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The Nyro Poems - Majestic, Reprise

Recall floods,
florid days/nights.

Planet 'UnRequitia'
spins not,

only mulls over,
over again,

again relentless
descanting,

'red rover
red rover,

just send...'

Still, now,
remembering
feels right,
riches gained
by memory as
only memory
miracles can make:

Old Razor Burn,
his 'Empty-Moon' bottles,
molotovs thrown skyward
at dusk.

He insisted lab coats be worn
distributed ritually before
silver-painted matchboxes
opened, blessed with his spit -
impatiently explaining
(I always fled falling fire
and glass) -

'Such concussion
upon night sky brings
deeper stars to surface,
the more easily gathered,

Flash of Fish Star,
Formalhaut, brightest,
belly up for hands to grab,
abhorring steeples.'

Swollen Liver, his mad dashes -

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

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poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Feels So Good

Feels good
Im stranded on a spaceship hideaway
And something makes me think Im here to stay
Im so happy where I am
Feels good
Ive journeyed to the other atmospheres
And every breath I take just makes it clear
Im holding heaven in my hands
Its automatic baby and it feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
These extra-sensory sensations
Are causing me some complications
Electrostatic information
Feels good
Im playing with a pleasure trafficker
Arriving soon intergalactica
Im holding heaven in my hands
Its automatic baby and it feels good
Feels good
Feels good
Feels good
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
Feels so good
Feels so good
Feels so good
Feels good
Feels so good
Feels so good
Feels so good
Feels good
Im stranded on a spaceship hideaway
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
And it feels so good
Feels good
And it feels so good

[...] Read more

song performed by Jamiroquai
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Send Your Mind

Van Morrison
Bang Masters
Transcriber: Awcantor@aol.com
(guitar intro)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Well you're out there, on the highway
While you're drivin', a-roll on by
Goin' south between the bridges
While the river's runnin' dry
And if ya can't come home
Please send your mind
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Now you're talkin', where ya goin'
On the train that sees the road
'Cross the nation, passing stations
While the night is as black as coal
And if you can't come home
Please send your mind
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Ooo!
(Guitar solo and Instrumental)
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Well, if your handle ain't, on your heartbeat
And your headed between the sheet
And the sign isn't from the lamp post
On the corner of the street
And if ya can't come home
Please send your mind
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Ooo-ooo-we
(Send your mind)
(Send your mind)
Ooo-ooo-wee-ooo
(Send your mind)
A we-we-eee
(Send your mind)
A we-eee
(Send your mind)

Aah, little darlin'
(Send your mind)

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song performed by Van Morrison
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Disco Inferno

To my surprise, one hundred storeys high
People getting loose now, getting down on the roof
I tell ya, the folks were screaming, there was a, there was a out of control, yeah...
It was so entertaining when the boogie started to explode
I heard somebody say
(burn baby burn) disco inferno, yeah
(burn baby burn) burn that mother down, yeah
(burn baby burn) disco inferno, yeah
(burn baby burn) burn that mother down
Satisfaction, it came in a chain reaction
I couldnt get enough, so I had to self-destruct
I tell ya, I tell ya now, now...
The heat was on, it was a rising to the top
Well now, everybodys going strong, yeah thats when my spark got hot
I heard somebody say
(burn baby burn) disco inferno, yeah
(burn baby burn) burn that mother down, yeah
(burn baby burn) disco inferno, yeah
(burn baby burn) burn that mother down
Up above my head
I hear music in the air (I hear music in the air)
That makes me know
Theres a party somewhere...
Satisfaction, it came in a chain reaction
I couldnt get enough, so I had to self-destruct
I tell ya, I tell ya now, now...
The heat was on, it was a rising to the top
Well now, everybodys going strong, yeah thats when my spark got hot
I heard somebody say
(burn baby burn) disco inferno, yeah
(burn baby burn) burn that mother down, yeah
(burn baby burn) disco inferno, yeah
(burn baby burn) burn that mother down
(burn baby burn) down
(burn baby burn) burn that mother down, yeah
(burn baby burn) down...
(burn baby burn)
Just cant stop...
When my spark gets hot
I just cant stop
When my spark gets hot...
Youll rescue me
Let my spirit run free
Youll rescue me
Let my spirit run free...

