What I'd Pay To Be The Proverbs 31 Woman, Instead Of The Proverbs 7 Woman (Beauty)
The beauty you have
Is the kind of beauty
Girls like me long so deeply to have
The beauty you have
Is your hunger for God
A girl like me always wanted to have it
The beauty you have
Is the kind that lasts forever-
-Oh, I would do anything to have it!
The beauty you have,
God smiles on you so brightly
And I miss His smile
Never let go
Of that beauty you have!
(It surpasses that of so many.)
[For Samantha; 6/24/09]
poem by Chanlin Boyd Cox
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Samantha
One night in a cold sweat
I heard the call
So without fear and free from fright
I walked tall
As I crept the passages
Only just but faint
In and out of the central heating
It came and then went
Samantha, samantha dear
I have to be gone
Samantha, oh samantha dear
But ooh, she slept on
Well Ive itched a thousand itches
But this one tops them all
While crouched down with an ear to the ground
I saw the call
Springing up in disbelief
The supension spilt
And peering in a bathroom mirror
Hung the men with guilt
Samantha, samantha dear
I have to be gone
Samantha, oh samantha dear
But ooh, she slept on
One night in a cold sweat
I heard the call
So without fear and free from fright
I walked tall
Samantha, samantha dear
I have to be gone
Samantha, oh samantha dear
But
Samantha, samantha dear
I have to be gone
Samantha, oh samantha dear
But
There were all sorts of funny faces
Being pulled
But mine was the funniest face
Samantha, samantha dear
I have to be gone
Samantha, oh samantha dear
But ooh, she slept on
song performed by Madness
Added by Lucian Velea
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Girls
Some girls got it some girls dont
Some girls do it some girls wont
Some girls want to run your life
Some want to sink your boat
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Make you break you girls dont care
Wake you shake you get you there
Some girls like to play it cool
Some like to kiss and tell
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Its not new but its gotta be faced
A man can be turned by a pretty face
Cant live with them
Cant live without them
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls in movies girls in space
Girls on t.v. girls that race
Some girls want to tie you down
Some girls dont want to know
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Its not true but its gotta be faced
A man can be turned by a pretty face
Cant live with them
Cant live without them
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Some girls got it some girls dont
Some girls do it some girls wont
Some girls want to run your life
Some want to sink your boat
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet sweet girls
(mccafferty,agnew,charlton,sweet)
Copyright 1989 m.a.c.s. music
song performed by Nazareth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Good Girl
I'll be a good girl
You will not have to worry about me
I will sing a sweet lullaby in your sleep
Even though the nightmare is
Creeping on the back of my mind
Because they always whisper to me
Good girls don't laugh hard
Good girls don't play heart
Good girls don't cry bad
Good girls don't show dark
Good girls don't taste devil
Good girls don't ring the bell
Good girls don't touch the hell
Good girls don't break the shell
I'll be your perfect girl
I will do as your loving little angel
I'll walk the path that you choose me to follow
Even though I want to run
I want to run beyond the sea
Because they always pushing me
Good girls don't make a mess
Good girls always do the best
Good girls don't kick hornet's nest
Good girls always take less rest
Good girls always tell the right
Good girls never need to hide
Good girls always shine and bright
Good girls never want anyone sad
I'll be your sweet girl
So you couldn't find a fault on me
You won't see a flaw from my dead body
Even though oh,
I'm twisted and rotten inside
Because they always preaching me
Good girls always keep promise
Good girls always loved to be kissed
Good girls always glow in breeze
Good girls always easy to be missed
Good girls always create a great ballad
[...] Read more
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Girl Talk
You see I had this brother who was mad at me
Cuz I told my home girl that he wasn't packin'
Told the truth so I really don't give a damn
That I spilled the beans on his little short stem man (oh)
Some of y'all be foolin' us
Big feet big hands just plain big
The sex ain't worth a damn
We women wanna know these things
If y'all got the bat but not the swang
Put in work
If you don't want the girl to talk
And you don't want your feelings hurt
Put in work
Cause if you don't
That girl's just gon' go spreadin' the word
Girls talkin' got ya all caught out there
Why you thinkin' that it's all about ya
Forget she told me everything about ya
But the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Girls talk about the booty too
About the way a brother is hangin' too
When you didn't think that nobody knew
You see the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
Listen y'all need to know this
That we'll straight up go tell your business
So if you're gonna come you better come with it
If you ain't swingin' just put your tongue in it (oh)
Some of y'all be killin me
Thinkin' you got powers like Austin
But you're more like Mini-Me
And when you finally get your blood flowin'
It be lookin' like a pinky with a glove on it
Put in work
If you don't want the girl to talk
And you don't want your feelings hurt
Put in work
Cause if you don't
That girl's just gon' go spreadin' the word
Girls talkin' got ya all caught out there
Why you thinkin' that it's all about ya
Forget she told me everything about ya
But the girls are talkin'
The girls are talkin'
[...] Read more
song performed by TLC from 3d
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VII. Pompilia
I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.
