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63

I watched CNN
expecting to see no news:
I was not let down.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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You Watched It Close Under Microscope

You watched it close under microscope.
Closer than anything you watched most
You watched it close under microscope.
Closer than anything you watched most
And now you don't believe,
What you see.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close...
And still you don't believe,
What's there to see.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close...
And still you don't believe,
What's there to see.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close...
And...
Not to believe.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
And still you don't believe.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
And there to plainly see.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
And still you don't believe.
What's there to see.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.
And there to plainly see.
But you can't believe it masked.

You watched it close under microscope.
You watched it close under microscope.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Good News

Something to begin with
That's easy said than done
You'll see me rolling home
But I don't understand why
Still there's nothing at all
Time is on my side
But we mustn't let our disappointment show
But I will, and you will go on
All I need is some good news (some good news)
All I need is some good news (just some good news)
To put me on my feet (to put me on my feet)
To put me at my ease (at my ease)
All I need is some good news (all I need is some good news)
All I need is some good news (some good news)
To put me at my ease (to put me at my ease)
All I need is some good news
All I need is some good news (just gimme me some good news)
All I need is some good news (some good news)
To put me at my ease (to put me at my ease)
To put me on my feet (on my feet, on my feet)
All I need is some good news (all I need is some good news)
All I need is some good news (all I need is some good news)
All I need is some good news
All I need is some good news (all I need is good news)
To put me on my ease (to put me at my ease)
To put me on my feet (on my feet, on my feet)
All I need is some good news (good news)
All I need is some good news (some good news)
All I need is some good news (good news)
All I need is some good news
[Repeat to fade

song performed by 10 Cc
Added by Lucian Velea
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You've Been Watched

You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.

You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.

Whenever you misbehave,
You've been watched a lot.
Whatever it is you say,
You've been watched a lot.
It would behoove if you,
Turned it up a notched.

You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.

You've been watched.
No matter what you might have,
Or might have not.
You've been watched a lot.

There are snoopers dedicated.
You've been watched a lot.
No matter how careful you make it.
You've been watched a lot.
Even simple things you do...
They may say you do that too!

You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You've been watched a lot.

You've been watched.
No matter what you think you have,
Or haven't got.
You are being watched nonstop.

There are snoopers dedicated.
You've been watched a lot.
No matter how careful you make it.
You've been watched a lot.
Even simple things you do...
They may say you do that too!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Good News- Bad News

Bad news-I am driving along and a car is bearing down me from the rear.
It keeps coming.

Bad news-The car hits my little car at 60 miles an hour-bam!

Good news-I keep control of the car for a second or two
then the car begins to skid.

Bad news-The car skids, swerves and overturns, flipping, flipping.
The world outside the wind shield revolves upside down.

Bad news-Things go blank and I see water coming into the car;
I had landed in the river.

Good news-I am sinking but not yet under water.

Bad news- The water starts to come in faster and faster.

Bad news- The water keeps coming in the car. It is sinking.
It is over my head.
I am drowning.

Bad news- I hold my breath for 30 seconds and decide that I will die here.
I regret that it has to be in the mud and silt of the river. Undignified. I take a deep breath ready to go.

Good news, The car suddenly bobs to the surface from an air bubble
inside just as I take that breath.

Bad news-I look around and notice that the car is sinking again
this time even faster.

Bad news- I look around to try to open a door. But the door won't open.

Good news- I hear voices above. Someone saw me go in.

Bad news- The water is rising so fast I am sure they won't get me in time.

Bad news- I bang on the wind shield but it does not break

Good news- Someone from the outside breaks the wind shield and asks
if I can get out.

Bad news- I drag myself out over the cut glass-
blood in the water, gasoline and mud.,

Good news-Outside, there are men with a floating flat board and they float me to the shore.

Bad news-They ask me who is President and what is today's date.
And they are my rescuers, I think, and don't know this stuff?

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Salut Au Monde

O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next!
Each answering all--each sharing the earth with all.

What widens within you, Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes? what persons and lands are here?
Who are the infants? some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls? who are the married women?
Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about each
other's necks?
What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they, fill'd with dwellers?

Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens;
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east--America is provided for in the
west;
Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends;
Within me is the longest day--the sun wheels in slanting rings--it
does not set for months;
Stretch'd in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above the
horizon, and sinks again;
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, plants, volcanoes, groups,
Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands.

What do you hear, Walt Whitman?

