Citatepedia^®.com

Charley Plays A Tune

Charley Plays a Tune
By Michael Lee Johnson
(Version 4)

Crippled, in Chicago,
with arthritis
and Alzheimer's,
in a dark rented room,
Charley plays
melancholic melodies
on a dust-filled
harmonica he
found abandoned
on a playground of sand
years ago by a handful of children
playing on monkey bars.
He hears bedlam when he buys fish at the local market
and the skeleton bones of the fish show through.
He lies on his back, riddled with pain,
pine cones fill his pillows and mattress;
praying to Jesus and rubbing his rosary beads
Charley blows tunes out his
celestial instrument
notes float through the open window
touch the nose of summer clouds.
Charley overtakes himself with grief
and is ecstatically alone.
Charley plays a solo tune.

-2010-

poem by Michael Lee Johnson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

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
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Mr. Lee

(emma pought/jannie pought/helen gathers/laurawebb/rether dixon)
One, two, three, look at mr. lee
Three, four, five, look at him jive
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee
I met my sweetie
His name is mr. lee
I met my sweetie
His name is mr. lee
He's the hansomest sweetie
That you ever did see
My heart is achin' for you mr. lee
My heart is achin' for you mr. lee
'cause i love you so
And i'll never let you go
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee
Here comes mr. lee
He's coming for me
Here comes mr. lee
He's coming for me
He's my lover boy
Let's jump for joy
Come on mr. lee and do your stuff
Come on mr. lee and do your stuff
'cause you're gonna be mine
Till the end of time
One, two, three, look at mr. lee
Three, four, five, look at him jive
One, two, three, look at mr. lee
Three, four, five, look at him jive
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee
Mr. lee
One, two, three, look at mr. lee
Three, four, five, look at him jive
Mr. lee, mr. lee
Oh, mr. lee

[...] Read more

song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Handles Bermuda

bean bag spokane
betty boop retro bowling bag
beli ni bags
bean bag hawaii
belongs in your bag wedge grab
bedroom in a bag seashells
betsey johnson blue metallic bag
be lstaff bags
betty boop big travel bag
bean bag toos games
bean bag lob
bicycle gear bag
bean bag filler poly fil
bean bag chair minnesota
bean bag filler at walmart
bean bag patterns to make
beverly hills polo club cosmetics bags
bean bag chair ohio state
bean bag toss video game
bennington golf bag
beige plastic handle bag
bean bags for dogs
bean bag toose game
beg barrow or steal bag
benefits of heavy bag use
bennington cart golf bag
bean bag desktop
bean bag tos rules
bean bag game board dimensions
bean bags for cats
bean bag game chicago retailer
ben hogan apex cart bag
bem is bag co
bejio bags
beetle bags zx12r
bemis bag plastic bags
bean bag singaproe
bean bag drink holder
betseyville be mine satchel bag
bean bags inexpensive
bean bag shotgun pics
bedouin bag by radley
b ean bags bulk
bean bag toss tailgate games
bella animal print bag
beresford packaging plastic bags
bean bag store toronto
ben sherman messenger bags
bejui bags
beijo bags

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Feed The Monkey

She likes to feed the monkey
She likes to feed the monkey
She likes to feed the monkey
She likes the monkey
Well gather 'round and let me tell you all a story
About a boy and his monkey
He's got that kind of monkey that the girls wanna know
He likes to take his monkey every place that he goes
(Can we pet your monkey?)
Hey, ho, you see the monkey?
Did you know you made my monkey hungry?
I didn't really know how it get so hungry
I'd like to know
Would you feed the monkey?
Well you can pet my monkey
'Cause my monkey don't bite
But when you pet my monkey
He get funky all night
My monkey ain't no ordinary orangutang
'Cause my monkey likes to do the wild thing
My monkey don't scratch
My monkey don't bite
My monkey don't swing no tree
My monkey don't hit
My monkey don't drool
My monkey be swing with me
My monkey don't freak
My monkey don't trip
My monkey don't wear no cape
But you can tell what my monkey wanna eat
'Cause it turn into a big ol' ape
Yeah...
Hey..
The monkey's getting hungry
Hey, hey, why don't you feed your monkey?
(REPEAT x 3)
What she want?
She wants the monkey
(REPEAT x 3)
You know she want
You know she want
You know she wants the monkey
(REPEAT x 3)
Hey, hey, she likes to feed the monkey
Ooh, she's sayin' it's time to feed the monkey
Everyday she wants to feed the monkey
All through the day she likes to feed the monkey
She likes to feed the monkey
(REPEAT x 7)
Feed the monkey