song performed by Cyndi Lauper
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Burn The School Down

She said
I lost my best friend last week at school
He got shot
Someone thought that he was part of something that
He was not
Now I'm watching all the cheerleaders show just how sad they are
When my friend used to come 'round
They used to laugh and egg his car
Now I'm gonna do my part as a concerned citizen
I think we should burn the school down
And start again
Burn it
'Till there's nothing left
Burn it
Just like all the rest
Burn it
Clear up all this mess
Burn it down
Education for the nation
Kids retaliate on each station
Expectation, violation
Pressure increased in each generation
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, she said
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, start again
'Cause now what I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
Now all I want to know
Will the eyes inside the back of your mind let it go?
She says
I want to feel more comfort in my own skin
But everyone around me makes me feel like
I'm worth less than them
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, she said
Burn the school down
Burn the school down
Burn the school down, start again
Burn it
'Till there's nothing left
Burn it
Just like all the rest
Burn it
Clear up all this mess
Burn it down
'Cause now what I want to know

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song performed by Zebrahead
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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
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The Menologium. (Preface To The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles)

CHRIST WAS BORN, KING OF GLORY
in midwinter, mighty prince,
eternal, almighty, on the eighth day,
Healer, called, heaven's ward;
so at the same time singing praises
countless folk begin the year,
for the awaited time comes to town,
the first month, famous January.
Five nights later the Lord's baptism,
and eternal God's epiphany comes;
the twelve-days' time to blessed men known,
by us in Britain called Twelfthnight.
Four weeks later February falls,
Sol-month brighter settles in town,
a month minus two days;
so February's way was reckoned by the wise,
One night more is Mary's mass,
the King's mother; for on that day Christ,
the child of the Ruler, she revealed in the temple.
After five nights winter was fared,
and after seventeen he suffered death:
the Saviour's man, great Matthew,
when spring has come to stay in town.
And to the folk after five nights
-- unless it is Leap Year, when it comes one night later --
by his cold clothes of frost and hail
wild March is known throughout the world,
Hlyda-month, blowing loud,
Eleven nights later, holy and noble,
Gregory shone in God's service,
honoured in Britain. So Benedict,
nine nights passing, sought the Preserver,
the resolute man celebrated in writings
by men under his rule. So the wise in reckoning
at that time count the equinox,
because, wielding power, God at the beginning
made on the same day sun and moon.
Four nights after the Father
sent the equinox, his archangel announced
the mighty salvation to great Mary,
that she the Shaper of all should bear
bring to birth the best of kings,
as it was widely told through the world;
that was a great destiny delivered to us.
So after seven nights the Saviour sends
the month of April, most often bringing
the mighty time of comfort to mankind,
the Lord's resurrection, when joy is rightly
celebrated everywhere, as that wise one sang:
'This is the day which the Lord hath made;

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Troubadour. Canto 2

THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?

When will the youth feel as he felt,
When first at beauty's feet he knelt?

As if her least smile could confer
A kingdom on its worshipper;
Or ever care, or ever fear
Had cross'd love's morning hemisphere.
And the young bard, the first time praise
Sheds its spring sunlight o'er his lays,
Though loftier laurel, higher name,
May crown the minstrel's noontide fame,
They will not bring the deep content
Of his lure's first encouragement.
And where the glory that will yield
The flush and glow of his first field
To the young chief? Will RAYMOND ever
Feel as he now is feeling?--Never.

The sun wept down or ere they gain'd
The glen where the chief band remain'd.

It was a lone and secret shade,
As nature form'd an ambuscade
For the bird's nest and the deer's lair,
Though now less quiet guests were there.
On one side like a fortress stood
A mingled pine and chesnut wood;
Autumn was falling, but the pine
Seem'd as it mock'd all change; no sign
Of season on its leaf was seen,
The same dark gloom of changeless green.
But like the gorgeous Persian bands
'Mid the stern race of northern lands,
The chesnut boughs were bright with all
That gilds and mocks the autumn's fall.

Like stragglers from an army's rear
Gradual they grew, near and less near,
Till ample space was left to raise,
Amid the trees, the watch-fire's blaze;
And there, wrapt in their cloaks around,
The soldiers scatter'd o'er the ground.

[...] Read more

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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I Believe In Miracles.

