People Claim They Want More Peace
Agonistic balled up fists,
Shown by those too argumentive...
Are accustomed to conflicts,
And...
Should be left alone.
Agonistic balled up fists,
Shown by those too argumentive...
Are accustomed to conflicts,
And...
Should not be condoned.
Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
Or nor are they quick thinkers,
With solutions that resolve...
That will result in benefits.
Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
They're much too use to using fists...
As if to fight will end all riffs!
But escalations aren't dismissed.
More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Revenge is sought and with the risks,
Showing and exposing proof...
Just who can be more barbaric!
Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
Or nor are they quick thinkers,
With solutions that resolve...
That will result in benefits.
Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
They're much too use to using fists...
As if to fight will end all riffs!
But escalations aren't dismissed.
More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Revenge is sought and with the risks,
Showing and exposing proof...
Just who can be more barbaric!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Thunderbolt
I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt staying bold.
I'm the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
You may decide to run and hide.
But I've learned throughout my life...
Those who run let life slip by,
And cry in denial.
Setting themselves up...
For struggles and trials.
When I was young I was often hushed,
I would question too much.
With unedited questions asked.
To connect in my mind to grasp.
I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
And with a boldness I still hold.
When I was young I was often hushed,
I would question too much.
With unedited questions asked.
To connect in my mind to grasp.
Zip zap crack with answers due.
Answer my questions asked of you!
I'm the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I'm that result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
Zip zap crack with answers due.
Answer my questions asked of you!
I am the result of a thunderbolt,
That struck and stayed bold.
I am the result of a thunderbolt.
I'm that thunderbolt that remained bold.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who Benefits From A Not Getting Of It?
No one's here to endure pain or suffering.
No one can explain to what gain pain brings.
Who benefits from sacrificing love?
Who benefits from sacrificing joy?
Who benefits from,
A not getting of it?
Who benefits from,
A missing of this?
Who benefits from sacrificing love?
Who benefits from,
A not getting of it.
Who benefits from,
A missing of this.
Who benefits from sacrificing joy.
Who benefits from,
Not getting it.
Who benefits from,
A missing of this.
People,
Are not getting...
What prophets are saying 'bout powers of love.
People,
Are not getting...
What prophets are saying 'bout powers of love.
No one's here to endure pain or suffering.
No one can explain to what gain pain brings.
People,
Are not getting...
What prophets are saying 'bout powers of love.
People,
Are not getting...
What prophets are saying 'bout powers of love.
Who benefits from a not getting of it.
People,
Are not getting...
What prophets are saying 'bout powers of love.
People,
Are not getting...
What prophets are saying 'bout powers of love.
Who benefits from a not getting of it.
Who benefits from a not getting of it.
People,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stop, Choosing to Demean
You've got your meaning,
And still you are choosing to demean...
My love?
Ya gotcha meaning,
But-cha choosing to demean.
Ya gotcha meaning,
But-cha choosing to demean.
Ya gotcha meaning,
But-cha choosing to demean.
Baby!
I gotcha meaning that demeans,
What I say.
And why it is I feel this way.
You're choosing to demean,
How I pray.
For us...
With faith and love,
Everyday!
Baby!
You're choosing to demean.
I see,
You're choosing to demean.
My compassion,
You're choosing to demean.
And..
My strong beliefs.
Yo, Baby!
You're choosing to demean.
I see,
You're choosing to demean.
My compassion,
You're choosing to demean.
And..
My love for you so deep.
But, you choose to be so mean.
And baby...
Stop, choosing to demean.
Baby!
Stop, choosing to demean.
Yo' baby!
Stop, choosing to demean.
Yo' baby!
Stop, choosing to demean.
Yo' baby,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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II. Half-Rome
What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)
Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Only Solutions
Note: the lyrics listed here for only solutions
Were transcribed and discussed by several
Members of the journey mailing list.
We hope they are correct, although they
Still could contain errors.
In the jungle I run tonight
Find no peace to logical life
No confusion, just wrong or right, oh yeah.
Faces, numbers I recognize
You dont fool me with cynical lies
No problems, no compromise, oh yeah
Only solutions
Dont pull me down, I just wanna hear
Only solutions
Oh, it wont be long, it wont take too long
Modern times drive me insane
Explanations I cant explain
Leaves me standing in the rain, oh yeah
Solving mysteries with nothing to lose
Magic leaves you without any clues
Theres only so much one man can do, oh yeah
Only solutions
Dont pull me down, I just wanna hear
Only solutions
Oh it wont be long, it wont take too long
Only solutions
Dont pull me down, I just wanna hear
Now that the sun is shining
Clear vision, clear vision
In the jungle I run tonight
Find no peace to logical life
No confusion, just wrong or right, oh yeah
Faces, numbers I recognize
You dont fool me with cynical lies
No problems, no compromise, oh yeah
Only solutions
Its my point of view
Only solutions
Oh, clear vision
Only solutions
No second thoughts
Only solutions
No, no, no contradictions
People reason
People reason
No escape
song performed by Journey
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Slipping of Meet Notes
Accustomed to lies.
What does the truth really mean?
