Turn Around
While you face the past
Your ass faces the future.
Turn around quickly!
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Peter Bell, A Tale
PROLOGUE
There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like the crescent-moon.
And now I 'have' a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up--and you shall see me soon!
The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
Rocking and roaring like a sea;
The noise of danger's in your ears,
And ye have all a thousand fears
Both for my little Boat and me!
Meanwhile untroubled I admire
The pointed horns of my canoe;
And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,
Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!
Away we go, my Boat and I--
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds we dive,
Each is contented with the other.
Away we go--and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars.
Up goes my Boat among the stars
Through many a breathless field of light,
Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
Up goes my little Boat so bright!
The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull--
We pry among them all; have shot
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not!
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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Percys Song
Bad news, bad news,
Come to me where I sleep,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Sayin one of your friends
Is in trouble deep,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Tell me the trouble,
Tell once to my ear,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Joliet prison
And ninety-nine years,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Oh whats the charge
Of how this came to be,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Manslaughter
In the highest of degree,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
I sat down and wrote
The best words I could write,
Turn, turn, turn again.
Explaining to the judge
Id be there on wednesday night,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Without a reply,
I left by the moon,
Turn, turn, turn again.
And was in his chambers
By the next afternoon,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
Could ya tell me the facts?
I said without fear,
Turn, turn, turn again.
That a friend of mine
Would get ninety-nine years,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
A crash on the highway
Flew the car to a field,
Turn, turn, turn again.
There was four persons killed
And he was at the wheel,
Turn, turn to the rain
And the wind.
But I knew him as good
[...] Read more
song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Sicilian's Tale; The Monk of Casal-Maggiore
Once on a time, some centuries ago,
In the hot sunshine two Franciscan friars
Wended their weary way, with footsteps slow
Back to their convent, whose white walls and spires
Gleamed on the hillside like a patch of snow;
Covered with dust they were, and torn by briers,
And bore like sumpter-mules upon their backs
The badge of poverty, their beggar's sacks.
The first was Brother Anthony, a spare
And silent man, with pallid cheeks and thin,
Much given to vigils, penance, fasting, prayer,
Solemn and gray, and worn with discipline,
As if his body but white ashes were,
Heaped on the living coals that glowed within;
A simple monk, like many of his day,
Whose instinct was to listen and obey.
A different man was Brother Timothy,
Of larger mould and of a coarser paste;
A rubicund and stalwart monk was he,
Broad in the shoulders, broader in the waist,
Who often filled the dull refectory
With noise by which the convent was disgraced,
But to the mass-book gave but little heed,
By reason he had never learned to read.
Now, as they passed the outskirts of a wood,
They saw, with mingled pleasure and surprise,
Fast tethered to a tree an ass, that stood
Lazily winking his large, limpid eyes.
The farmer Gilbert of that neighborhood
His owner was, who, looking for supplies
Of fagots, deeper in the wood had strayed,
Leaving his beast to ponder in the shade.
As soon as Brother Timothy espied
The patient animal, he said: 'Good-lack!
Thus for our needs doth Providence provide;
We'll lay our wallets on the creature's back.'
This being done, he leisurely untied
From head and neck the halter of the jack,
And put it round his own, and to the tree
Stood tethered fast as if the ass were he.
And, bursting forth into a merry laugh,
He cried to Brother Anthony: 'Away!
And drive the ass before you with your staff;
And when you reach the convent you may say
You left me at a farm, half tired and half
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Turn It Up
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
My signal's gettin' kinda weak
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I know U got 2 be a freak, ooh
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I'm still waiting by the knob
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I'm ready 4 the heavy stuff, oh yeah
CHORUS:
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (oh, oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work it 'til I start 2 groove, ooh
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I know U know what 2 do (Girl, U know what 2 do)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work it 'til my clothes are wet
Turn it up, turn it up
I wanna drown in your body's sweat! (Oh yeah)
CHORUS
Now turn it up!
Come here
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Give me everything U got
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
U know I know U got a lot (Oh yeah)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
I'll play what U want me 2 play
Turn it up, turn it up
It ain't no good unless U turn it up all the way - yeah, yeah!
