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Man And Money

God made man in His own image,
Man made money in his own image,
God made man to be immortal,
Money made ma to be immoral,
Man made God to be very sad,
Money made man to be very mad.

poem by Frank Odindo
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Palace Flophouse

the palace flophouse,
is a good place to be
if you ever need any help,
like if anyone's ever dead
the palace flophouse,
is a good place to be
if you ever need any help,
like if anyone's every dead
mad dog, mad dog, mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (she looks onto my face) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (and i looked right by you) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (she looked onto her face) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (i'll never see you again) mad dog, coming dog
the palace flophouse,
is a good place to be
if you ever need any help,
like if anyone's ever dead
the palace flophouse,
is a good place to be
if you ever need any help,
like if anyone's every dead
mad dog, mad dog, mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (i look onto her face) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (and i walked right by you) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (she looked onto my face) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (i'll never see you again) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (i'll never see you again) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (i'll never see you again) mad dog, coming dog
mad dog, mad dog, (i'll never see you again) mad dog, coming dog

song performed by Idlewild
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mad Not Mad

The windows are open wide
Georgie fame for those outside
And answering the call
Blue flames leap up the wall
Who would have thought it strange
That all of us would change
Out there in the hall
The shadows leave the wall
Then we had the plan
Back when it began
And as we turn we know
That one of us will go
(would you) dance with a mad man, mad man, mad man
Over the hills and far away
Arm in arm
Mad not mad
A star-spangled sight
Silhouettes at night
Dancing over big ben
Seven ragged men
Up up and away
Forever and a day
(would you) dance with a mad man, mad man, mad man
Over the hills and far away
Arm in arm
Mad not mad
Dance with a mad man, mad man, mad man
Beyond the reach of yesterday
What are we but our friends
Mad not mad
(mad not mad)
Hello crazy gang
Goodbye with a bang
What are we but our friends
Sailing round the bend
In love through thick and thin
I know it will all win
(would you) dance with a mad man, mad man, mad man
Over the hills and far away
Arm in arm
Mad not mad
Dance with a mad man, mad man, mad man
Beyond the reach of yesterday
What are we but our friends
Mad not mad
Dance with a mad man, mad man, mad man
As only you can
Enjoying his company

song performed by Madness
Added by Lucian Velea
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Why Must I Be Sad?

No more mister nice guy
I love the dead
Ive been thinking about it
Now I understand what he said
Ask me now
I understand the words that alice said
I kick the rocks beneath me
I squint at the sun
Sad, sad, sad, sad
Why must I be sad?
The rows of dandelions growing all around me
Why must I be sad? (sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad, sad)
No one knows these things but me and him
So Im writing everything down in a spiral notebook
In the hopes that one day
Other people will feel as low as this
Ask me now
I understand the words that alice said
I kick the rocks beneath me
I squint at the sun
Sad, sad, sad, sad
Why must I be sad?
The rows of dandelions growing all around me
Why must I be sad? (sad, sad, sad)
No more mister nice guy
I love the dead
Ive been thinking about it
Now I understand what he said
Ask me now
I understand the words that alice said
I kick the rocks beneath me
I squint at the sun
Sad, sad, sad, sad
Why must I be sad?
The rows of dandelions growing all around me
Why must I be sad? (welcome to my nightmare / dead)
Why must I be sad? (babies / raped and freezin / you)
Why must I be sad? (drive me nervous / elected /)
Why must I be sad? (generation landslide / un)
Why must I be sad? (der my wheels / muscle of love /)
Why must I be sad? (schools out / only women bleed /)
Why must I be sad? (billion dollar babies)
Why must I be sad? (sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad, sad)
(sad, sad)