I hear the workman singing, and the farmer's wife singing;
I hear in the distance the sounds of children, and of animals early
in the day;
I hear quick rifle-cracks from the riflemen of East Tennessee and
Kentucky, hunting on hills;
I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the wild horse;
I hear the Spanish dance, with castanets, in the chestnut shade, to
the rebeck and guitar;
I hear continual echoes from the Thames;
I hear fierce French liberty songs;
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old
poems;
I hear the Virginia plantation-chorus of negroes, of a harvest night,
in the glare of pine-knots;
I hear the strong baritone of the 'long-shore-men of Mannahatta;
I hear the stevedores unlading the cargoes, and singing;
I hear the screams of the water-fowl of solitary north-west lakes;
I hear the rustling pattering of locusts, as they strike the grain
and grass with the showers of their terrible clouds;
I hear the Coptic refrain, toward sundown, pensively falling on the

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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Here Is The News

Here is the news
Coming to you every hour on the hour
(here is the news)
The weathers fine but there may be a meteor shower.
Here is the news
A cures been found for good old rocket lag
(here is the news)
Someone left their life behind in a plastic bag.
Here is the news
Here is the news
Here is the news.
(spaceworkers dispute in london today.
A lightning strike by air shuttle officers
Led to over 2,000 passengers being held up
For up to 10 hours to board flights...)
(ten eurotechnicians were today sentenced
By the justice computer to be banished for life
To the prison satellite penal one...)
Here is the news
Another action filled adventure
(here is the news)
All the worst from the world convention.
Here is the news (the very latest)
Here is the news
Here is the news
Here is the news
(... shares of roboko development are now climbing...)
(... a very great friend of mine...)
(... our regular scheduled programs...)
(... the latest report from the people down there...)
(... a tiny little detail...)
(... Id like to say hello to everybody...)
Here is the news
I wanna go home, I want my baby back
(here is the news)
I wanna go back!
Here is the news
Somebody has broken out of satellite two
(here is the news....)
Look very carefully, it may be you, you, you, you...
(... the energy counsel today announced...)
(... the archbishop is waving to the crowds...)
(... the world broadcasting authority today announced...)
(... I think thats going to be alright, youll have to wait & see...)
(... Ill call you back later...)
Here is the news.

song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Watched

Pediatric E.R, R.I.P 11/5/09 (Volunteer work can be tough)

I watched…
A heartbreaking scene today
But I couldn’t take
my eyes away

I watched …
I feel shamed to say
I watched
a little girl die today

I watched …
an anguished EMT cry
I watched nurses drawn faces
I watched a little girl die

I watched …
Just outside the doors
The Frantic CPR applied
With frantic, futile force

I watched
Her mother fearfully enter the room
To be seated by her side
To share in her impending doom

I watched
A strange, unsettling scene
Upturned faces as if in prayer
hopefully watch the vitals screen

I watched
A life dissipate and fade
On a bed
That I had newly made

I watched…
At least a half hour they tried
With wondrous machines, marvelous medicines
Yet still, this little girl died

I watched…
Then I heard a small whimpering cry!
But It was only the mother
As she saw her child die

I watched…
Her arms outspread, her mom at her side
Young staring eyes so angelicly appealing

[...] Read more

poem by David Whalen
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The Libelle of Englyshe Polycye

Here beginneth the Prologe of the processe of the Libelle of Englyshe polycye, exhortynge alle Englande to kepe the see enviroun and namelye the narowe see, shewynge whate profete commeth thereof and also whate worshype and salvacione to Englande and to alle Englyshe menne.

The trewe processe of Englysh polycye
Of utterwarde to kepe thys regne in rest
Of oure England, that no man may denye
Ner say of soth but it is one the best,
Is thys, as who seith, south, north, est and west
Cheryshe marchandyse, kepe thamyralte,
That we bee maysteres of the narowe see.

For Sigesmonde the grete Emperoure,
Whyche yet regneth, whan he was in this londe
Wyth kynge Herry the vte, prince of honoure,
Here moche glorye, as hym thought, he founde,
A myghty londe, whyche hadde take on honde
To werre in Fraunce and make mortalite,
And ever well kept rounde aboute the see.

And to the kynge thus he seyde, 'My brothere',
Whan he perceyved too townes, Calys and Dovere,
'Of alle youre townes to chese of one and other
To kepe the see and sone for to come overe,
To werre oughtwardes and youre regne to recovere,
Kepe these too townes sure to youre mageste
As youre tweyne eyne to kepe the narowe see'.

For if this see be kepte in tyme of werre,
Who cane here passe withought daunger and woo?
Who may eschape, who may myschef dyfferre?
What marchaundy may forby be agoo?
For nedes hem muste take truse every foo,
Flaundres and Spayne and othere, trust to me,
Or ellis hyndered alle for thys narowe see.

Therfore I caste me by a lytell wrytinge
To shewe att eye thys conclusione,
For concyens and for myne acquytynge
Ayenst God, and ageyne abusyon
And cowardyse and to oure enmyes confusione;
For iiij. thynges oure noble sheueth to me,
Kyng, shype and swerde and pouer of the see.