[...] Read more

song performed by Infectious Grooves
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Playground

I climb up, spending daylight
Slide down drunken on the other side
Some sweet girl, playing my wife,
Runs off with a boy whose bike shell ride
Playground (its a playground)
Marked by the masters and bruised by the bullies in the
Playground (its a playground)
Never stop rehearsing, rehearsing for the big square world
Bells will ring, door flings open
Hare and greyhound in the old kiss chase
Youve been caught, game has ended
Smack on kisser from her slap on face
Playground (its a playground)
Were marked by the masters and bruised by the bullies in the
Playground (its a playground)
Never stop rehearsing, rehearsing for the big square world
Watch the leaves all tear away (one by one)
Leaving you but lined like an exercise book
What did your report once say (know the one)
This boy must try harder to please
From down on his knees
Playground, playground, playground, playground, playground,
Playground, playground, playground
Brain gets bent, heart gets broken
You cant jump off once the page is turned
School is out but never over
Thats the only lesson you can learn
Playground (its a playground)
Were marked by the masters and bruised by the bullies in the
Playground (its a playground)
Never stop rehearsing, rehearsing for the big square
Playground (its a playground)
Go for the high jump if you let em push you in the
Playground (its a playground)
Theres no escaping, escaping from their big square world
You may leave school, but it never leaves you

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Luggage Canada

b ean bag stoer
bed liner motorcycle bags
bern aby bag
bed in a bag ty pennington
beetle bags roadstar midnight star
bean bag chairs burbank
bedroom in a bag justine
bean bag guns for purchase
berto bag
bed in a bag pink paisley
belt bag tool belt
biasia byoux bags
beer corn hole bags
beg borrow steal bags
bennington golf travel bag
bible verse shoulder hand bags
bean bag stuffing material
bean bag plastic pellets
beijo business bags pastel blue
belkin messenger bag
b ean bag simba
bean bag toss game specifications
bean bag chairs reno nv
bean bag herb alpert
bean bag forgame
bella hand bags
bean bag chair video
bean bag door stops
beretta nra approved gun bag
ben hogan kapalua golf bag
bes pak freezer bags
bean bag furniture paypal
bean bags chair ladybug
bean bag tossing game
betty boop gift bags
bean bag tic tac toe
bettz designs knitting tote bags
bean bag toss rules
beth any bag
bean bag chair indigo denim print
bean bag pillows microfiber
be an foam bag
bible buy loaf bag
bebe handbag bag
beverage delivery bags
betty boop harley bag
bichon frise gift bags
ben hogan golf mystique stand bag
bicyce crossbar bag
bean bag shells shotgun

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

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.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Gettin In Tune

Im singing this note cause it fits in well
Im singing this note cause it fits in well
With the chords Im playing
With the chords Im playing
I cant pretend theres any meaning here
I cant pretend theres any meaning here
Or in the things Im saying
Or in the things Im saying
But Im in tune
But Im in tune
Right in tune
Right in tune
Im in tune
Im in tune
And Im gonna tune
And Im gonna tune
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
I get a little tired of having to say
I get a little tired of having to say
do you come here often?
Do you come here often?
But when I look in your eyes and see the harmonies
But when I look in your eyes and see the harmonies
And the heartaches soften
And the heartaches soften
Im getting in tune
Im getting in tune
Right in tune
Right in tune
Im in tune
Im in tune
And Im gonna tune
And Im gonna tune
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you
Right in on you
Ive got it all here in my head
Ive got it all here in my head
Theres nothing more needs to be said
Theres nothing more needs to be said
Im just bangin on my old piano
Im just bangin on my old piano

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Prior To Miss Belle's Appearance

What makes you come HERE fer, Mister,
So much to our house?--SAY?
Come to see our big sister!--
An' Charley he says 'at you kissed her
An' he ketched you, th'uther day!--
Didn' you, Charley?--But we p'omised Belle
An' crossed our heart to never to tell--
'Cause SHE gived us some o' them-er
Chawk'lut-drops 'at you bringed to her!

Charley he's my little b'uther--
An' we has a-mostest fun,
Don't we, Charley?--Our Muther,
Whenever we whips one anuther,
Tries to whip US--an' we RUN--
Don't we, Charley?--An' nen, bime-by,
Nen she gives us cake--an' pie--
Don't she, Charley?--when we come in
An' pomise never to do it ag'in!