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Into how many parts would you divide the child after Divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many insane parts would you divide your new-born child’s eternal happiness; after your treacherously vindictive divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many heartless parts would you divide your new-born child’s invincible freedom; after your venomously unbearable divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many ribald parts would you divide your new-born child’s unsurpassable creativity; after your lethally unceremonious divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many salacious parts would you divide your new-born child’s majestic destiny; after your lecherously ignominious divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many emotionless parts would you divide your new-born child’s triumphant spirit; after your contemptuously debasing divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many terrorizing parts would you divide your new-born child’s unbridled fantasies; after your abhorrently cadaverous divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many excruciating parts would you divide your new-born child’s humanitarian blood; after your cold-bloodedly cannibalistic divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many tyrannized parts would you divide your new-born child’s unconquerable artistry; after your violently besmirching divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many reproachful parts would you divide your new-born child’s redolent playfulness; after your despicably devastating divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many sacrilegious parts would you divide your new-born child’s impregnable mischief; after your sadistically bemoaning divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many wanton parts would you divide your new-born child’s impeccable integrity; after your hedonistically carnivorous divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many ghoulish parts would you divide your new-born child’s limitless fertility; after your mindlessly malicious divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many diabolical parts would you divide your new- born child’s infallible innocence; after your unforgivably truculent divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many vengeful parts would you divide your new-born child’s uninhibited cries; after your preposterously bigoted divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many criminal parts would you divide your new-born child’s princely silkenness; after your tempestuously confounding divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many satanic parts would you divide your new-born child’s tiny brain; after your barbarously ungainly divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many sadistic parts would you divide your new-born child’s unlimited curiosity; after your egregiously dastardly divorce?

You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many carnivorous parts would you divide your new-born child’s parental longing; after your inanely decrepit divorce?

And you might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but tell me; into how many goddamned parts would you divide your new-born child’s immortal love; after your devilishly vituperative divorce?

©®copyright-2005, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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When I wasn't breathing

When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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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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Paradise Lost: Book X

Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
Praying, for from the Mercie-seat above
Prevenient Grace descending had remov'd
The stonie from thir hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerat grow instead, that sighs now breath'd
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n with speedier flight
Then loudest Oratorie: yet thir port
Not of mean suiters, nor important less
Seem'd thir Petition, then when th' ancient Pair
In Fables old, less ancient yet then these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore
The Race of Mankind drownd, before the Shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n thir prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious windes
Blow'n vagabond or frustrate: in they passd
Dimentionless through Heav'nly dores; then clad
With incense, where the Golden Altar fum'd,
By thir great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Fathers Throne: Them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See Father, what first fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted Grace in Man, these Sighs
And Prayers, which in this Golden Censer, mixt
With Incense, I thy Priest before thee bring,
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
Sow'n with contrition in his heart, then those
Which his own hand manuring all the Trees
Of Paradise could have produc't, ere fall'n
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine eare
To supplication, heare his sighs though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let mee
Interpret for him, mee his Advocate
And propitiation, all his works on mee
Good or not good ingraft, my Merit those
Shall perfet, and for these my Death shall pay.
Accept me, and in mee from these receave
The smell of peace toward Mankinde, let him live
Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days
Numberd, though sad, till Death, his doom (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse)
To better life shall yeeld him, where with mee
All my redeemd may dwell in joy and bliss,
Made one with me as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without Cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain, all thy request was my Decree:
But longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The Law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal Elements that know

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Z. Comments

CRYSTAL GLOW

Madhur Veena Comment: Who is she? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ....You write good!

Margaret Alice Comment: Beautiful, it stikes as heartfelt words and touches the heart, beautiful sentiments, sorry, I repeat myself, but I am delighted. Your poem is like the trinkets I collect to adorn my personal space, pure joy to read, wonderful! Only a beautiful mind can harbour such sentiments, you have a beautiful mind. I am glad you have found someone that inspires you to such heights and that you share it with us, you make the world a mroe wonderful place.

Margaret Alice Comment: Within the context set by the previous poem, “Cosmic Probe”, the description of a lover’s adoration for his beloved becomes a universal ode sung to the abstract values of love, joy and hope personified by light, colours, fragrance and beauty, qualities the poet assigns to his beloved, thus elevating her to the status of an uplifting force because she brings all these qualities to his attention. The poet recognises that these personified values brings him fulfilment and chose the image of a love relationship to illustrate how this comes about; thus a love poem becomes the vehicle to convey spiritual epiphany.