Where bene oure shippes, where bene oure swerdes become?
Owre enmyes bid for the shippe sette a shepe.
Allas, oure reule halteth, hit is benome.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Expecting More From Ratty

We still represent ... represent.
I cant change I just wanna do it.
On the microphone just get into it.
Come on tonite from left to right.
Everybody now get ready for the night.
Tough like steel and dangerous, we gonna rock the house, its still like this.
No time to chill so keep on moving, get into the place, mc is grooving.
Tough like steel and dangerous, we gonna rock the house, its still like this.
No time to chill so keep on moving, get into the place, mc is grooving.
Expecting more from ratty.
Expecting more from ratty.
Expecting more from ratty.
Expecting more.
As a matter of fact in 92.
I cant explain. its up to you.
If you know what I mean its the freaky scene.
And things have changed a lot in between.
So come on tonite and let them go.
For those about who left the show.
I recommend to join the case.
The last call to rock the place.
Expecting more from ratty.
Expecting more from ratty.
Expecting more from ratty.
Expecting more.
We still represent ... represent.

song performed by Scooter
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dont Nobody Bring Me No Bad News

(charlie smalls)
When I wake up in the afternoon
Which it pleases me to do
Dont nobody bring me no bad news
cause I wake up already negative
And Ive wired up my fuse
So dont nobody bring me no bad news
If were going to be buddies
Better bone up on the rules
cause dont nobody bring me no bad news
You can be my best of friends
As opposed to payin dues
But dont nobody bring me no bad news
No bad news
No bad news
Dont you ever bring me no bad news
cause Ill make you an offer, child
That you cannot refuse
So dont nobody bring me no bad news
When youre talking to me
Dont be cryin the blues
cause dont nobody bring me no bad news
You can verbalize and vocalize
But just bring me the clues
But dont nobody bring me no bad news
Bring some message in your head
Or in something you cant lose
But dont you ever bring me no bad news
If youre gonna bring me something
Bring me, something I can use
But dont you bring me no bad news

song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
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Thurso’s Landing

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Dog Gone

I could not pray
I felt so dog gone
Couldnt get no witness but I did not know
Then a voice in a whisper said youve got to carry it on
And the news is gonna break
The news is gonna break
The news is gonna break that I am here
Out along the way I got so bogged down
I had some business there I did not slow
And a boy in the world said youve got to carry it on
And the news is gonna break
The news is gonna break
The news is gonna break that I am here
Im not a messenger
Im not the passenger
Got some business there but you did not know
And the point of my visit, well sir, thats to carry me on
And the news ig gonna break
And the news is gonna break
Yeah, your noose is gonna break when I am there
No paris
No nepal
No barstow
Wont be none of them at all
No congo
No kish or kishangargh
No memphis
It doesnt matter who you are
Im on my way
I feel so dog gone
Go bout your business but you did not know
And the point if there is one, well sir
Thats to carry me on
And the news is gonna break
(your noose is gonna break)
The news is gonna break that I am here)
The news is gonna break that I am here
And your noose is gonna break when I am there

song performed by Frank Black
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lets See Action

Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see freedom, lets see who cares,
Lets see freedom, lets see who cares,
Take me with you when you leave me
Take me with you when you leave me
And my shell behind us there.
And my shell behind us there.
I have learned it, known who burned me,
I have learned it, known who burned me,
Avatar has warmed my feet,
Avatar has warmed my feet,
Take me with you, let me see you,
Take me with you, let me see you,
Time and life can meet.
Time and life can meet.
Nothing is everything, everything is, nothing is,
Nothing is everything, everything is, nothing is,
Please the people, audiences,
Please the people, audiences,
Break the fences,
Break the fences,
Nothing is.
Nothing is.
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see freedom up in the air,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets see action, lets see people,
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Lets be free, lets see who cares.
Give me a drink boy, wash my feet,
Give me a drink boy, wash my feet,
Im so tired of running from my own heat,
Im so tired of running from my own heat,
Take this package and heres what you do,
Take this package and heres what you do,
Gonna get this information through.
Gonna get this information through.
I dont know where Im going,
I dont know where Im going,

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song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Third Monarchy, being the Grecian, beginning under Alexander the Great in the 112. Olympiad.