Accustomed to lies laying low on the scene!
Accustomed to tell them...
And protect when told.
Accustomed to lies,
Whether fresh released or old held on hold!
Accustomed to lies...
Without a bat of an eyelash moving!
Accustomed to lies.
Dishonesty is accepted and shown.
At the work place
Where the slipping of meet notes,
Does not provoke disdain.
Accustomed to lies...
And that's how our lives remain!
In heated sex away from home!
Regardless of who spies on another,
Both buffer their suffering by what's condoned.
Accustomed to lies...
And what is taught is always known!
Accustomed to lies.
Accustomed to holding on to them,
Until time flys!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Essay on Criticism
Part I
INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.
'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?
Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
[...] Read more
poem by Alexander Pope
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Big Losers Alone
The feud we fueled has cooled.
And we chose to remove those stubborn moods.
But many like us have not!
They wish to keep a knocking rocking,
And it should stop before it starts.
Sitting stirring attitudes to prove,
What to do to who...
With issues brewed to renew.
Must be diluted!
They've got to refuse to pollute this blues.
Boot and not reuse them!
They've got to split up all this thickness in their cloudy minds.
Leave it behind.
And not refine them as reminders.
Get rid of all this wickedness that's easy to find.
With a heated need to feed these assinine times.
They've got to split up all this thickness in their cloudy minds.
Leave it behind.
And not refine them as reminders.
Get rid of all this wickedness that's easy to find.
With a heated need to feed these assinine times.
The feud we fueled has cooled.
And we chose to remove those stubborn moods.
But many like us have not!
They wish to keep a knocking rocking,
And it should stop before it starts.
Sitting stirring attitudes to prove,
What to do to who...
With issues brewed to renew.
Must be diluted!
They've got to refuse to pollute this blues.
Boot and not reuse them,
Or become big losers.
Boot and not reuse them,
Or become the big losers condoned.
Alone.
Condoned.
Boot and not reuse them,
Or become the big losers condoned.
Alone.
condoned.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Smearing Done Condoned
People finding they can't keep up.
Or have voices that will not speak up.
Spending sad lives fast asleep,
To awaken in groans alone.
People stealing sneaky peeks,
From window sills in cushioned seats.
And can't believe these times they see...
Trouble coming near their homes.
They wont accept,
But must condone...
Although they wish to reject,
What's going on.
And block out,
What they choose to hear...
If it's not the smearing of people.
Many love it and they wont give it up,
The smearing done of people.
Many love it and they wont give it up,
The smearing done condoned!
People stealing sneaky peeks,
From window sills in cushioned seats.
And can't believe these times they see...
Trouble coming near their homes.
But,
Many love it and they wont give it up,
The smearing done of people.
Many love it and they wont give it up,
The smearing done condoned!
They love it!
Many love it and they wont give it up,
The smearing done of people.
Many love it and they wont give it up,
The smearing done condoned!
They wont accept,
But must condone...
Although they wish to reject,
What's going on.
And block out,
What they choose to hear...
If it's not the smearing of people.
They love it!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Trip Too Quick To Insult and Assault
You trip too quick to get your results.
You trip too quick to insult and assault,
Those you don't know...
Who haven't shown,
Reason why you choose to deceive.
You trip too quick to sit and to sulk.
You trip too quick to blame and to fault,
Others unaware...
What has been done to you.
And you don't care...
Going through the act that you do.
You trip too quick to get your results.
Yes you do.
You trip too quick to insult and assault,
Just to prove...
To,
Those you don't know...
Who haven't shown,
Reason why you choose to deceive.
Then you can't believe why they come back,
To mistreat you!
You trip too quick to get your results.
Yes you do.
You trip too quick to insult and assault,
Just to prove...
To,
Those you don't know...
Who haven't shown,
Reason why you choose to deceive.
You trip too quick to get your results.
And...
You trip too quick to insult and assault.
And...
You trip too quick to get your results.
And...
You trip too quick to insult and assault.
You trip too quick to get your results.
You trip too quick to insult and assault.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator
Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!
It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!
Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dominionistic
They wish to rule the world,
With strong fists that restrict.
They want it hidden,
That they are dominionistic.
They believe that they should rule,
Over land and sea.
As if they are supreme authority,
With 'sovereignty'.
And the people...
Dominionistic,
Think they...
Can rule with tough fists.
These people,
Who are like this...
Wish to rule and control.
Yes these people,
Dominionistic...
Think they...
Can rule with tough fists.
These people,
Who are like this...
Wish to rule and control.
They believe that they should rule,
Over land and sea.
As if they are supreme authority with 'sovereignty'.
They wish to rule the world,
With strong fists that restrict.
They want it hidden,
That they are...
Dominionistic.
People,
Who rule with tough fists.
People,
Who are just like this...
Conquer and control.
And the people...
Dominionistic,
Think they...
Can rule with tough fists.
These people,
Who are like this...
Wish to rule and control.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Don't Nick To Chip It When It Benefits
You can forget it when the getting has gone.
But you can't forget when you get it.
You can't forget when you get it.
You can forget it when the getting has gone.
