Drama
A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill
daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness
of delusion; wants to decimate the infamous
rotting image of man, shining everyday in lush
fucking gossips. A perfect imperfection of treachery
to attack the hapless blade of grass who cannot
stand erect in a gale of glory of tall trees.
The star-glint overwhelms a prophet of dust.
A goddess enters the labyrinth of anthologies.
The smile that sets to sail a thousand slogans-
flies from infinity to the branches of flesh.
And the rivals collapse like dark alchemy
without qualms, naked and speechless.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Thespis: Act II
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
GODS
Jupiter, Aged Diety
Apollo, Aged Diety
Mars, Aged Diety
Diana, Aged Diety
Mercury
THESPIANS
Thespis
Sillimon
TimidonTipseion
Preposteros
Stupidas
Sparkeio n
Nicemis
Pretteia
Daphne
Cymon
ACT II - The same Scene, with the Ruins Restored
SCENE-the same scene as in Act I with the exception that in place
of the ruins that filled the foreground of the stage, the
interior of a magnificent temple is seen showing the background
of the scene of Act I, through the columns of the portico at the
back. High throne. L.U.E. Low seats below it. All the substitute
gods and goddesses [that is to say, Thespians] are discovered
grouped in picturesque attitudes about the stage, eating and
drinking, and smoking and singing the following verses.
CHO. Of all symposia
The best by half
Upon Olympus, here await us.
We eat ambrosia.
And nectar quaff,
It cheers but don't inebriate us.
We know the fallacies,
Of human food
So please to pass Olympian rosy,
We built up palaces,
Where ruins stood,
And find them much more snug and cosy.
SILL. To work and think, my dear,
Up here would be,
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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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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Without the Immortal Love of a Woman…
Every man’s eye is devastatingly empty; unbearably rotting towards the dungeons of diabolical hell; without the celestially commiserating reflections of a bountiful woman,
Every man’s palm is sinfully empty; barbarously rotting towards the coffins of penalizing hell; without the compassionately befriending grip of an honest woman,
Every man’s vein is dreadfully empty; devilishly rotting towards the vacuum of torturous hell; without the invincibly righteous rudiments of a sacrosanct woman,
Every man’s brain is deliriously empty; sadistically rotting towards the thorns of cold-blooded hell; without the unsurpassably ebullient fantasies of an eclectic woman,
Every man’s lip is ghastily empty; tawdrily rotting towards the mortuaries of parasitic hell; without the wondrously igniting kisses of an ardent woman,
Every man’s shadow is venomously empty; carnivorously rotting towards the skeletons of hideous hell; without the mellifluously symbiotic sweetness of a benign woman,
Every man’s signature is disastrously empty; egregiously rotting towards the nothingness of hedonistic hell; without the astoundingly ameliorating reflection of a caring woman,
Every man’s mission is treacherously empty; horrendously rotting towards the dirt of excoriating hell; without the pricelessly unconquerable encouragement of a blessed woman,
Every man’s lung is cripplingly empty; nonsensically rotting towards the meaninglessness of asphyxiating hell; without the unassailably reinvigorating breath of a timeless woman,
Every man’s cheek is lecherously empty; salaciously rotting towards the perversions of crucifying hell; without the mischievously spell binding peck of an untamed woman,
Every man’s chest is drearily empty; ignominiously rotting towards the blackness of massacring hell; without the magically reincarnating caress of a sensuous woman,
Every man’s spine is lividly empty; preposterously rotting towards the holocaust of morbid hell; without the insurmountably majestic virility of an enigmatic woman,
Every man’s adventure is hopelessly empty; sacrilegiously rotting towards the ghost of tormenting hell; without the inscrutably tantalizing echo of a mesmerizing woman,
Every man’s skin is frigidly empty; inconsolably rotting towards the whiplash of strangulating hell; without the fathomlessly unabashed exhilaration of an intrepid woman,
Every man’s soul is cursedly empty; inexplicably rotting towards the gallows of murderous hell; without the infallibly consecrating sensitivity of a vivacious woman,
Every man’s shoulder is dolorously empty; blasphemously rotting towards the shards of deteriorating hell; without the amazingly unflinching unity of a blissful woman,
Every man’s ear is abjectly empty; viciously rotting towards the gutters of malevolent hell; without the enchantingly unfettered voice of a mystical woman,
Every man’s nostril is despondently empty; perilously rotting towards the wickedness of baseless hell; without the perennially life-yielding fragrance of an intricate woman,
And every man’s heart is haplessly empty; unsparingly rotting towards the evil jinx of cannibalistic hell; without the immortally embracing love of a faithful woman….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Yellow Pearl
we all must beware of the yellow pearl"
The yellow pearl control, attack, attack, attack, attack
Yellow pearl
It is foolish to venture into strange enchanted places
If they aren't the places you want to be
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
We will arise
We will control
We will command
We will patrol
It is foolish under the guise of love and liberty
That we should capitalize and rob and fell
The poor for the socialistic tree
We will arise
We will control
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
That's what you lack
We shall arise
They will arise
We shall control
They will control
We shall command
They will command
We shall patrol
They will patrol
We must fight back
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
We are now living in a situation
Where that self same situation depends on the yellow pearl
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
They will control
We will command
They shall command
We will patrol
They will patrol
Arise
Yellow pearl's upon us now
We must fight back
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
[...] Read more
song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Yellow Pearl- Phil Lynott
we all must beware of the yellow pearl"
The yellow pearl control, attack, attack, attack, attack
Yellow pearl
It is foolish to venture into strange enchanted places
If they aren't the places you want to be
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
We will arise
We will control
We will command
We will patrol
It is foolish under the guise of love and liberty
That we should capitalize and rob and fell
The poor for the socialistic tree
We will arise
We will control
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
That's what you lack