FRAGRANT JASMINE

Margaret Alice Comment: Your words seem to be directed to a divine entity, you seem to be addressing your adoration to a divinity, and it is wonderful to read of such sublime sentiments kindled in a human soul. Mankind is always lifted up by their vision and awareness of divinity, thank you for such pure, clear diction and sharing your awareness of the sublime with us, you have uplifted me so much by this vision you have created!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet’s words seem to be directed to a divine entity, express adoration to a divinity who is the personification of wonderful qualities which awakens a sense of the sublime in the human soul. An uplifting vision and awareness of uplifting qualities of innocence represented by a beautiful person.

I WENT THERE TO BID HER ADIEU

Kente Lucy Comment: wow great writing, what a way to bid farewell

Margaret Alice Comment: Sensory experience is elevated by its symbolical meaning, your description of the scene shows two souls becoming one and your awareness of the importance of tempory experience as a symbol of the eternal duration of love and companionship - were temporary experience only valid for one moment in time, it would be a sad world, but once it is seen as a symbol of eternal things, it becomes enchanting.

I’M INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU

Margaret Alice Comment: You elevate the humnan experience of longing for love to a striving for sublimity in uniting with a beloved person, and this poem is stirring, your style of writing is effective, everything flows together perfectly.

Margaret Alice Comment:

'To a resplendent glow of celestial flow
And two split halves unite never to part.'

Reading your fluent poems is a delight, I have to tear myself away and return to the life of a drudge, but what a treasure trove of jewels you made for the weary soul who needs to contemplate higher ideals from time to time!

IN CELESTIAL WINGS

Margaret Alice Comment: When you describe how you are strengthened by your loved one, it is clear that your inner flame is so strong that you need not fear growing old, your spirit seems to become stronger, you manage to convey this impression by your striking poetry. It is a privilege to read your work.

Obed Dela Cruz Comment: wow.... i remembered will shakespeare.... nice poem!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet has transcended the barriers of time and space by becoming an image of his beloved and being able to find peace in the joy he confers to his beloved.

'You transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.'

Margaret Alice Comment: You are my peace and solace, I know, I am, yours too; A mere flash of your thoughts Enlivens my tired soul And fills me with light, peace and solace, A giant in new world, I become, I rise to divine heights in celestial wings. How I desire to reciprocate To fill you with light and inner strength raise you to divine heights; I must cross over nd hold you in arms, light up your soul, Fill you with strength from my inner core, Wipe away your tears burst out in pure joy How I yearn to instill hope and confidence in you we never part And we shall wait, till time comes right. the flame in my soul always seeks you, you transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.

RAGING FIRE

[...] Read more

poem by Praveen Kumar
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100 STD's 10,000 MTD's

There are STD's, sexually transmitted diseases.
and then there are MTD's, meat transmitted diseases.

The latter take a lot more lives.

*********

In Animal Flesh: Blood Sweat Tears as well as Carcinogens Cholesterol Colon Bacteria

Animal products kill more people annually in the US than
tobacco, alcohol, traffic accidents, war, domestic violence,
guns, and drugs combined. USAMRID wrote that consumption of pig flesh caused the world's most lethal pandemic in WW1,
euphemistically called flu. Anthrax
used to be called wool sorters'
disease. Smallpox used to be called
cow pox or kine pox because of
its origin in animal flesh.
.

WHAT'S IN A BURGER? BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS (AS WELL AS BIOTERRORISM)

POISONS IN ANIMAL AND FISH FLESH... A PARTIAL LIST

a partial list in alphabetical order

acidification diseases
addiction (to trioxypurines)
adrenalin (secreted by terrorized
animals before and during slaughter)

ANTIBIOTICS (too many to list) (crowded factory farm animals standing in their own feces are often infected)

BACTERIA
creiophilic bacteria survive
the freezing of animal flesh
thermophilic bacteria survive
the baking boiling and roasting

bacteriophages (viruses FDA allows to
be injected)
blood
colon bacteria.. euphemistically
called ecoli animals defecate
all over themselves in terror
John Harvey Kellogg MD studied
the exponential rate into the billions