But you can't forget when you get it.
You can't forget when you get it.
When the feeling is strong,
It belongs.
Don't nick to chip it when it fits.
When something given is a benefit.
You can forget it when the getting has gone.
But you can't forget when you get it.
You can't forget when you get it.
When the feeling is strong,
It belongs.
Don't nick to chip it when it fits.
When something given is a benefit.
When the feeling is strong,
It belongs.
Don't nick to chip it when it benefits!
Don't nick to chip it when it benefits!
When that feeling's with you all day,
And night long.
Don't nick to chip it when it benefits!
No don't nick to chip it when it benefits!
No don't nick to chip it when it benefits!
Don't, don't, don't-don't no don't,
Nick to chip it when it benefits!
No don't nick to chip it when it benefits!
No don't nick to chip it when it benefits!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Nicky Nicky Nicky Nicky Nicky Nick Pick
You can't win the war and the battle cause,
That struggle is in your head.
And kept there seven days a week.
With no sleep there you're reaping.
You can't win the war and the battle cause,
That struggle is in your head.
And kept there seven days a week.
With no sleep there you're reaping.
All you like to do is nitpick my wrongs.
With that constant picking that you see fit.
But only you brood sucking your thumb.
Without that finger licking that you want done!
Nicky nicky nicky nicky nicky nick pick,
Pick bones...
That's all you really want to do,
Pick bones...
Pick over bones that's gone!
Nicky nicky nicky nicky nicky nick pick,
Pick bones...
That's all you really want to do,
Pick bones...
Pick over bones that's gone,
With a finger licking done like you've won!
You can't win the war and the battle cause,
That struggle is in your head.
And kept there seven days a week.
With no sleep there you're reaping.
Nicky nicky nicky nicky nicky nick pick,
Pick bones...
That's all you really want to do,
Pick bones...
Pick over bones that's gone,
With a finger licking done like you've won!
Nicky nicky nicky nicky nicky nick pick,
Pick bones...
That's all you really want to do,
Pick bones...
Pick over bones that's gone,
With a finger licking done like you've won!
You can't win the war and the battle cause,
That struggle is in your head.
And kept there seven days a week.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Instigator
Escalations,
Appear in their sights.
Warmongers hunger to incite fights.
Determined to burn with precise agitation!
Aggrevating civilizations...
With more repeated irritation.
An instigator like a cancer spreads.
Thirsting on conflicts,
To leave many dead!
Mourning victims with salutes and praises.
Something is in the water,
To daze their crazed heads!
Mourning victims,
With salutes and hollow praises...
Something is in that drinking water drank.
Affecting their minds and dazing their heads!
An instigator like a cancer spreads.
Thirsting on conflicts,
To leave many dead!
An instigator
Instigating
Instigations fed!
Escalations,
Appear in their sights.
Warmongers hunger to incite fights.
Determined to burn with precise agitation!
Aggrevating civilizations...
With more repeated irritation.
An instigator
Instigating
Instigations fed!
An instigator like a cancer spreads.
Thirsting on conflicts,
To leave many dead!
An instigator
Instigating
Instigations fed!
Thirsting on conflicts,
To leave many dead!
This one never sleeps at all.
With infested instigations...
Snuggled up and brought to bed!
An instigator like a cancer spreads.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Interpretation of Nature and
I.
MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.
II.
Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.
III.
Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.
IV.
Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.
V.
The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.
VI.
It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.
VII.
The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.
VIII.
Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.
IX.
The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.
X.
The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.
XI.
As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.
XII.
The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.
XIII.
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Francis Bacon
Added by Poetry Lover
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You Made Okay To Do It Your Way
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You complained,
That you couldn't take the weight.
And a waiting too late makes it okay.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Wild
With you on a clear day yeah
If tried I don't think I could end it better this way
All I have is a photograph
And if loneliness can hurt as much as being cold
Come over here woman and touch me you look so electric
'Cause all I ask is a second chance
Stroll on lady
Stroll on
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make my world resolve and you take over
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make my world resolve and you take over my pain
Oh love
You got a tear in your eye and a look to match it
Well maybe you think you just can't get me out of your hair
Don't try to resist it 'cause
We're getting stronger
The closer we become
You are the best thing in my life
Stroll on lady
Stroll on
And take it to the edge
Ohh oooh ahhh ahhh oooh ahhh baby
Stroll on lady
Stroll on
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make the world resolve and you take over
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make the world resolve and you take over
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make my world resolve and you take over for
How long
How long Ohh with my pain
How long
Nah-nanana na na na na nanana na na na
Nah-na na na na na na na nanana na na na
Nah-na na na na na na na nanana na na na
Nah-nana nana na na na na nanana na na na
Oh and I don't need no one that's different
Na na na na na na na nanana na na na
Na na na na na na na nanana na na na
Na na na na na na na nanana na na na
Na na na na na na na nanana na na na
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make my world resolve and you take over
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make my world resolve and you take over
Wild laces with diamonds in your hair
When you smile you make my world resolve and you take over
All my pain Ohh babe
[...] Read more
song performed by Seal from Debut
Added by Lucian Velea
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