We shall arise
They will arise
We shall control
They will control
We shall command
They will command
We shall patrol
They will patrol
We must fight back
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
We are now living in a situation
Where that self same situation depends on the yellow pearl
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
They will control
We will command
They shall command
We will patrol
They will patrol
Arise
Yellow pearl's upon us now
We must fight back
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
[...] Read more
song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Yellow Pearl- Phil Lynott
we all must beware of the yellow pearl"
The yellow pearl control, attack, attack, attack, attack
Yellow pearl
It is foolish to venture into strange enchanted places
If they aren't the places you want to be
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
We will arise
We will control
We will command
We will patrol
It is foolish under the guise of love and liberty
That we should capitalize and rob and fell
The poor for the socialistic tree
We will arise
We will control
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
That's what you lack
We shall arise
They will arise
We shall control
They will control
We shall command
They will command
We shall patrol
They will patrol
We must fight back
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
We are now living in a situation
Where that self same situation depends on the yellow pearl
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
Is what we lack
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
They will control
We will command
They shall command
We will patrol
They will patrol
Arise
Yellow pearl's upon us now
We must fight back
We will arise
They will arise
We will control
Attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack, attack
[...] Read more
song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Satan Absolved
(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.
[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.
Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.
Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.
[...] Read more
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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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 Rain
(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)
[...] Read more
song performed by Missy Elliott
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Ballad of the White Horse
DEDICATION
Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?
Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?
In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.
Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.
Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.
Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.
Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.
But who shall look from Alfred's hood
[...] Read more
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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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
Added by Poetry Lover
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Everyday Is A Winding Road
{written by sheryl crow, jeff trott and brian mcleod}
{additional vocal by larry graham}
Everyday is a winding road, is a winding road, is a winding road, oh
(is a winding road)
I hitched a ride with a crazyhorse showgirl
She says shes been down this road more than twice (time)
She wanted 2 know if I could tell the future (tell the future)
I said, Ive never been there before, but the brochure looks nice
Jump in, lets go (lets go, baby)
Lay back, enjoy the show
Everybody gets high (high), everybody gets low (low)
These r the days when anything goes
Everyday is a winding road
I get a little bit closer
Everyday is a faded sign
I get a little bit closer 2 feeling fine
(oh-oh)
(listen now)
Shes got a daughter she calls easter
She was born on a tuesday night
Im just wondering y people feel so all alone (all alone)
Feeling like a stranger in their own life
Jump in, lets go (lets go, baby)
Lay back (ooh-ooh), enjoy the show
Everybody gets high (high), everybody gets low (low)
These r the days (days) when anything goes
Everyday is a winding road
I get a little bit closer
Everyday is a faded sign
I get a little bit closer 2 feeling fine
(jump in)
(everyday is a winding road, is a winding road)
Ive been swimming in a sea of anarchy
Ive been living on compliments and herbal tea
Ive been wondering if all the things Ive ever seen
Were ever real (were ever real, were ever real ...)
Were ever really happening
Jump in, lets go ([...] lets go, baby)
Lay back, enjoy the show
Everybody gets high, everybody gets low
These r the days when anything goes
Everyday is a winding road (come on, come on)
I get a little bit closer (get closer baby)
Everyday is a faded sign
I get a little bit closer 2 feeling fine
Everyday is a winding road (is a winding road, is a winding road)
Everyday is a faded sign (faded sign, lets go)
Da-da, da-da
Everyday, everyday
(da-da, da-da)
[...] Read more
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Fourth
I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.
III.
In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.
V.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Stand By Your Man
[LL Cool J]
Yeah this one goes out to all the ladies in the house
[LL Cool J]
I need two to stand by me when the chips are down and
Stick around while I defend my crown and
No sell-out, the chip is too rough and
I'll blow your skin to sofa, leave your mind to be tough
And I might seem rough but life is much rougher
To see success sometimes you gotta suffer
I need a woman that's stronger than material needs
And isn't motivated by green
Dry my tear-drops and feelin' my pain and
Watchin' my back while I strive to maintain and
Makin' love like a medicine doctor
I knew that she was bad from the day that I clocked her
[Chorus: Dawn Greene]
Stand by your, man, stand by your man
You got to stand by your baby
Stand by your, man, stand by your man
You got to stand by your baby
[LL Cool J]
My enemies come and my break-bread's tough but
You recognize game from your eyes and walkin'
Baby ain't no way I'll let the vultures attack you
So I'll teach you the game and tell you how to react to
The conversation, sexy vibration
Visual stimulation, slick persuasion
Times are hard, I need a woman that rolls by God
And the only man she loves is Todd
But will you be around when the raindrops fallin'
Or could it be you never loved me at all and
I need a trooper, a soldier, a agent
I need someone who can roll with my arrangement
The reap reducer factor and
The Queen of the Universe, not an actor and
Standin' by her man till the end
Not only as a lover but a friend
[Chorus: Dawn Greene]
Stand by your, man, stand by your man
You got to stand by your baby (yeah)
Stand by your, man, stand by your man
You got to stand by your baby
[LL Cool J]
Man, do things get better?