BSE DISEASES, PRIONS IN SPECIES FROM GELATIN (JELLO ETC)
Mad Chicken

[...] Read more

poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Mad

Mad, you just make me mad
I hate your silent breathing in the night
Sad, you make me sad
When I juxtapose your features I get sad
I know I shouldnt had someone else in our bed
But I was so tired, I was so tired
Who would think youd find a bobby pin
It just makes me mad, makes me mad
It just makes me, makes me -
- mad
Glad, when Im gone youre glad
That overwhelming tension dissipates
Oh, tad, you think Im a baby
Nobody likes to here, why dont you grow up at dawn
I know I shouldnt had someone else in our bed
But I was so tired, so tired
Who would think youd find a bobby pin
It makes me mad, makes me mad
Dont you know it just makes me -
- mad
It just makes me mad
Dumb, youre dumb as my thumb
In the wistful morning you throw a coffee cup at my head
Scum, you said Im scum
What a very lovely and feminine thing to do
Bark, why dont you just bark
Sit, come, stay are the perfect words meant for you
Ah, ass, you says Im an ass
You better call 911 just Im gonna hold you tight
I know I shouldnt had someone else in our bed
But I was so tired, so tired
You said youre out of town for the night
And I believed in you, I believed you
And I was so tired, it makes me so mad
It makes me so -
- mad
It makes me so mad
It just makes me mad
It makes me mad
It makes me mad
It makes me mad
It makes me mad
It makes me mad, ah
Dumb

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Penitentiary Blues

Here's my philosophy
Livin' in a penitentiary
Brothers all on the corner
Tryin' to make believe
Turn around ain't got no pot to pee
Make me mad when I see ya sad
Can't stand to see ya hustle doin bad
But you can't win when your will is weak
When you're knocked on the ground
Evil, don't you test me
Evil, you won't win
Oh why world
Why world
Do want me to be so mad yeah
So mad yeah
Oh why world
Why world
Do you want me to be so mad yeah
So mad yeah
I'm tellin' you the truth
I hope I'm not being too cruel
Since you ain't playing by the rules
I'm 'bout to kick you off your stool
Evil, don't you test me
Evil, you won't win
Oh why world
Why world
Do want me to be so mad yeah
So mad yeah
Oh why world
Why world
Do you want me to be so mad yeah
Say why
I am a warrior princess
I have come from the other sun
Gather all of your members
Unite them as one
Move together in harmony
Build a bridge
Now destroy a bridge
Eliminate your weakness
Conquer evil, the demon
And live forever together
Oh why can't we get along and
Take all the funky tones
And make up a funky song
That be bangin on and on
Make me mad when I see ya sad
With the same look ya momma had
But ya can't win when your will is weak

[...] Read more

song performed by Erykah Badu
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dejection: An Ode

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms ;
And I fear, I fear, My Master dear !
We shall have a deadly storm.

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence
--------------------------------------- ------------------------------------

I

Well ! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,
[Image]Which better far were mute.
For lo ! the New-moon winter-bright !
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh ! that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast !
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
[Image]And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live !

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
[Image]In word, or sigh, or tear--
O Lady ! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green :
And still I gaze--and with how blank an eye !
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars ;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen :
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue ;
I see them all so excellently fair,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto IV.

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
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, thron'd 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
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she rob'd, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increas'd.

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 vanish'd 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 repeopl'd were the solitary shore.

V.
The beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray
And more belov'd existence: that which Fate
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state

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poem by Byron
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Sad But The Truth Is On

There are too many bold,
Sad but the truth is on.
And too may all-knowing for their teachers.
Sad but the truth is on.
And they say their teachers can't teach,
Or read, or write to them...
On their lowered levels.
Sad but the truth is on.
Sad but the truth is on.

Many never knew about a hug to touch.
Sad but the truth is on.
There's just too many needing loving.
Sad but the truth is on.
And they don't believe a lesson taught to them,
Reveals and begins to grow to show.
Sad but the truth is on.
It's so sad but the truth is on.

It's so sad about the truth!
The truth for so many has gone.
It's so sad to see it...
Nonexisting.

Sad but the truth is on.
It's so sad but the truth is on.

