Crude as oil unrefined but slick
I'm gonna get you from behind like a gay convict
Cause my name ain't Quasimodo but I still got a hunch
That like the Jim Jones cult I'll take you out with one punch
You're Spiro Agnew and I'm the Dick you answer to
You're sweating like a watermelon at a Baptist bar-b-cue
Sneaking up like celery yeah I'm stalking
I squeak like Stephen Hawkings yeah but I'm walkin'
Nose to ground so this Bloodhound will sniff and follow it
I hope you choke on your pride when I make you swallow it
Screaming like a Mimi when you see me coming near you
Like a Kenny Loggins' record no one's ever gonna to hear you
Like a game of hide and seek it's all over if I see ya
Cause your yellower than tinkle and you'll be running like diarrhea
Tah rah tah rah tah rah boom dee

[...] Read more

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Be True To Your School

When some loud braggart tries to put me down
And says his school is great
I tell him right away
Now whats the matter buddy
Aint you heard of my school
Its number one in the state
So be true to your school now
Just like you would to your girl or guy
Be true to your school now
And let your colors fly
Be true to your school
I got a lettermans sweater
With a letter in front
I got for footbal and track
Im proud to where it now
When I cruise around
The other parts of the town
I got a decal in back
So be true to your school now
Just like you would to your girl or guy
Be true to your school now
And let your colors fly
Be true to your school
On friday well be jacked up on the football game
And Ill be ready to fight
Were gonna smash em now
My girl will be working on her pom-poms now
And shell be yelling tonight
So be true to your school now
Just like you would to your girl or guy
Be true to your school now
And let your colors fly
Be true to your school
Rah rah rah be true to your school
Rah rah rah be true to your school
Rah rah rah be true to your school
Rah rah rah be true to your school

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Boom

Yo bloodhound gang and rob van winkle together on this track
Stop as we drop this bomb
Blow up this place like another vietnam
Heavy like a tyson blow to the dome
Back up son give me room give me room
To set it off like this dont give it up
Im all up in you till you just cant get enough
Real hard to the bone you want more
I sneak up on you like a sniper at your back door
Phat flavor for your brain you know the time
So check the wrath its for real Im gonna get mine
Roll up on you like eastwood
Blowing up fifteens as Im riding through your neighborhood
I spreads butter like parkay
Real smooth with the flow and even when I parlay
Do what you feel and check the skill
Im in your grill peep this I got the raw deal
In your jeep cherokee or land cruiser
When youre rolling through the hood you want use a
Track like this all up in your eardrum
So check the e.q. and let them speakers hum
And gets crazy like prozac
Hype enough to start a party and illy as a heart attack
Round one round two knock out
Straight to your head like my round never lights out
Tah rah tah rah tah rah boom dee
Tah rah tah rah tah rah boom dee a
Jimmy jimmy yall jimmy damn jimmy yea
Gimme the mic rob so I can take it away
Got more lines than the welfare office
Are you upset youll never get to be as clever as this?
Spreadin quicker than your mom have a feel but dont cop it
Yea I stole your beat but thats cause you dropped it
Crude as oil unrefined but slick
Im gonna get you from behind like a gay convict
Cause my name aint quasimodo but I still got a hunch
That like the jim jones cult Ill take you out with one punch
Youre spiro agnew and Im the dick you answer to
Your sweating like a watermelon at a baptist bar-b-que
Sneaking up like celery yeah Im stalking
I squeak like stephen hawkins yeah but Im walkin
Nose to ground so this bloodhound will sniff and follow it
I hope you choke on your pride when I make you swallow it
Screaming like a mimi when you see me coming near you
Like a kenny loggins record no ones ever gonna hear you
Like a game of hide and seek its all over if I see ya
Cause your yellower than tinkle and youll be running like diarrhea
Tah rah tah rah tah rah boom dee
Tah rah tah rah tah rah boom dee a
These lyrics were stripped of their dignity from the bloodhound gang website because thats the bloodhound gang way, rock on.