All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.
Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Finding Oneself......... [EXTREMELY LONG; Growing Up; Relationships; Humor
Part One
When Bri was 13 and in grade 8,
he noticed classmates beginning to date.
At school (other) boys got their way with the girls with a kiss.
But Bri didn't have the urge; he thought 'what's this? '
He decided he should give it a try,
but each time he tried, the girl would cry.
Not only would she cry; she would run away and hide.
Bri felt between himself and the other boys a great divide.
Back home after school he'd seclude himself in his room and cry.
Through his mind was repeated the question 'why? ' 'Why DO they cry? Why? '
Bri was a straight A+ student with no flubs.
He played football but (except for 'Cooking') he joined not clubs.
After a few months Bri gave up (on girls) . He had NO close friends to set him right;
his parents should have known the problem, but they weren't bright.
In high school he took AP courses, and took 3 courses at a nearby college.
He ignored girls and sports and concentrated on gaining knowledge.
He got a full scholarship to Harvard, but his advisor looked at him funny.
By age 26 he had his PhD in psychology and started making money.
But he still asked 'why? '
It still bothered him and at times he'd cry.
Then waking up one day from a dream, Bri suddenly asked himself 'were they shy?
And if so, why with ME and not the other boys? Why DID they cry? '
The answer could be that his brain and looks were superior.
Were those girls only uncomfortable with boys that were inferior (to him) ?
If that really was the answer, he could now save face,
and could pursue women with HIS high level of brains, looks, and grace.
(But WAS it the answer? He was still not SURE why they did cry.)
For now he would work hard, avoid girls, and try to keep his eyes dry.
In two more years would be a second high school reunion. Thoughts of attending gave Bri a fright. (He'd skipped the first,5 year, reunion.)
But by going this time he might find out if his answer to his 'why? ' was right.
PART TWO
For two more years he waited anxiously for invitation he was dreading.
At times he'd awaken at night from a 'reunion dream', profusely sweating.
Finally it arrived in mail; it would be in June, before it got TOO warm.
He kept his calendar free for the whole month, doubting, at work, he could perform.
He got out the yearbooks his Mom had bought, and he studied each girl's name.
Would he have the nerve to ask them 'why? ' ….OR would he be too scared and lame?
He lived on sedatives for a week. He picked his favorite tie, and a light grey business suit.
Would he find out if the girls had just been shy, or would they give him 'the boot'?
[...] Read more
poem by Bri Edwards
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Girlzilla
Baby Girl, Glamour Girl, Strawberry Girl struts
Candy Girl, Sexy Girl, Bossy Girl fuss
Gansta Girl, Dream Girl, Independent Girl shops
Virtuous Girl, Glitter Girl, Hot Girl pops
Cover Girl, Naughty Girl, Jazzy Girl sings
Phat Girl, Ghetto Girl, Bling Girl blings
Sassy Girl, Cool Girl, Girly Girl rocks
Mama's Girl, Daddy's Girl, Wild Girl stocks
Strong Girl, Sister Girl, Church Girl preach
Flower Girl, Black Girl, American Girl reach
Thick Girl, School Girl, Smart Girl moves
Bad Girl, Spoiled Girl, Bitchy Girl grooves
God's Girl, Quiet Girl, Sweet Girl blessed
Beautiful Girl, Young Girl, Talented Girl impressed
Prom Girl, City Girl, Business Girl works
Play Girl, Outgoing Girl, Dance Girl tworks
Lavish Girl, Promiscuous Girl, Anonymous Girl rolls
Country Girl, Island Girl, Bobby V's Girl controls
poem by Top Notch Glamorous Thick Chick
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Latin Girls
Mira mira mira mira mira....