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh, oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (Come on, baby, turn it up)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (Listen 2 me now)
Come on baby, what's it gonna be?
Are U gonna do it or are U gonna leave it up 2 me?
Are U gonna stop? Are U gonna drop?
Kiss me, kiss me! Yeah!
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Work me like a radio (Come on, gotta, gotta, gotta..) (Oh yeah)
Turn it up, turn it up, baby
Come and play with my controls (oh)
[...] Read more
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dreams of Jhana
Thoughts travel
riding the ripples.
Pluvial pattering
innumerable
driblets fuse into
vast cyan-blue body.
Solemn reverie,
reflections by the water.
Coincidental myths?
Matter's solid illusion?
Propaganda spread
over Linear Time?
natural hidden treasures
lost in a darkened sub-region
of a mountain top Mind?
Pining amongst
heathers and lindens.
Nasal donations.
Sweet nosegays
baskets of gold
and lavender.
Sky bohemians'
organic tenements.
No leases
no mortgages
no rent to be paid
no landlords
no concept of
ownership.
Inhaling every
deep delicious breath
the airborne essence of
sugar beets
cherries
blueberries
peaches and plums.
Thanks and praise
to the soil and its
generous sentient
pillars of plenty!
Thanks and praise
to the Great Lakes'
fecund mitten and
most bountiful
open hand of
vegetation!
Bluebells sway
[...] Read more
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Future Babies
A flower stands erect upon the stem.
Odd:
It bears the naked flesh of many men â
Pulsing, writhing, arteries humming;
Androgenic fluids chase their channels
To the ground, caking at a mound
Of naked girls, who pout in doubt and
Hurl their rabid glares from eyes
That catch the light of want
And desperation.
Sighs:
They know the separation
Stays their open legs
From bursting cocks.
Masturbation of the mind
Is all they need â
Theyâre in the docks of
Fate:
The evil Overpopulationâs out to feed
Their thundârous urge to procreate!
Forget the conjugation, just for once?
Bag the bulbous tits in bras.
I know they want the tongue on c*nts;
But focus! Whereâs the room to live?
And think about the future babies.
THINK:
You know they wonât forgive
Your selfish drive to suck, to shag.
The Dying Age of Man will drag
Him down to disappear.
So keep the girls away from sperm â
Donât let the men up there!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Modern Girl
Once a beautiful miss america married mr. right
Had a little baby girl, born on a stormy night
But that was once upon a time, now its a brand new world
Gimme the future, gimme the future, gimme the future with a modern girl
Gimme the future, gimme the future, gimme the future with a modern girl
Somewhere just between the past and somethin dawnin new
Theres a break in the chain, theres a skip in the clock
Girl thats where Im gonna find you
Between the boy I was before and what Im gonna be
Theres a clash on the border, a flame in the sky
Girl thats where youre gonna find me
Cant you hear the planet groanin like a broken down machine
Rusted with the guilty tears of fallen kings and queens
But you and I stand innocent, baby its a brand new world
Gimme the future, gimme the future, gimme the future with a modern girl
Gimme the future, gimme the future, gimme the future with a modern girl
(gimme the future, gimme the future, gimme the future with a modern girl)
Bridge:
Were the son and the daughter on a new freeway
(gimme the future, gimme the future)
Laughin while the road maps blow away
(gimme the future with a modern girl)
Were the son and the daughter and we aint afraid
(gimme the future, gimme the future)
Wont be makin the mistakes our fathers made
(gimme the future with a modern girl)
(gimme the future, gimme the future) oh, gimme the future with a modern girl
(gimme the future, gimme the future) oh, gimme the future with a modern girl
Once a beautiful miss america married mr. right
Had a little baby boy, born on a stormy night
But that was once upon a time, now its a brand new world
Gimme the future, gimme the future - gimme the future with a modern girl...
(repeats out)
(bridge)
song performed by Meat Loaf
Added by Lucian Velea
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Faces
SAUNTERING the pavement, or riding the country by-road--lo! such
faces!
Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity, ideality;
The spiritual, prescient face--the always welcome, common, benevolent
face,
The face of the singing of music--the grand faces of natural lawyers
and judges, broad at the back-top;
The faces of hunters and fishers, bulged at the brows--the shaved
blanch'd faces of orthodox citizens;
The pure, extravagant, yearning, questioning artist's face;
The ugly face of some beautiful Soul, the handsome detested or
despised face;
The sacred faces of infants, the illuminated face of the mother of
many children;
The face of an amour, the face of veneration;
The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile rock; 10
The face withdrawn of its good and bad, a castrated face;
A wild hawk, his wings clipp'd by the clipper;
A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife of the
gelder.
Sauntering the pavement, thus, or crossing the ceaseless ferry,
faces, and faces, and faces:
I see them, and complain not, and am content with all.
Do you suppose I could be content with all, if I thought them their
own finale?
This now is too lamentable a face for a man;
Some abject louse, asking leave to be--cringing for it;
Some milk-nosed maggot, blessing what lets it wrig to its hole.
This face is a dog's snout, sniffing for garbage; 20
Snakes nest in that mouth--I hear the sibilant threat.
This face is a haze more chill than the arctic sea;
Its sleepy and wobbling icebergs crunch as they go.
This is a face of bitter herbs--this an emetic--they need no label;
And more of the drug-shelf, laudanum, caoutchouc, or hog's-lard.
This face is an epilepsy, its wordless tongue gives out the unearthly
cry,
Its veins down the neck distended, its eyes roll till they show
nothing but their whites,
Its teeth grit, the palms of the hands are cut by the turn'd-in
nails,
The man falls struggling and foaming to the ground while he
speculates well.
[...] Read more
poem by Walt Whitman
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Face To Face
We never talk to one another
We just disagree
Im the one who runs for cover
And you turn your back on me
They say nothings gonna last forever
But some things are worth fighting for
Yeah, well love could bring us back together
But love dont come round here no more
The words unspoken in the night
Locked away in my heart
And Im feeling out of place
But if love is the key
Let it open the door
So well be standing -- face to face
You never want to see me face to face
Think it over
Face to face
If only it could be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
I may be better off without it
I cant go on this way
Time has come to talk about it
This is our judgement day
You know we swore it would last forever
Always felt so sure it would
But its looking like now or never
Time to turn a bad thing into good
The words that echo in the night
Theyre fading away
And theyre gone without a trace
Now its up to you and me
Lets open the door
And meet each other -- face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face
You know its gotta be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
We gotta see each other -- face to face
And talk about it
Face to face
Hope it aint too late to meet face to face
Just you and me
(solo)
Face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face
[...] Read more
song performed by Foreigner
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Undying One- Canto III
'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?
If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!
'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!
'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Na Na Na Na
[Supercat]
This is the "Long Long He Love" fe the gal dem, Na, Na, Na Na,
The Rapper Don and 112 he nah gon stay pon the shelf.
I wanna see you rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Change positions
Change positions
Change positions
New position
I want a new position
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
[Q]
Come a little closer baby
Girl I want to feel your body
Lead you right next to me
We can be the life of the party
I just wanna let you know
I love the way your movin
Never wanna let you go
Never wanna stop the music
[Chorus:]
Girl Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
Hey we goin Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
[Slim]
Now that I've got you babe
Know we gotta keep it sexy
Touchin all over me
Baby it's ecstasy
Lady won't you take my hand
Let's go to VIP I don't think you understand
What you are doin to me
[Chorus:]
Girl Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
[...] Read more
song performed by 112
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cool, Daddy Cool (feat. Joe C)
(Daddy Cool)
(ohhh, yeah, yeah)
(Oh, wo, wo, yeah)
Verse 1 - Joe C.