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Gettin In Tune

Im singing this note cause it fits in well
Im singing this note cause it fits in well
With the chords Im playing
With the chords Im playing
I cant pretend theres any meaning here
I cant pretend theres any meaning here
Or in the things Im saying
Or in the things Im saying
But Im in tune
But Im in tune
Right in tune
Right in tune
Im in tune
Im in tune
And Im gonna tune
And Im gonna tune
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
I get a little tired of having to say
I get a little tired of having to say
do you come here often?
Do you come here often?
But when I look in your eyes and see the harmonies
But when I look in your eyes and see the harmonies
And the heartaches soften
And the heartaches soften
Im getting in tune
Im getting in tune
Right in tune
Right in tune
Im in tune
Im in tune
And Im gonna tune
And Im gonna tune
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you
Right in on you
Ive got it all here in my head
Ive got it all here in my head
Theres nothing more needs to be said
Theres nothing more needs to be said
Im just bangin on my old piano
Im just bangin on my old piano

[...] Read more

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India

India, India, India
India, India, clarified butter from the holy cow
India, India, India
I'm a pauper bereft of spiritual vision
Looking for a guru such a decision
India, India, India
Clarified butter from the holy cow
India, India, India
I'm a conscious consumer
but there's nothing to consume
Lotus flowers are still in bloom in
India, India, India
India, India, clarified butter from the holy cow
India, India, India
India, India
India, India

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The Sale of Saint Thomas

A quay with vessels moored


Thomas
To India! Yea, here I may take ship;
From here the courses go over the seas,
Along which the intent prows wonderfully
Nose like lean hounds, and tack their journeys out,
Making for harbours as some sleuth was laid
For them to follow on their shifting road.
Again I front my appointed ministry. --
But why the Indian lot to me? Why mine
Such fearful gospelling? For the Lord knew
What a frail soul He gave me, and a heart
Lame and unlikely for the large events. --
And this is worse than Baghdad! though that was
A fearful brink of travel. But if the lots,
That gave to me the Indian duty, were
Shuffled by the unseen skill of Heaven, surely
That fear of mine in Baghdad was the same
Marvellous Hand working again, to guard
The landward gate of India from me. There
I stood, waiting in the weak early dawn
To start my journey; the great caravan's
Strange cattle with their snoring breaths made steam
Upon the air, and (as I thought) sadly
The beasts at market-booths and awnings gay
Of shops, the city's comfortable trade,
Lookt, and then into months of plodding lookt.
And swiftly on my brain there came a wind
Of vision; and I saw the road mapt out
Along the desert with a chalk of bones;
I saw a famine and the Afghan greed
Waiting for us, spears at our throats, all we
Made women by our hunger; and I saw
Gigantic thirst grieving our mouths with dust,
Scattering up against our breathing salt
Of blown dried dung, till the taste eat like fires
Of a wild vinegar into our sheathèd marrows;
And a sudden decay thicken'd all our bloods
As rotten leaves in fall will baulk a stream;
Then my kill'd life the muncht food of jackals. --
The wind of vision died in my brain; and lo,
The jangling of the caravan's long gait
Was small as the luting of a breeze in grass
Upon my ears. Into the waiting thirst
Camels and merchants all were gone, while I
Had been in my amazement. Was this not
A sign? God with a vision tript me, lest
Those tall fiends that ken for my approach

[...] Read more

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Por Amarte

Amar es una cosa especial
No es un viene y va
Amar solo te pasa una vez
Pero de verdad
Amar es cuando solo piensas
En donde estara
Amar es como un milagro
Dificil de explicar
Amar es cuando la proteges
De la lluvia y el viento
Amar es cuando tu la abrazas
Y te olvidas del tiempo
Amar es cuando tu la ves
Y te pones nervioso
Amar es cuando te das cuenta
De tus sentimientos
Por amarte robaria una estrella
Y te la regalaria
Por amarte cruzaria los mares
Solo por abrazarte
Por amarte juntaria la lluvia
Con el fuego
Por amarte daria la vida
Solo por besarte
Amar es cuando escribes su nombre
Por todo el cielo
Amar es cuando solo suenas
Con llevartela lejos
Amar es cuando tu la ves
Y se queda en tus ojos
Amar es cuando tu te das cuenta
Ella lo es todo
Por amarte robaria una estrella
Y te la regalaria
Por amarte cruzaria los mares
Solo por abrazarte
Por amarte juntaria la lluvia
Con el fuego
Por amarte daria la vida
Solo por besarte

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The Football Match

I.
O wild kaleidoscopic panorama of jaculatory arms and legs.
The twisting, twining, turning, tussling, throwing, thrusting,
throttling, tugging, thumping, the tightening thews.
The tearing of tangled trousers, the jut of giant calves protuberant.
The wriggleness, the wormlike, snaky movement and life of it;
The insertion of strong men in the mud, the wallowing, the stamping with thick shoes;
The rowdyism, and élan, the slugging and scraping, the cowboy Homeric ferocity.
(Ah, well kicked, red legs! Hit her up, you muddy little hero, you!)
The bleeding noses, the shins, the knuckles abraded:
That's the way to make men! Go it, you border ruffians, I like ye.
II.