HE'S named Charley.--I'm WILLIE--
An' I'm got the purtiest name!
But Uncle Bob HE calls me 'Billy'--
Don't he, Charley?--'N' our filly
We named 'Billy,' the same
Ist like me! An' our Ma said
'At 'Bob puts foolishnuss into our head!'--
Didn' she, Charley?--An' SHE don't know
Much about BOYS!--'Cause Bob said so!

Baby's a funniest feller!
Nain't no hair on his head--
IS they, Charley?--It's meller
Wite up there! An' ef Belle er
Us ask wuz WE that way, Ma said,--
'Yes; an' yer PA'S head wuz soft as that,
An' it's that way yet!'--An' Pa grabs his hat
An' says, 'Yes, childern, she's right about Pa--
'Cause that's the reason he married yer Ma!'

An' our Ma says 'at 'Belle couldn'
Ketch nothin' at all but ist 'BOWS!'--
An' PA says 'at 'you're soft as puddun!'--
An' UNCLE BOB says 'you're a good-un--
'Cause he can tell by yer nose!'-
Didn' he, Charley?--An' when Belle'll play
In the poller on th' pianer, some day,
Bob makes up funny songs about you,
Till she gits mad-like he wants her to!

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Too Much Monkey Business

Salesman talking to me tried to run me up a creek
Says you can buy it, go on try it, you can pay me next week
Uh-uh, too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Oh-ho-ho
Blonde haired, good lookin tryin to get me hooked
Wants me to marry, settle down and get a home and and write a book
Uh-uh, too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Oh-ho-ho
Pay phone, somethin wrong, dial gone,
Well me ought to sue the operator for tellin me a tale
Uh-uh, too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Oh-ho-ho
Oh-ho-ho ...... oh-ho-ho ...... oh-ho-ho ...... oh-ho-ho
Been to vietnam, been a fightin in the war
Army bar, army chow, army clothes, army car
Uh-uh, too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Oh-ho-ho
Workin in the fillin station, too many tasks
Wipe the windo, check the tires, check the oil, dollar gas
Uh-uh, too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Oh-ho-ho
Blonde haired, good lookin tryin to get me hooked
Wants me to marry, get a home, settle down and and write a book
Uh-uh, too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in
Oh-ho-ho
Too much monkey business, oh-ho-ho, too much monkey business, oh-ho-ho
Too much monkey business, oh-ho-ho too much monkey business, oh-ho-ho
Too much monkey business, oh-ho-ho too much monkey business, oh-ho-ho

song performed by Elvis Presley, music by Chuck Berry, lyrics by Chuck Berry
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Shock The Monkey

Shock the monkey to life
Shock the monkey to life
Cover me when I run
Cover me through the fire
Something knocked me out the trees
Now Im on my knees
Cover me, darling please
Monkey, monkey, monkey
Dont you know when youre going to shock the monkey
Fox the fox
Rat the rat
You can ape the ape
I know about that
There is one thing you must be sure of
I cant take any more
Darling, dont you monkey with the monkey
Monkey, monkey, monkey
Dont you know youre going to shock the monkey
Wheels keep turning
Somethings burning
Dont like it but I guess Im learning
Shock! - watch the monkey get hurt, monkey
Cover me, when I sleep
Cover me, when I breathe
You throw your pearls before the swine
Make the monkey blind
Cover me, darling please
Monkey, monkey, monkey
Dont you know youre going to shock the monkey
Too much at stake
Ground beneath me shake
And the news is breaking
Shock! - watch the monkey get hurt, monkey
Shock the monkey
Shock the monkey
Shock the monkey to life

song performed by Peter Gabriel
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Canto the Eighth

I
Oh blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds!
These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem,
Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds:
And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream
Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds
At present such things, since they are her theme,
So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars,
Bellona, what you will -- they mean but wars.

II
All was prepared -- the fire, the sword, the men
To wield them in their terrible array.
The army, like a lion from his den,
March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay, --
A human Hydra, issuing from its fen
To breathe destruction on its winding way,
Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vain
Immediately in others grew again.

III
History can only take things in the gross;
But could we know them in detail, perchance
In balancing the profit and the loss,
War's merit it by no means might enhance,
To waste so much gold for a little dross,
As hath been done, mere conquest to advance.
The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.