It's sad about the truth,
Today!
For so many that truth is gone.
It's so sad today...
That,
People sit back to watch it too!
Sad but the truth is on.
It's so sad but the truth is on.

Everybody's talking about a fairness.
But nothing there is fair.
Sad but the truth is on.
Sad but the truth is on.
And,
Everything once fair there is gone.
'Cause nothing in the air is fair there!
Everybody's talking about a fairness.
But nothing there is fair.
And,
Everything once fair there is gone.
Because nothing in the air is fair,
There!
Sad but the truth is on.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sad In Blue (a lyric)

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
The night is all dark out side
Nowhere to run
Sad sad sad in blue

Into the night hold me tight
Love me babe I need some light
What's wrong and what's right
When shadows dwell and abide

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
Is there some star shoot in sight
To wish upon
For sad sad sad you

Into the night take a flight
Feelings, touch, everything out sight
Love me with feelings ok
Come come babe now closer stay

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
Is there some star shoot in sight
To wish upon
For sad sad sad you

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Sixth Book

THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,–
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,–
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
–That's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,–a poet's heart

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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Fears In Solitude

A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell ! O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
Which now blooms most profusely : but the dell,
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate
As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax,
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve,
The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Oh ! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook !
Which all, methinks, would love ; but chiefly he,
The humble man, who, in his youthful years,
Knew just so much of folly, as had made
His early manhood more securely wise !
Here he might lie on fern or withered heath,
While from the singing lark (that sings unseen
The minstrelsy that solitude loves best),
And from the sun, and from the breezy air,
Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame ;
And he, with many feelings, many thoughts,
Made up a meditative joy, and found
Religious meanings in the forms of Nature !
And so, his senses gradually wrapt
In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds,
And dreaming hears thee still, O singing lark,
That singest like an angel in the clouds !

My God ! it is a melancholy thing
For such a man, who would full fain preserve
His soul in calmness, yet perforce must feel
For all his human brethren--O my God !
It weighs upon the heart, that he must think
What uproar and what strife may now be stirring
This way or that way o'er these silent hills--
Invasion, and the thunder and the shout,
And all the crash of onset ; fear and rage,
And undetermined conflict--even now,
Even now, perchance, and in his native isle :
Carnage and groans beneath this blessed sun !
We have offended, Oh ! my countrymen !
We have offended very grievously,
And been most tyrannous. From east to west
A groan of accusation pierces Heaven !
The wretched plead against us ; multitudes
Countless and vehement, the sons of God,
Our brethren ! Like a cloud that travels on,
Steamed up from Cairo's swamps of pestilence,
Even so, my countrymen ! have we gone forth

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poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Quatrains Of Life

What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?

What did it bring me that I loved it, even
With joy before it and that dream of Heaven,
Boyhood's first rapture of requited bliss,
What did it give? What ever has it given?

'Let me recount the value of my days,
Call up each witness, mete out blame and praise,
Set life itself before me as it was,
And--for I love it--list to what it says.

Oh, I will judge it fairly. Each old pleasure
Shared with dead lips shall stand a separate treasure.
Each untold grief, which now seems lesser pain,
Shall here be weighed and argued of at leisure.

I will not mark mere follies. These would make
The count too large and in the telling take
More tears than I can spare from seemlier themes
To cure its laughter when my heart should ache.

Only the griefs which are essential things,
The bitter fruit which all experience brings;
Nor only of crossed pleasures, but the creed
Men learn who deal with nations and with kings.

All shall be counted fairly, griefs and joys,
Solely distinguishing 'twixt mirth and noise,
The thing which was and that which falsely seemed,
Pleasure and vanity, man's bliss and boy's.

So I shall learn the reason of my trust
In this poor life, these particles of dust
Made sentient for a little while with tears,
Till the great ``may--be'' ends for me in ``must.''

My childhood? Ah, my childhood! What of it
Stripped of all fancy, bare of all conceit?
Where is the infancy the poets sang?
Which was the true and which the counterfeit?

I see it now, alas, with eyes unsealed,
That age of innocence too well revealed.
The flowers I gathered--for I gathered flowers--
Were not more vain than I in that far field.

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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,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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