Only two sorts of men are any good, I wouldn't give a cotton hat for no other --
The Poet and the Plug Ugly. They are picturesque. O, but ain't they?
These college chaps, these bouncing fighters from M'Gill and Toronto,
Are all right. I must have a fighter, a bully, somewhat of a desperado;
Of course, I prefer them raw, uneducated, unspoiled by book rot;
I reckon these young fellows, these howling Kickapoos of the puddle, these boys,
Have been uneducated to an undemocratic and feudal-aristocratic extent;
Lord! how they can kick, though! Another man slugged there!
III.

Unnumbered festoons of pretty Canadian girls, I salute you;
Howl away, you non-playing encouragers of the kickers!
Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, M'Gill!
Rah, Rah, Rah, Sis, Boom, Toronto! Lusty-throated give it!
O, wild, tumultuous, multitudinous shindy. Well, this is the boss;
This is worth coming twenty miles to see. Personally, I haven't had so much fun
since I was vaccinated.
I wonder if the Doctor spectates it. Here is something beyond his plesiosauri.
Pure physical glow and exultation this of abundantest muscle:
I wish John Sullivan were here.
IV.

O, the kicking, stamping, punching, the gore and the glory of battle!
Kick, kick, kick, kick, kick, kick. Will you kick!
You kickers, scoop up the mud, steam plough the field,
Fall all over yourselves, squirm out! Look at that pile-driver of a full-back there!
Run, leg it, hang on to the ball; say, you big chump, don't you kill that little chap
When you are about it.
Well, I'd like to know what a touch down is, then? Draw?
Where's your draw?
Yer lie!

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Bharat Versus India

India that is Bharat
Is not same as
Bharat that is India.

Bharat no more with India
India no more with Bharat
India can not substitute Bharat.

I am insearch of Bharat
And Bharat is no more with me.
I am an Indian
And I am proud to be an Indian.

Alas!

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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.

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Byron

Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
Anever mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

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Partir, Pensar e Amar!

Partir para....
Pensar em......
Amar! ! ! Alguém!
Verbo poderoso esse;
não precisa de preposição.
Amar! Pronto.
Sem alguém, também pode.
Dizem que com alguém é melhor
Mas pode ser sozinho!
Ele cumpre bem o seu papel!
AMAR, só conjuga quando
Amar Alguém!
Não se pode amar aquilo, isso, esse......
Não se pode amar Meu, Teu, Nosso......
Só se pode AMAR Você! em Você, para Você
Aí pode!
Aí, combina!

Ciumento esse Verbo!

Mas tem também outro verbo.
Que vem logo após O AMAR!
Pensar!
Pensar requer.... algo, aquilo, no Meu, no Teu, no Nosso!
Tem também Pensar.... no Dos Outros!
Pensar tem todos os Quereres!

Nesse momento! Nessa conjugação!
O Amar já não suporta tanta preposição

Exigente esse verbo!

Então vem o

PARTIR!
Parto para longe de ti!
Porque começastes conjugando O Amar

e terminastes com O Pensar!

Doloroso esse verbo!

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Pom-pom Play Girl

Rah rah pom pom play girl
Pom pom play girl
(oooooo)
You see her in a short skirt down on the grass
Shes wonderin if the teams gonna run kick or pass
(chi chi bah oooooo)
Since she doesnt really know why shes wavin her hands
Shes a-thinking bout the boy sittin up in the stands
Rah rah pom pom play girl
Pom pom play girl
(chi chi bah)
Just a little social clique with the other song queens
With a freshman or a sophomore she wouldnt be seen
(chi chi bah oooooo)
Shes a doll and she knows it and she thinks that her face
Will get her any body any thing and any place
Rah rah pom pom play girl
Pom pom play girl
Oooooo
Chi chi bah
(oooooo)
Since shes the head cheerleader she dates the quarterback
And her best friends going out with the full back
(chi chi bah oooooo)
She might even run for an office this spring
And that ought to really make her telephone ring
Rah rah pom pom play girl
Pom pom play girl
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
Wooooo
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
Wooo
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
Shake it
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
Wave those pom poms all around
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
Wow
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)
Wow
(chi chi bah pom pom play girl)

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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11

SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head
Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed;
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5
He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10
Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar,
A trophy sacred to the God of War.
Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood,
Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood:
His brazen buckler on the left was seen; 15
Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between;
And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20
“Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success;
The greater part perform’d, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, 25
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, 30
And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war:
The last respect the living can bestow, 35
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought,
And which for us with their own blood they bought;
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send, 40
Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.
Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d 45
The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d
With equal faith, but less auspicious care.
Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear,
And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. 50

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