When All Is Said
When all is said
and well and done
we'll all be dead
as skeletons
last thought in head, -
'Well, THAT was fun! ...'
poem by Ray Quesada
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Skeletons
(ian hunter/darrel bath/honest john plain)
(transcribed by adrian perkins; corrections by colin ford)
Bimbo, flirts, sluts in skirts - muscles brightly glisten
Conversation's full of filth - let's all have a listen
Oh dear oh dear we live in fear
Media bulbs a poppin'
If you're bent, they're on your scent
There can be no stoppin'
Peroxide blondes, vagabonds, into 'eavy metal
Your hair looks like its been done by a dyke with a score to settle
Mud needs raking, photos taken of your murky past
Haunts you, taunts you, love it don't you
Hey hey the gang's all here
Pimps 'n' pervs, straights 'n' queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer at the skeletons in your closet
Sunday morning in the park,
Down the pub or in the bath
We'll all have a good old laugh
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
It's bloody marvellous - innit?
It's bloody marvellous - innit?
Juicy bits, saucy snips, there's gold in them there gutters
Blue rinse mob on the job, curtains all a-flutter
It's cheapo culture, bleeding ulcers, burnt out by the score
Lurid tales never fails to shock you to the core
Kinky boots 'n' rubbber suits,
It's all going on next door!
Caught you, taught you, love it don't you
If you've had your face re-done
If you spank your girlfriend's bum
We can all join in the fun
At the skeletons in your closet
What's the world coming to?
Ain't we got nothin' better to do?
To spend all day sifting through
The skeletons in your closet
Hey hey the gang's all here
Pimps 'n' pervs, straights 'n' queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
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Skeletons (In Your Closet)
(ian hunter/darrel bath/honest john plain)
(transcribed by adrian perkins; corrections by colin ford)
Bimbo, flirts, sluts in skirts - muscles brightly glisten
Conversations full of filth - lets all have a listen
Oh dear oh dear we live in fear
Media bulbs a poppin
If youre bent, theyre on your scent
There can be no stoppin
Peroxide blondes, vagabonds, into eavy metal
Your hair looks like its been done by a dyke with a score to settle
Mud needs raking, photos taken of your murky past
Haunts you, taunts you, love it dont you
Hey hey the gangs all here
Pimps n pervs, straights n queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer at the skeletons in your closet
Sunday morning in the park,
Down the pub or in the bath
Well all have a good old laugh
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Its bloody marvellous - innit?
Its bloody marvellous - innit?
Juicy bits, saucy snips, theres gold in them there gutters
Blue rinse mob on the job, curtains all a-flutter
Its cheapo culture, bleeding ulcers, burnt out by the score
Lurid tales never fails to shock you to the core
Kinky boots n rubbber suits,
Its all going on next door!
Caught you, taught you, love it dont you
If youve had your face re-done
If you spank your girlfriends bum
We can all join in the fun
At the skeletons in your closet
Whats the world coming to?
Aint we got nothin better to do?
To spend all day sifting through
The skeletons in your closet
Hey hey the gangs all here
Pimps n pervs, straights n queers
Enquiring minds want to sneer
At the skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
Skeletons in your, skeletons in your, skeletons in your closet
song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
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Have Fun
(bernard edwards/nile rodgers)
Hey, everybody
Have fun again
I want you to have fun
Have fun again
I want you to have fun
Just like little children
Like the little children
Know how they have fun
Just like little children
Like the little children
Know how they have fun
Meanwhile back at the ranch
You're unhappy, now here's your chance
Don't you let the pressure appear
Make your lifestyle hectic all year
Have fun again
I want you to have fun
Have fun again
I want you to have fun
Just like little children
Like the little children
Know how they have fun
Just like little children
Like the little children
Know how they have fun
Money won't be enough
When the going gets tough, it's rough
Try to cuddle with your business
And you'll see that love is priceless
If you don't believe what i say
Just experiment one day
I think that you will agree
That we need some kind of relief
Relif, relief
Have fun again
I want you to have fun
Have fun again
I want you to have fun
Just like little children
Like the little children
Know how they have fun
Just like little children
Like the little children
Know how they have fun
Have fun again
Have fun
Have fun again
I want you to have fun
Just like little children
[...] Read more
song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
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Skeletons In The Closet
Woah-oh, woah-oh
Skeletons in my closet
Woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons in my shoes
Skeletons I can only see
I said woah-oh, woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Skeletons I can lose
Skeletons in my basement
Loitering on my streets
Wearing my best pajamas
Sandwiched between my sheets
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah-oh yeah
Skeletons in my closet
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones, icy bones
Ooh, I see bones
Say say bones - say boys don't you see them bones?