Mira mira mira mira mira....
Mira mira mira mira mira....
Mira mira yo quiero
Cuban girls, Cuban girls, I like em'
Puerto Rican girls, Puerto Rican girls, yo quiero
Mexican girls, Mexican girls, yo quiero
Spanish girls, Spanish girls, I like em'
Girls, Girls, Latin girls
Latin girls, Latin girls
Latin girls, What's happenin' girls?
What's happenin' girl? What's happenin?
I like Latin dem Latin women (I do)
And they love me cause I'm that man
With cocoa nuts and chocolate skin
I'm that mocha masculine
Feminines that are Latin call ya friends
And call your cousins cause I know you got dozens of them
Marias, Elizabeths, Sonyas and Blancas
When I see ya you can get boned if ya wanta
Yo quiero en I'm sincero
If you never had an ichi let me be your primero
We can hit the channel we can dance the bolero
Have a shopping spree and you can spend my dinero
But...
I wish you was more like JLo
(my love don't cost) Cause love don't cost a thing
So why don't you let this king love the queen of Argentin
Girl you know I know you know what I mean
Cause I like them'
Cuban girls, Cuban girls, I like em'
Puerto Rican girls, Puerto Rican girls, yo quiero'
Mexican girls, Mexican girls, yo quiero'
Spanish girls, Spanish girls, I like em'
Girls, Girls, Latin girls'
Latin girls, Latin girls'
You makin me hot girl!
What's happnin' girl? What's happnin? (oh!)
Que un da
Que quieres con mi
Mira muchacha esta es para ti
Latina chicana por mi
Mas finas me gusta me a si
Mira ah, mira ah, mira ah, mami
Esperate, esperate, esperate aqui
We could connect
song performed by Black Eyed Peas
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Victories Of Love. Book I
I
From Frederick Graham
Mother, I smile at your alarms!
I own, indeed, my Cousin's charms,
But, like all nursery maladies,
Love is not badly taken twice.
Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,
My playmate in the pleasant days
At Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,
The twins, so made on the same plan,
That one wore blue, the other white,
To mark them to their father's sight;
And how, at Knatchley harvesting,
You bade me kiss her in the ring,
Like Anne and all the others? You,
That never of my sickness knew,
Will laugh, yet had I the disease,
And gravely, if the signs are these:
As, ere the Spring has any power,
The almond branch all turns to flower,
Though not a leaf is out, so she
The bloom of life provoked in me;
And, hard till then and selfish, I
Was thenceforth nought but sanctity
And service: life was mere delight
In being wholly good and right,
As she was; just, without a slur;
Honouring myself no less than her;
Obeying, in the loneliest place,
Ev'n to the slightest gesture, grace
Assured that one so fair, so true,
He only served that was so too.
For me, hence weak towards the weak,
No more the unnested blackbird's shriek
Startled the light-leaved wood; on high
Wander'd the gadding butterfly,
Unscared by my flung cap; the bee,
Rifling the hollyhock in glee,
Was no more trapp'd with his own flower,
And for his honey slain. Her power,
From great things even to the grass
Through which the unfenced footways pass,
Was law, and that which keeps the law,
Cherubic gaiety and awe;
Day was her doing, and the lark
Had reason for his song; the dark
In anagram innumerous spelt
Her name with stars that throbb'd and felt;
[...] Read more
poem by Coventry Patmore
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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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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 06
'This were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
That [myghte] folwen us ech a foot' - thus this folk hem mened.
Quod Perkyn the Plowman, ' By Seint Peter of Rome!
I have an half acre to erie by the heighe weye;
Hadde I cryed this half acre and sowen it after,
I wolde wende with yow and the wey teche.'
'This were a long lettyng,' quod a lady in a scleyre;
'What sholde we wommen werche the while?'
'Somme shul sowe the sak ' quod Piers, ' for shedyng of the whete;
And ye lovely ladies with youre longe fyngres,
That ye have silk and sandel to sowe whan tyme is
Chesibles for chapeleyns chirches to honoure.
Wyves and widewes, wolle and flex spynneth
Maketh cloth, I counseille yow, and kenneth so youre doughtres.
The nedy and the naked, nymeth hede how thei liggeth,
And casteth hem clothes, for so commaundeth Truthe.