See me cruisin' in my caddy
Ho's they like to call me "Daddy Cool"
When I'm stylin'
Just rollin on the island
Now just in case I pack heat
Keep a case of brew in my back seat
Got a pocket full of cash hey
Got a fatty in my ashtray
I'm Cool (Daddy Cool)
Call Me Cool (Daddy Cool)
I'm Cool (Daddy Cool)
Call Me Cool (Daddy Cool)
(Bad Ass) (Daddy Cool)
(Bad Ass) (Daddy Cool)
(Bad Ass) (Daddy Cool)
(Bad Ass)
Verse 2 - Kid Rock
Mackin' to this phat beat
Bass pushin' through my back seat
You know I got that gangsta lean
Ho's they all adore me
I stop and they all swarm me
To check out all my fly gold rings
The treat my like the mayor
Cause I'm the biggest player
(Joe C) Mackin' all honeys up here in the "D" baby (Kid Rock) You know I do
Grubbin' on some pork rinds
Kickin' out them sex rhymes
Everybody wants to be my friend
But I can't be your friend no
Unless you got some endo to smoke
(Joe C.) I ain't no joke
(Joe C.)
Call Me Cool (Daddy Cool)
I'm Cool (Daddy Cool)
Call Me Cool (Daddy Cool)
I'm Cool (yeah, yeah, yeah)
(Bad Ass) (Daddy Cool)
(Bad Ass) (Daddy Cool)
(Bad Ass) (Daddy Cool)
(Bad Ass)
(Female singer)
I like the way you profile
Them posey's they got style
Daddy can I roll with you?
Here's some money for your gas tank
[...] Read more
song performed by Kid Rock
Added by Lucian Velea
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Like A 24
Make dat ass roll like a 24 (24)
Lemme see you make dat ass roll like a 24 (24)
Shawty make dat ass roll like some 24s (24)
Lemme see you make dat ass roll like a 24 (24)
I can make my ass roll like a 24 (24) [repeat]
I can make my ass roll like some 24s (24s)
I can make my ass roll like a 24 (24)
Now drop it (now drop it) to tha floor
Spin it like some stop n go
Drop it (drop it) to tha floor
Spin it like some stop n go
Roll like a 24
Lemme see you make dat ass roll like a 24
Now I could tell from back in tha days when we was shawtys in tha hood
Dat you was gone grow up to be thick as hell and lookin good
Now you 21 and them thighs aint no crunk
Lookin fine as hell like a penny junk up in the trunk
Make a nigga get (get) what you want
Put dat ass on dubs
Feel it when you get tha party crunk
Feel it when you twirk it in tha club
Feel it when you get down on tha floor
Love when you get down on tha low
Feel I wanna jack dat ass wanna bump and get that ho get tha hoe
Baby I jus got some 24s and I love to watch em spin (spin)
So let me see you make dat ass roll like my rims
Spinnin like omega jones
Pop dat booty fo my squad
Work dat booty tho it hard roll it like a ?
[Chorus]
You already know hoes down pimps up
When pimpin step up in tha house put ya bitch up
I got a remi bottle instead of a pimp cup
It shine like a summer day when my wrist up
She wanna wave now cuz my nigga Twista
Dissed her then bounced wit her sista
I tell her keep her head down and her hips up
You can keep dat pussy imma tear dem pretty lips up
Let dat ass roll like 24s on a big truck
And ya g-string let it bounce when da beat bang
Make it drop like dem cars in a
song performed by Twista
Added by Lucian Velea
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Like A 24
Make dat ass roll like a 24 (24)
Lemme see you make dat ass roll like a 24 (24)
Shawty make dat ass roll like some 24s (24)
Lemme see you make dat ass roll like a 24 (24)
I can make my ass roll like a 24 (24) [repeat]
I can make my ass roll like some 24s (24s)
I can make my ass roll like a 24 (24)
Now drop it (now drop it) to tha floor
Spin it like some stop n go
Drop it (drop it) to tha floor
Spin it like some stop n go
Roll like a 24
Lemme see you make dat ass roll like a 24
Now I could tell from back in tha days when we was shawtys in tha hood
Dat you was gone grow up to be thick as hell and lookin good
Now you 21 and them thighs aint no crunk
Lookin fine as hell like a penny junk up in the trunk
Make a nigga get (get) what you want
Put dat ass on dubs
Feel it when you get tha party crunk
Feel it when you twirk it in tha club
Feel it when you get down on tha floor
Love when you get down on tha low
Feel I wanna jack dat ass wanna bump and get that ho get tha hoe
Baby I jus got some 24s and I love to watch em spin (spin)
So let me see you make dat ass roll like my rims
Spinnin like omega jones
Pop dat booty fo my squad
Work dat booty tho it hard roll it like a ?