IV
And why? -- because it brings self-approbation;
Whereas the other, after all its glare,
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation,
Which (it may be) has not much left to spare,
A higher title, or a loftier station,
Though they may make Corruption gape or stare,
Yet, in the end, except in Freedom's battles,
Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles.

V
And such they are -- and such they will be found:
Not so Leonidas and Washington,
Whose every battle-field is holy ground,
Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone.
How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound!
While the mere victor's may appal or stun
The servile and the vain, such names will be
A watchword till the future shall be free.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Stagger Lee

The night was clear and the moon was yellow
And the leaves came tumbling down
I was standing on the corner
When I heard my bulldog bark
He was barking up at the two men
Who were gambling in the dark
It was stagger lee and billy
Two men who gambled late
Stagger lee threw a seven
Billy swore, he threw an eight
Stagger lee told billy,
I cant let you get away with that
Well, youve won all my money
And my brand new stetson hat
Stagger lee ran home
Went and got him his 44
Said, Im going to the bar room
Just to pay that debt that I owe
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Said, i m going to the bar room
Just to pay that debt that I owe
Stagger lee went to the bar room
Boy, he stood across the bar room doors
Said, now, nobody move
And he pulled out his 44
Stagger lee, cried billy
Oh, please dont you take my life
I got me three little children
And a very sickly wife
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Got me three little children
And a very, very sickly wife
Stagger lee shot billy
Boy, he shot that poor boy so bad
That the bullet came thru billy
And went right thru the bartenders glass
While I was standing on the corner
When I heard my bulldog bark
He was barking up at the two men
Who were gambling in the dark
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Well, he was barking up at the two men
Who were gambling in the dark

song performed by Neil Diamond
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

This Friendly World

R.E.M., Andy, Tony---This Friendly World
ANDY: Hi, Michael.
MICHAEL: Hi, Andy. Thanks for joining us. Do you
wanna ... you wanna sing a song together?
ANDY: Sure! Is it a sweet song?
MICHAEL: Yeah, it's real sweet.
ANDY: O.K.!
[They laugh.]
MICHAEL:
In this friendly, friendly world
With each day so full of joy
Why should any heart be lonely?
ANDY: My turn!
In this friendly, friendly world
With each night so full of dreams
Why should any heart be afraid?
The world is ...
MICHAEL ANDY:
... such a wonderful place
To wander through
When you've got someone you love
MICHAEL:
To wander along with you
ANDY: O.K., now take every second word! With ...
MICHAEL: ... the ...
ANDY: ... sky ...
MICHAEL: ... so ...
ANDY: ... full ...
MICHAEL: ... of ...
ANDY: ... stars
MICHAEL: And ...
ANDY: ... the ...
MICHAEL: ... river ...
ANDY: ... so ...
MICHAEL: ... full ...
ANDY: ... of ...
MICHAEL: ... song, Every ...
ANDY: ... heart ...
MICHAEL: ... should ...
ANDY: ... be ...
MICHAEL: ... so ...
ANDY: ... thankful
It's a friendly world! Don't you think so, Michael?
MICHAEL: Yup!
TONY: Oh yeah?! What's so friendly about it?!!
This is Tony Clifton, and, and I demand a part in
this song! I'm just as big a part of the movie as
these guys are! And, and I will not sit back while
some sought-after Colonel Kurtz wanna-be, uh, uh
has his day in the sun! I think he's enough

[...] Read more

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Vision of Judgment

I

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
So little trouble had been given of late;
Not that the place by any means was full,
But since the Gallic era 'eight-eight'
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,
And 'a pull altogether,' as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.

II

The angels all were singing out of tune,
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o'er th' ethereal blue,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.

III

The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV

His business so augmented of late years,
That he was forced, against his will no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
For some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers,
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks:
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.

V

This was a handsome board — at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many conqueror's cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Vision of Judgment, The

I

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
So little trouble had been given of late;
Not that the place by any means was full,
But since the Gallic era 'eight-eight'
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,
And 'a pull altogether,' as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.

II

The angels all were singing out of tune,
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o'er th' ethereal blue,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.

III

The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV

His business so augmented of late years,
That he was forced, against his will no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
For some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers,
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks:
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.

V

This was a handsome board — at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many conqueror's cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;

[...] Read more

poem by George Gordon Byron
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Thurso’s Landing

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!