For I shal lenen hem liflode, but if the lond faille,
As longe as I lyve, for the Lordes love of hevene.
And alle manere of men that by mete and drynke libbeth,
Helpeth hym to werche wightliche that wynneth youre foode.'
'By Crist!' quod a knyght thoo, 'he kenneth us the beste;
Ac on the teme, trewely, taught was I nevere.
Ac kenne me,' quod the knyght, 'and by Crist I wole assaye!'
'By Seint Poul!' quod Perkyn, 'Ye profre yow so faire
That I shal swynke and swete and sowe for us bothe,
And [ek] labour[e] for thi love al my lif tyme,
In covenaunt that thow kepe Holy Kirke and myselve
Fro wastours and fro wikked men that this world destruyeth;
And go hunte hardiliche to hares and foxes,
To bores and to bukkes that breken down myne hegges;
And go affaite thi faucons wilde foweles to kille,
For thei cometh to my croft and croppeth my whete.'
Curteisly the knyght thanne co[nseyved] thise wordes
'By my power, Piers, I plighte thee my trouthe
To fulfille this forward, though I fighte sholde;
Als longe as I lyve I shal thee mayntene.'
' Ye, and yet a point,' quod Piers, 'I preye yow of moore
Loke ye tene no tenaunt but Truthe wole assente;
And though ye mowe amercy hem, lat mercy be taxour
And mekenesse thi maister, maugree Medes chekes.
And though povere men profre yow presentes and yiftes,
Nyme it noght, an aventure thow mowe it noght deserve;
For thow shalt yelde it ayein at one yeres ende
In a ful perilous place - Purgatorie it hatte.
And mysbede noght thi bondemen - the bettre may thow spede;
Though he be thyn underlyng here, wel may happe in hevene
That he worth worthier set and with moore blisse
Amice, ascende superius.
[...] Read more
poem by William Langland
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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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University Of Central Florida Volleyball
universoty of fl youth summer camp
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unl forensics summer camp
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unl summer volleyball camps
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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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
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Calling All Girls
She was insatiable, you know the type
And she was young, but she was ripe
And she was vicious, and she took a bite
Baby dont wanna feel this pain anymore
Ive got a message, put it through emergency
I wanna hear it on the radio tonight
Calling all girls, if youre looking for love (you got it)
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a hot time
Calling all girls, if youre looking for fun
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a good time tonight
Seems all the good girls are home in bed
Were gonna party to raise the dead
Im gonna love that girl right out of my head
Baby dont wanna feel this pain anymore
Ive got a message, put it through emergency
I wanna see it on the video tonight
Calling all girls, if youre looking for love
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a hot time
Calling all girls, if youre looking for fun
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a good time tonight
Calling all girls, calling all girls
Calling all girls, calling all girls
Calling all girls, calling all girls
Baby dont wanna feel this pain anymore
Ive got a message, put it through emergency
I wanna hear it on the radio tonight
Calling all girls, if youre looking for love (youve got it)
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a hot time
Calling all girls, if youre looking for fun
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a good time tonight
Calling all girls, if youre looking for love
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a hot time
Calling all girls, if youre looking for fun
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a good time tonight
Calling all girls, if youre looking for love
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a hot time
Calling all girls, if youre looking for fun
Calling all girls, if youre looking for a good time tonight
song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Undying One- Canto III
'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?
If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!
'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!
'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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All Different Girls
All Different Girls
By: Sabrina Smith
Pretty girl, who is to blame
Frightened girl, they don’t know her name
Saddened girl, who cries at night
Distant girl, who’s out of sight
Psycho girl, with scars on her wrists
Fairytale girl, who don’t exist
Silent girl, without a name
Ignored girl, who’s filled with shame
Faking girl, with plastic smiles
Freakish girl, from a thousand miles
Emotionless girl, cant feel much pain
Darkened girl, who brings the rain
Crying girl, tears start to flood
Psychotic girl, who drains her blood
Hated girl, who no one loves
Such a weak girl, who’s no longer though
Angry girl, there is no cure
Happy girl, she is no more
Hidden girl, she covers her scars
Prisoned girl, lived behind her life’s bars
Crazy girl, who bleeds so much
Lonely girl, who’s out of touch
Stupid girl, who no one likes
Beaten girl, who always fights
Pretty girl, don’t give up now
Suicide girl, there’s someway, somehow
Scared girl, don’t be afraid
Distant girl, don’t go away
Morbid girl, don’t die tonight
Worried girl, it'll be alright
Stoner girl, tonight she'll smoke her sorrow
Alcoholic girl, she'll drink tomorrow
Furious girl, who has no more faith
Depressed girl, who cries and aches
Fallen girl, with broken wings
Disturbed girl, fell off the swing
Pretty girl, you are my friend
Aching girl, just try to mend
Ugly girl, not like before
Beautiful girl, she is no more
Pretty girl, who made her life end
Pretty girl...no...Not again...