Great Alexander was wise Philips son,
He to Amyntas, Kings of Macedon;
The cruel proud Olympias was his Mother,
She to Epirus warlike King was daughter.
This Prince (his father by Pausanias slain)
The twenty first of's age began to reign.
Great were the Gifts of nature which he had,
His education much to those did adde:
By art and nature both he was made fit,
To 'complish that which long before was writ.
The very day of his Nativity
To ground was burnt Dianaes Temple high:
An Omen to their near approaching woe,
Whose glory to the earth this king did throw.
His Rule to Greece he scorn'd should be confin'd,
The Universe scarce bound his proud vast mind.
This is the He-Goat which from Grecia came,
That ran in Choler on the Persian Ram,
That brake his horns, that threw him on the ground
To save him from his might no man was found:
Philip on this great Conquest had an eye,
But death did terminate those thoughts so high.
The Greeks had chose him Captain General,
Which honour to his Son did now befall.
(For as Worlds Monarch now we speak not on,
But as the King of little Macedon)
Restless both day and night his heart then was,
His high resolves which way to bring to pass;
Yet for a while in Greece is forc'd to stay,
Which makes each moment seem more then a day.
Thebes and stiff Athens both 'gainst him rebel,
Their mutinies by valour doth he quell.
This done against both right and natures Laws,
His kinsmen put to death, who gave no cause;
That no rebellion in in his absence be,
Nor making Title unto Sovereignty.
And all whom he suspects or fears will climbe,
Now taste of death least they deserv'd in time,
Nor wonder is t if he in blood begin,
For Cruelty was his parental sin,
Thus eased now of troubles and of fears,
Next spring his course to Asia he steers;
Leavs Sage Antipater, at home to sway,
And through the Hellispont his Ships made way.
Coming to Land, his dart on shore he throws,
Then with alacrity he after goes;
And with a bount'ous heart and courage brave,
His little wealth among his Souldiers gave.
And being ask'd what for himself was left,
Reply'd, enough, sith only hope he kept.

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poem by Anne Bradstreet
Added by Poetry Lover
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bury Me With It

We were shootin' at a mound of dirt.
Well nothing was broken, nothing was hurt.
But I probably really should have been at work.
But if my freetime's gone, would you promise me this?
That you will please bury me with it?
Please bury me with it!
Well sure as planets come, I know that they end.
And if I'm here when that happens, will you promise me this my friend?
Please bury me with it!
I just don't need none of that Mad Max bullshit.
Well the suit got tight and it split at the seams.
But I kept it out of habit and I kept it really clean.
But if it's getting' faded, if it's runnin' outta thread,
Could you just do this for me my friend?
And please just please bury me with it?
Please bury me with it!
Well we moved to the left and moved to the right.
And sure as hell we stayed out almost every single night.
But if the party's over, if the fun has to end,
could you do this for me my friend?
Would you just please bury me with it?
Please bury me with it!
Good news for people who love bad news.
We've lost the plot and we just can't choose.
We are hummingbirds who are just not willing to move.
And there's good news for people who love bad news.
We are hummingbirds who've lost the plot and we will not move.
We have good news for anyone who loves bad news.
We were aiming for the moon. We were shooting at the stars.
But the kids were just shooting at the busses and the cars.
So don't drink the water, don't you breathe the air.
If it's gotten to that point then I have to declare:
That you please bury me with it!
Please bury me with it!
Well fads they come and fads they go.
And God I love that rock and roll!
Well the point was fast but it was too blunt to miss.
Life handed us a paycheck, we said, "We worked harder than this!"
Please bury me with it!
Please bury me with it!
We are hummingbirds who are just not going to move.
And there's good news for people who love bad news.
We are hummingbirds who've lost the plot and we well not move.
We have great news for anyone who loves bad news.

song performed by Modest Mouse
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dig Your Grave

We were shootin' at a mound of dirt.
Well nothing was broken, nothing was hurt.
But I probably really should have been at work.
But if my freetime's gone, would you promise me this?
That you will please bury me with it?
Please bury me with it!
Well sure as planets come, I know that they end.
And if I'm here when that happens, will you promise me this my friend?
Please bury me with it!
I just don't need none of that Mad Max bullshit.
Well the suit got tight and it split at the seams.
But I kept it out of habit and I kept it really clean.
But if it's getting' faded, if it's runnin' outta thread,
Could you just do this for me my friend?
And please just please bury me with it?
Please bury me with it!
Well we moved to the left and moved to the right.
And sure as hell we stayed out almost every single night.
But if the party's over, if the fun has to end,
could you do this for me my friend?
Would you just please bury me with it?
Please bury me with it!
Good news for people who love bad news.
We've lost the plot and we just can't choose.
We are hummingbirds who are just not willing to move.
And there's good news for people who love bad news.
We are hummingbirds who've lost the plot and we will not move.
We have good news for anyone who loves bad news.
We were aiming for the moon. We were shooting at the stars.
But the kids were just shooting at the busses and the cars.
So don't drink the water, don't you breathe the air.
If it's gotten to that point then I have to declare:
That you please bury me with it!
Please bury me with it!
Well fads they come and fads they go.
And God I love that rock and roll!
Well the point was fast but it was too blunt to miss.
Life handed us a paycheck, we said, "We worked harder than this!"
Please bury me with it!
Please bury me with it!
We are hummingbirds who are just not going to move.
And there's good news for people who love bad news.
We are hummingbirds who've lost the plot and we well not move.
We have great news for anyone who loves bad news.

song performed by Modest Mouse
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!