We can look back at the whole aerators
Remember the times when they said I couldn't do it
But I was rougher than rough and baby you knew it and
You held back when your loved jobs called in
You had faith when they said they're not callin'
You understood that what we had was good
[...] Read more
song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Give The Po Man A Break
Give po man a break
Give po man a break
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
[...] Read more
song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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Song of Wink Star
The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages
story and text © Raj Arumugam, June 2008
☼ ☼
☼ Preamble
Come…children all, children of all ages…sit close and listen…
Come and listen to this happy story of the stars and of life…
Come children of the universe, children of all nations and of all races, and of all climates and of all kinds of space and dimensions and universes…
Come, dearest children of all beings of the living universe, come and listen to The Song of Wink Star…
Come and listen to this story, this happy story…listen, as the story itself sings to you…
Sit close then, and listen to the story that was not made by any, or written by a poet, or fashioned by grandfathers and grandmothers warming themselves at the fire of burning stars…
O dearest children all, come and listen to the story that lives
of itself, and that glows bright and happy….
Come…children all, children of all ages, come and listen to this happy story, the story so natural and smooth as life, as it sings itself to you….
☼ The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages
☼ 1
Night Child, always so light and gentle, slept on a flower.
And every night, before he went to sleep, he would look up at the sky.
He would look at the eastern corner, five o’clock.
And there he would see all the stars in near and distant galaxies that were only visible to the People of Star Eyes.
Night Child was one of the People of Star Eyes. And so he could see the stars. And of all the stars he could see, he loved to watch Wink Star.
Wink Star twinkled and winked and laughed.
Every night Wink Star did that. Winked and laughed.
[...] Read more
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Your Own Disater
Just think of this and me,
as just a few of the many things,
to lie around and clutter up your shelves
I wish you wern't worht the wait
cos theres somthing id like to say to you
and i dont think that you knwo what you've been missing
and i dont think that you knwow hat you've been missing
and i dare you to forget
the marks oyu left across my neck
from those nights when we were both at our best
and now i could make this obvious
and you, you could deny me
all in one breath you could shug mr off your shoulders
cos i dont think that you know what oyuve been missing
and i dont hitnk that you knwo what you've been missing
cos i dont think that you,
i said i dont think that you know
cos i dont think that you know what youve been missing
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
hey lush have fun
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
hey lush have fun
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
(oh i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
its the weekend
(forget me, its that simple)
(no i dont think that you know what you've been missing)
hey lush, have fun
(forget me, its that simple)
[...] Read more
song performed by Taking Back Sunday
Added by Lucian Velea
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Orlando Furioso Canto 18
ARGUMENT
Gryphon is venged. Sir Mandricardo goes
In search of Argier's king. Charles wins the fight.
Marphisa Norandino's men o'erthrows.
Due pains Martano's cowardice requite.
A favouring wind Marphisa's gallery blows,
For France with Gryphon bound and many a knight.
The field Medoro and Cloridano tread,
And find their monarch Dardinello dead.
I
High minded lord! your actions evermore
I have with reason lauded, and still laud;
Though I with style inapt, and rustic lore,
You of large portion of your praise defraud:
But, of your many virtues, one before
All others I with heart and tongue applaud,
- That, if each man a gracious audience finds,
No easy faith your equal judgment blinds.
II
Often, to shield the absent one from blame,
I hear you this, or other, thing adduce;
Or him you let, at least, an audience claim,
Where still one ear is open to excuse:
And before dooming men to scaith and shame,
To see and hear them ever is your use;
And ere you judge another, many a day,
And month, and year, your sentence to delay.
III
Had Norandine been with your care endued,
What he by Gryphon did, he had not done.
Profit and fame have from your rule accrued:
A stain more black than pitch he cast upon
His name: through him, his people were pursued
And put to death by Olivero's son;
Who at ten cuts or thrusts, in fury made,
Some thirty dead about the waggon laid.
IV
Whither fear drives, in rout, the others all,
Some scattered here, some there, on every side,
Fill road and field; to gain the city-wall
Some strive, and smothered in the mighty tide,
One on another, in the gateway fall.
Gryphon, all thought of pity laid aside,
Threats not nor speaks, but whirls his sword about,
Well venging on the crowd their every flout.
[...] Read more
poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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