I believe in Miracles - I've seen the risng Sun
I believe in Miracles - I've seen the cheetah run.
I believe in Miracles - I've seen my baby born
I believe in Miracles - I've glimpst the unicorn.
I believe in Miracles - Man walked on the Moon
I believe in Miracles - They're every day in June.
I believe in Miracles - I've seen a junkie cured
I believe in Miracles - A winos been restored
I believe in Miracles - My firends survive car crashes
I believe in Miracles - When England won the ashes!
I believe in Miracles - We trashed the Berlin Wall
I believe in Miracles - We stood and watched it fall.
I believe in Miracles - The harvest grain is stored
I believe in Miracles - When David Beckham scored!
I believe in Miracles - In every path I've trod
I believe in Miracles - 'Cos I believe in GOD!

poem by John Knight
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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

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Moon, Moon, Crazy Moon

moon, moon, crazy moon
natural moon
torn apart and snoozing moon;
lovely moon, romantic moon
poor poor moon
the romance
plucked out of its drab surface;
moon moon going wild
moon moon running away
from the earth -
O moon, why do you run away from the earth?
does earth touch you in the wrong places
and you've got no Body
to which one could lodge
a complaint about sexual harassment? ?
ah, moon moon, temperamental moon
dark moon
glowing moon;
sexy moon
and old-woman hag of a moon;
moon moon with the best views of the earth
moon moon moon
puts me to sleep and wakes me up
in the middle of nights;
and one day we'll sleep in the moon
and produce babies there
and we'll have the first moon-ish boys and girls
and moon-ly families;
but meanwhile
moon moon driving fanatics
and inspiring love and romance and myths
moon moon eerie moon
moon moon that presides over love and horrors
and evil and good
and naked witches dancing in moonlit groves;
pooor moon moon the earth moon
not as interesting and dramatic as other moons;
don't get too friendly and dropp in -
oh, never dropp in, no one invited you
silly mooonn, no no, you're not invited home to earth
moon moon cheese moon eaten by mice;
but still our dear moon darling moon
moon mooon
our very own earth's moon
as we moo moo like cows
moo moo moo mooo
at our own moon moon moon

poem by Raj Arumugam
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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

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Red Rover

Why do you come around?
So very much
You know it just brings you down
Its just something you can touch
You dont belong here
I guess you never did
Whisper look up in your ear
You just keep it so well hid
Anyone at all
Could see what was missin
Could see you were dyin
But no one was cryin
And I did hear what you said
Now I can go home
All my days are blue
All my days are bright
Red rover, red rover, red rover
We come, we come, we come, we come
To take you over
Take you over
Red rover
Take you over
One of the quiet ones
One of the few
Now fall down onto your knees
Show us all what you can do
We came around here
To see if you were well
And theres nothing for you to fear
In heaven or in hell
Anyone at all
Could see what was missin
Could see you were dyin
But no one was cryin
And I did hear what you said
Now time to drive home
All my days are blue
All my days are bright
Red rover, red rover, red rover
We come, we come, we come, we come
To take you over
Take you over
Red rover
Take you over
Red rover
Take you over
Red rover
Take you over

song performed by Fleetwood Mac
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Razor

===========================
Smashing Pumpkins - Razor
===========================
Razor in my hand
Nine little lines in someone's hand
Shot down from this group
I wish for something and I know it isn't home
Razor in my hand
Six little lines in someone's hand
Lay down, rest your head
You reach for something, and you feel something sting
Razor, razor, razor, razor
Want it
Now you rip apart who you are
Deliver
Yeah, you deliver who you are
Oh, razor
My little razor
Oh, razor
I wanna go
I wanna go
I'm like a junkie, I want it all
I wanna go
Want it
Now you rip apart who you are
Deliver
Yeah, you deliver who you are
Oh, razor
My little razor
My little razor
I wanna go
I wanna go
I'm like a junkie, I want it all
I wanna go

song performed by Smashing Pumpkins
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Rubaiyat Of A Robin - After Edward Fitzgerald - Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam

Jest plays with rubaiyat and, four by four,
unseals for your amusement more and more
verses together thread in rosary
unreeled to bloom till tomb will curtains draw.

Repealed are value judgement and perspective
revealed through standpoint purely introspective,
darkside concealed of moon’s yin-yang shines clear
when we’re in orbit, - option more effective.