Rattle them bones at midnight
Shaking my bed, no sleep
I find fingers in my coat pocket
Skeletons from the deep
I said woah-oh, woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
I said woah-oh, woah woah-oh
I got skeletons in my closet
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones, s-see bones
Ooh, I see bones
I see bones
Say boys don't you see them bones?
No?
Heart bones, leg bones, ankle bones, arm bones,
finger bones, dogie bones, head bones
Skeletons in my closet
They even know when I'm in my closet
It's my.. my closet
Not your closet
My closet
You can have it though
Alice we want you
Alice
Alice
A-Alice
[...] Read more
song performed by Alice Cooper
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fun, Fun, Fun
Well she got her daddys car
And she cruised through the hamburger stand now
Seems she forgot all about the library
Like she told her old man now
And with the radio blasting
Goes cruising just as fast as she can now
And shell have fun fun fun
til her daddy takes the t-bird away
(fun fun fun til her daddy takes the t-bird away)
Well the girls cant stand her
cause she walks looks and drives like an ace now
(you walk like an ace now you walk like an ace)
She makes the indy 500 look like a roman chariot race now
(you look like an ace now you look like an ace)
A lotta guys try to catch her
But she leads them on a wild goose chase now
(you drive like an ace now you drive like an ace)
And shell have fun fun fun
til her daddy takes the t-bird away
(fun fun fun til her daddy takes the t-bird away)
Well you knew all along
That your dad was gettin wise to you now
(you shouldnt have lied now you shouldnt have lied)
And since he took your set of keys
Youve been thinking that your fun is all through now
(you shouldnt have lied now you shouldnt have lied)
But you can come along with me
cause we gotta a lot of things to do now
(you shouldnt have lied now you shouldnt have lied)
And well have fun fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away
(fun fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
And well have fun fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away
(fun fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
(fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
(fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
(fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
(fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
(fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
(fun fun now that daddy took the t-bird away)
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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To Be No. 1
Music : peter wolf, matthias jabs
Lyrics: klaus meine
Give me a job
The one i havn't got
Don't write me off at anytime
Don't ever leave me unsatisfied
I don't wanna come in a second
I just wanna come
Don't wanna be the last in line
Don't wanna be just left behind
And in the evening when i come home
It is time to throw my dog a bone
That's when i wear my shirt that says
In capital letters in capital letters
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow got no monica to go to)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's a superstar, wunderbar, out of touch too much)
Don't tell me i'm small
An inch too short
I might not be your size but i'm sure great
And definitely underpaid
So give me a job
The one i haven't got
Don't tell me i'm too poor to join the club
To hang out with the big shots
And in the evening when i come home
It is time to give my dog a bone
That's when i wear my shirt that says
In capital letters in capital letters
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow, got no monica to go to)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's a v.i.p. wannabe, all he ever wants is)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
Isn't it fun fun fun yeah to be number one
(he's a v.i.p. wannabe all he ever wants is)
To be number one
And in the evening when i come home
It is time to throw my dog a bone
That's when i wear my shirt that says
In capital letters in capital letters
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow got no monica to go to)
Isn't it fun fun fun yeah to be number one
(he's a superstar, wunderbar, out of touch too much)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
Isn't it fun fun fun fun to be number one
To be number one
(fun, fun, fun)
[...] Read more
song performed by Scorpions
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tamar
I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.
The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hey Now
Hey now, hey now
What's a matta with ya
Girls just wanna have fun now
Come on...