poem by Sabrina Smith
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Athena
Athena, I had no idea how much Id need her
Athena, I had no idea how much Id need her
In peaceful times I hold her close and I feed her
In peaceful times I hold her close and I feed her
My heart starts palpitating when I think my guess was wrong
My heart starts palpitating when I think my guess was wrong
But I think Ill get along
But I think Ill get along
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Athena, all I ever want to do is please her
Athena, all I ever want to do is please her
My life has been so settled and shes the reason
My life has been so settled and shes the reason
Just one word from her and my troubles are long gone
Just one word from her and my troubles are long gone
But I think Ill get along
But I think Ill get along
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Just a girl just a girl
Just a girl just a girl
Just a girl just a girl
Just a girl just a girl
Just a girl just a girl
Just a girl just a girl
Shes just a girl
Shes just a girl
Athena, my heart felt like a shattered glass in an acid bath
Athena, my heart felt like a shattered glass in an acid bath
I felt like one of those flattened ants you find on a crazy path
I felt like one of those flattened ants you find on a crazy path
Id of topped myself to give her time she didnt need to ask
Id of topped myself to give her time she didnt need to ask
Was I a suicidal psychopath?
Was I a suicidal psychopath?
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Consumed, there was a beautiful white horse I saw on a dream stage
Consumed, there was a beautiful white horse I saw on a dream stage
He had a snake the size of a sewer pipe living in his rib cage
He had a snake the size of a sewer pipe living in his rib cage
I felt like a pickled priest who was being flambed
I felt like a pickled priest who was being flambed
You were requisitioned blondie
You were requisitioned blondie
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Shes just a girl - shes a bomb
Im happy, Im ecstatic
Im happy, Im ecstatic
[...] Read more
song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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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.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Romance Never Dies
a boy and girl walking home from school one day.
girl-so what are we doing tonight
boy-i dont know want to watch a movie
girl-sure what are we going to watch?
boy-not sure yet ill think of something
girl-lets watch a romance.
boy-nooo thats boyfriend girlfriend junk.
gurl-(sighs) but umm well...
boy- what? whats rong.
girl-i was just hoping.
boy-what? (confused)
walks to front door
boy-umm oook well ill see you later.
girl- yeah' right cya (frowns) as she walks away
girl goes over boys house and rings the doorbell boy answers
boy-Wow You look GREAT' thought we where just watching a movie.
girl-we are i just thought i would dress up a little.
boy-lol what ever
boy and girl sits on couch.
girl- soo what are we going to watch-gets closer.
boy-idk-backs up.
girl and boy start watching a horror flick
girl-hides face in boys chest.
boy-(smiles) kisses girls head.
girl-smiles back.
girl and boy look into eachers eyes.
boy-moves closer
girl-moves closer
boy and girl start kissing
Boy-i have loved you for so long im glad were togeather.
Girl-i loved you to i mean i love you so much does this mean were dating
Boy-yes and im glad im dating you.
A yr later still dating boy girl get into a fight
Girl-i have to go im sorry please just understand we cant see eacher anymore
Boy-please tell me why did i do something rong?
Girl- no no please just let it be where it is im sorry i love you bye
week after that night
Boy goes over girls house theres a moving truck.
Boy walks up...girl carrying boxes
Boy-why cant we see eacher anymore and whats going on with the trucks
Girl-im moving.
Boy-i noticed
Boy- where you moving to
Girl-Florida ill call you when i get there and settled
Girl- im sorry I have to go (starts to sob/cry)
Guy just stands there and watches girl leave. as a tear rolls down his cheek
3 years later.
Girl in collage now.and has moved on with her life
[...] Read more
poem by Lynn samantha
Added by Poetry Lover
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