Rolled form performs rôle midwife to perception,
sprung tongue in cheek, tweaks sense of imperfection
or willingness to leach between the lines,
impeach entrenched ideas of self-[s]election.

This prose arose as stream deprived of section,
where ‘dip at will’ will still sustain inspection,
the current’s sense, at odds with current views
ignores round holes, square pegs, top-down direction.

Here there’s no fear of critics’ peer rejection,
contention treated with due circumspection
intention is to mention for retention
an overview or clue to extrospection.

Life’s curtains are a veil through which few see,
as many haste taste-waste eternity,
mixed up, ignore life fixes finite sum
to/through infinite opportunity.

Can “Truth” exist? all ask, who seek its core,
we, modest, etch our words to sketch the score,
diverse the verses which converge to link
reflections mirrored many times before.

Vast content, style, a while, united are,
aim at soul stimulation, nothing bar,
to pleasure, treasure, or discard at will
as minds outreach to other minds on par.

Meditating, we shed light on what
tomorrow’s tot may factor into ‘bot’ -
the poet’s lot, forgot, to help all think
ahead of time, enhance life for a lot

Some seek Nirvana, Faith speaks more than “how”.
Others reject Salvation’s wraith, - w[h]ine “now”.
Verifying facts? Inventing dreams?
Each furrow-burrows with a different plough.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Dream

'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!

So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.

Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,

To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Georgics

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom
Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes,
The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power,
Thy native forest and Lycean lawns,
Pan, shepherd-god, forsaking, as the love
Of thine own Maenalus constrains thee, hear
And help, O lord of Tegea! And thou, too,
Minerva, from whose hand the olive sprung;
And boy-discoverer of the curved plough;
And, bearing a young cypress root-uptorn,
Silvanus, and Gods all and Goddesses,
Who make the fields your care, both ye who nurse
The tender unsown increase, and from heaven
Shed on man's sowing the riches of your rain:
And thou, even thou, of whom we know not yet
What mansion of the skies shall hold thee soon,
Whether to watch o'er cities be thy will,
Great Caesar, and to take the earth in charge,
That so the mighty world may welcome thee
Lord of her increase, master of her times,
Binding thy mother's myrtle round thy brow,
Or as the boundless ocean's God thou come,
Sole dread of seamen, till far Thule bow
Before thee, and Tethys win thee to her son
With all her waves for dower; or as a star
Lend thy fresh beams our lagging months to cheer,
Where 'twixt the Maid and those pursuing Claws
A space is opening; see! red Scorpio's self
His arms draws in, yea, and hath left thee more
Than thy full meed of heaven: be what thou wilt-
For neither Tartarus hopes to call thee king,

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poem by Virgil
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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Burn Bitch Burn

Well its out of the fryin pan and into the fire
You bent over, baby, and let me be the driver
Just a cut of pink, wouldnt believe me if I told you
But this time you bit off more than you can chew
My my, yeah, just listen to this, babe
I got nasty habits, its a fine line, so many girls and so little time
When love rears its head, I wanna get on your case
Ooh baby, wanna put my log in your fireplace, maybe baby, you wanna get played
Burn bitch burn, oooh, burn bitch burn, oooh
Burn bitch burn, oooh, burn bitch burn
Well its an act of thrust and anyway you slice it
No sticks and stones, no kicks and groans can hide it
So why kid yourself, its so cut and dry
Your bodys condemned, and figures dont lie
Gonna cover my class, wont sit up and beg
Gotta keep my tail between my legs
Youre cuttin off your nose to spite your face
Ooh babe, gonna put you in your place
So burn bitch burn, oooh - well the heels are stacked now
Burn bitch burn, oooh - and theres nothin you can do
Burn bitch burn, oooh - so dont burn your bridges
Burn bitch burn - were all through, we are all through baby, so just burn
Well the heels are stacked against you
Dont burn your bridges, were all through
Hey babe and theres nothin you can do
Burn bitch burn, oooh - and theres nothin you can do babe
Burn bitch burn, oooh - were all through
Burn bitch burn, oooh - ooh burn, burn my baby
Burn bitch burn, oooh - yeah
(repeats out)

song performed by Kiss
Added by Lucian Velea
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