Hey now, hey now
What's a matta with ya
Girls just wanna have fun now
I come home in the morning light
My mother says when you gonna live your life right
Oh mommy dear, we're not the fortunate ones
And girls, they wanna have fun
Woah girls, they wanna have fun
Hey now, hey now
Whats a matta with ya
Girls just wanna have fun now
Come on
The phone rings in the middle of the night
My father yells whatcha gonna do with your life
Oh daddy dear, you know your still number one
But girls they wanna have fun
Woah girls, they wanna have
Thats all they really want
Some fun
When the working day is done
You know girls they wanna have fun
Come on
Hey now, hey now
Whats a matta with ya
Girls just wanna have fun now
Come on
Hey now, hey now
Whats a matta with ya
Girls just wanna have fun now
And the boys they wanna have fun
And the girls they wanna have fun
And the boys they wanna have fun
And the girls they wanna have
Some boys take a beautiful girl
And hide her away from the rest of the world
I wanna be the one to walk in the sun
Hey now, hey now
Whats a matta with ya
Girls just wanna have fun now
Come on
Hey now, hey now
(when the working day is done)
Whats a matta with ya
(you know girls they wanna have fun)
Girls just wanna have fun now
Come on
[...] Read more
song performed by Cyndi Lauper
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy
I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11
SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head
Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed;
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5
He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10
Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar,
A trophy sacred to the God of War.
Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood,
Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood:
His brazen buckler on the left was seen; 15
Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between;
And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20
“Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success;
The greater part perform’d, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, 25
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, 30
And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war:
The last respect the living can bestow, 35
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought,
And which for us with their own blood they bought;
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send, 40
Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.
Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d 45
The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d
With equal faith, but less auspicious care.
Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear,
And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Carrolling II-Parody Lewis CARROLL–The Mad Gardener’s Song
Carolling II
He Thought He Saw
He thought he saw new Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and found it was
a mirage for each year
sees more control, “what rôle, ” he said,
“for values once held dear?
Some track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.'
He dreamt he saw spam disappear,
all consultations free,
he looked again and found it was
a spybot lottery.
“Is net neutrality”, he said,
“from rash risks viral clear? ”
He dreamt that Microsoft would steer
all trash deleted fast,
then woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.
He thought he saw a friend’s hello,
with an attachment piece,
he looked again and found it was
the porno scanning police.
“Politically correct”, he said,
“can’t guarantee release.”
He opened it, discovered though,
a trojan horse to fleece –
he looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice hoarse and low:
'when will our worries cease? ”
He thought he saw a hierophant,
who’d deal successful life,
he looked again and found it was
subpoena from ex-wife
demanding child support, he said,
“cards are cut by Time’s knife.”
He looked once more with rage and rant
and swore like a fishwife
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Canto the Second
I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.
II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.
III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.
IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.
V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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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,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The White Cliffs
I
I have loved England, dearly and deeply,
Since that first morning, shining and pure,
The white cliffs of Dover I saw rising steeply
Out of the sea that once made her secure.
I had no thought then of husband or lover,
I was a traveller, the guest of a week;
Yet when they pointed 'the white cliffs of Dover',
Startled I found there were tears on my cheek.
I have loved England, and still as a stranger,
Here is my home and I still am alone.
Now in her hour of trial and danger,
Only the English are really her own.
II
It happened the first evening I was there.
Some one was giving a ball in Belgrave Square.
At Belgrave Square, that most Victorian spot.—
Lives there a novel-reader who has not
At some time wept for those delightful girls,
Daughters of dukes, prime ministers and earls,
In bonnets, berthas, bustles, buttoned basques,
Hiding behind their pure Victorian masks
Hearts just as hot - hotter perhaps than those
Whose owners now abandon hats and hose?
Who has not wept for Lady Joan or Jill
Loving against her noble parent's will
A handsome guardsman, who to her alarm
Feels her hand kissed behind a potted palm
At Lady Ivry's ball the dreadful night
Before his regiment goes off to fight;
And see him the next morning, in the park,
Complete in busbee, marching to embark.
I had read freely, even as a child,
Not only Meredith and Oscar Wilde
But many novels of an earlier day—
Ravenshoe, Can You Forgive Her?, Vivien Grey,
Ouida, The Duchess, Broughton's Red As a Rose,
Guy Livingstone, Whyte-Melville— Heaven knows
What others. Now, I thought, I was to see
Their habitat, though like the Miller of Dee,
I cared for none and no one cared for me.
III
A light blue carpet on the stair
And tall young footmen everywhere,
Tall young men with English faces
Standing rigidly in their places,
Rows and rows of them stiff and staid
[...] Read more
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII (Entire)
Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.
Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.
Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou:
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,
But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.
Forgive what seem’d my sin in me;
What seem’d my worth since I began;
For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man, O Lord, to thee.
Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.
Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Geraint And Enid
O purblind race of miserable men,
How many among us at this very hour
Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves,
By taking true for false, or false for true;
Here, through the feeble twilight of this world
Groping, how many, until we pass and reach
That other, where we see as we are seen!
So fared it with Geraint, who issuing forth
That morning, when they both had got to horse,
Perhaps because he loved her passionately,
And felt that tempest brooding round his heart,
Which, if he spoke at all, would break perforce
Upon a head so dear in thunder, said:
'Not at my side. I charge thee ride before,
Ever a good way on before; and this
I charge thee, on thy duty as a wife,
Whatever happens, not to speak to me,
No, not a word!' and Enid was aghast;
And forth they rode, but scarce three paces on,
When crying out, 'Effeminate as I am,
I will not fight my way with gilded arms,
All shall be iron;' he loosed a mighty purse,
Hung at his belt, and hurled it toward the squire.
So the last sight that Enid had of home
Was all the marble threshold flashing, strown
With gold and scattered coinage, and the squire
Chafing his shoulder: then he cried again,
'To the wilds!' and Enid leading down the tracks
Through which he bad her lead him on, they past
The marches, and by bandit-haunted holds,
Gray swamps and pools, waste places of the hern,
And wildernesses, perilous paths, they rode:
Round was their pace at first, but slackened soon:
A stranger meeting them had surely thought
They rode so slowly and they looked so pale,
That each had suffered some exceeding wrong.
For he was ever saying to himself,
'O I that wasted time to tend upon her,
To compass her with sweet observances,
To dress her beautifully and keep her true'--
And there he broke the sentence in his heart
Abruptly, as a man upon his tongue
May break it, when his passion masters him.
And she was ever praying the sweet heavens
To save her dear lord whole from any wound.
And ever in her mind she cast about
For that unnoticed failing in herself,
Which made him look so cloudy and so cold;
Till the great plover's human whistle amazed
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Carrolling - Parody Lewis CARROLL – The Mad Gardener’s Song
He thought he saw an Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and hedged his bet, -
by middle of next year
new routing tables tuned as yet
unknown may well appear –
on track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.
He dreamt that spam would disappear,
all trash deleted fast.
He dreamt that Windows would be clear
of viral bugs’ wormcast.
He woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.
He thought he saw a friend’s hello
with an attachment piece,
he opened to discover, though,
a trojan horse release –
He looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice timbre low:
‘I’ll send for the Police! ”
He thought he saw a heirophant
predicting happy life.
He looked again, with rage and rant
discovered from ex-wife
an email angry claiming scant
support, which threatened strife:
“At length I see the immanent
attraction of Time’s knife! ”
He dreamt he saw as he awake
the euro reach a peak,
he saw he dreamt that Bush half bake
would leave the dollar weak: -
he woke to find what grave mistake
was made for the next week
the politicians put a stake
in budget – rocked boats leak!
He thought he saw Commission clerk
jump on bandwagon bus,
he looked again, just for a lark,
and found no tinker’s cuss
the former cared for bite was bark -
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Big Fun
LYRICS BY LORRAINE FEATHER
MUSIC BY EDDIE ARKIN
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night is glamorous
The weekend is ahead of us
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
Well I can hardly wait
The skyline shines like heaven's gate
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And we're ready for it honey
Big Fun
Here comes Big Fun
Im steppin out with a special one
Here comes Big Fun
Got through the week somehow
Well kiss like this
Catch up on all the romance we missed
Here comes Big Fun
Were gonna have it now
The workdays dead and gone
The girls are putting make-up on
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
Around the neighborhood
We concentrate on looking good
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
Here comes Big Fun
Im steppin out with a special one
Here comes Big Fun
Got through the week somehow
Well kiss like this
Catch up on all the romance we missed
Here comes Big Fun
Were gonna have it now
A thundering dance beat
Spills into the big street
This is Big Fun
The crowds are peaking
And horns are beeping
This is Big Fun
We run through the door
[...] Read more
song performed by Barry Manilow
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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