[Chorus]
You already know hoes down pimps up
When pimpin step up in tha house put ya bitch up
I got a remi bottle instead of a pimp cup
It shine like a summer day when my wrist up
She wanna wave now cuz my nigga Twista
Dissed her then bounced wit her sista
I tell her keep her head down and her hips up
You can keep dat pussy imma tear dem pretty lips up
Let dat ass roll like 24s on a big truck
And ya g-string let it bounce when da beat bang
Make it drop like dem cars in a
song performed by Twista
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichiâtwo good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoliâah, 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,âyes,
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,âif 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,âpshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,âinnocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,âI said, say and repeat,â
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? Iâ
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,ânay,
Mistress,âhad any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,âthese 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,âthe impossible fancy!âfail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,âthey laughed,â
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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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II
THE ARGUMENT
The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.
THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,
[...] Read more
poem by Samuel Butler
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Sixth Book
THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,â
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,â
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
âThat's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,âa poet's heart
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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Seventh Book
'THE woman's motive? shall we daub ourselves
With finding roots for nettles? 'tis soft clay
And easily explored. She had the means,
The moneys, by the lady's liberal grace,
In trust for that Australian scheme and me,
Which so, that she might clutch with both her hands,
And chink to her naughty uses undisturbed,
She served me (after all it was not strange,;
'Twas only what my mother would have done)
A motherly, unmerciful, good turn.
'Well, after. There are nettles everywhere,
But smooth green grasses are more common still;
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud;
A miller's wife at Clichy took me in
And spent her pity on me,âmade me calm
And merely very reasonably sad.
She found me a servant's place in Paris where
I tried to take the cast-off life again,
And stood as quiet as a beaten ass
Who, having fallen through overloads, stands up
To let them charge him with another pack.
'A few months, so. My mistress, young and light,
Was easy with me, less for kindness than
Because she led, herself, an easy time
Betwixt her lover and her looking-glass,
Scarce knowing which way she was praised the most.
She felt so pretty and so pleased all day
She could not take the trouble to be cross,
But sometimes, as I stooped to tie her shoe,
Would tap me softly with her slender foot
Still restless with the last night's dancing in't,
And say 'Fie, pale-face! are you English girls
'All grave and silent? mass-book still, and Lent?
'And first-communion colours on your cheeks,
'Worn past the time for't? little fool, be gay!'
At which she vanished, like a fairy, through
A gap of silver laughter.
'Came an hour
When all went otherwise. She did not speak,
But clenched her brows, and clipped me with her eyes
As if a viper with a pair of tongs,
Too far for any touch, yet near enough
To view the writhing creature,âthen at last,
'Stand still there, in the holy Virgin's name,
'Thou Marian; thou'rt no reputable girl,
'Although sufficient dull for twenty saints!
'I think thou mock'st me and my house,' she said;
'Confess thou'lt be a mother in a month,
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Turn The Beat Around (Def Classic Mix)
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Blow horns you sure sound pretty
Your violins keep movin' to the nitty gritty
When you hear the scratch of the guitars scratchin'
Then you'll know that rhythm carries all the action, so
Woah yeah
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Flute player play your flute 'cause
I know that you want to get your thing off
But you see I've made up my mind about it
It's got to be the rhythm, no doubt about it, woah woah
'Cause when the guitar player start playing
With the syncopated rhythm, with the scratch, scratch, scratch
Makes me wanna move my body yeah, yeah, yeah
And when the drummer starts beating that beat
He nails that beat with the syncopated rhythm
With the rat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat on the drums, hey
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
Love to hear it
Love to hear it
Love to hear it
Love to hear it
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it upside down
Turn the beat around
Love to hear the percussion
Turn it upside down
Love to hear the percussion
[...] Read more
song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
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