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Final Portrait

Cast: Armie Hammer, Clemence Poesy, Tony Shalhoub, Geoffrey Rush, James Faulkner, Sylvie Testud, Begona F. Martin, Philippe Spall, Kerry Shale

trailer for Final Portrait, directed by Stanley Tucci, screenplay by Stanley Tucci (2017)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sir Geoffrey Saved The World

Ah.....
Evry days saturday , feeling in steadily
Laughing at people with stars in their eyes
Vicker hays approaching town , preaching in the underground
Talking with the lambs who came out of the sky
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
Dinner time , anytime, see a crown ,should be mine
Evryones grabbing but no one will get
Sunny day , should I care, taking in the garden air
Evryones happy though no one can see
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
Ah...
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
Evry days saturday , feeling in steadily
Laughing at people with stars in their eyes
Vicker hays approaching town, preaching in the underground
Talking with the lambs who came out of the sky
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world
You know how sir geoffrey saved the world

song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act II

SCENE I
MAGNUS, HURRA, and HIE PREESTE, wyth the ARMIE, neare Watchette.
MAGNUS.
Swythe lette the offrendes to the Goddes begynne,
To knowe of hem the issue of the fyghte.
Potte the blodde-steyned sword and pavyes ynne;
Spreade swythyn all arounde the hallie lyghte.
HIE PREESTE syngeth.
Yee, who hie yn mokie ayre
Delethe seasonnes foule or fayre,
Yee, who, whanne yee weere agguylte,
The mone yn bloddie gytelles hylte,
Mooved the starres, and dyd unbynde
Everyche barriere to the wynde;
Whanne the oundynge waves dystreste,
Storven to be overest,
Sockeynge yn the spyre-gyrte towne,
Swolterynge wole natyons down;
Sendynge dethe, on plagues astrodde,
Moovynge lyke the erthys Godde;
To mee send your heste dyvyne,
Lyghte eletten all myne eyne,
Thatt I maie now undevyse
All the actyonnes of th'emprize.

Thus sayethe the Goddes; goe, yssue to the playne;
Forr there shall meynte of mytte menn be slayne.
MAGNUS.
Whie, soe there evere was, whanne Magnus foughte.
Efte have I treynted noyance throughe the hoaste,
Athorowe swerdes, alyche the Queed dystraughte,
Have Magnus pressynge wroghte hys foemen loaste.
As whanne a tempeste vexethe soare the coaste,
The dyngeynge ounde the sandeie stronde doe tare,
So dyd I inne the warre the javlynne toste,
Full meynte a champyonnes breaste received mie spear.
Mie sheelde, lyche sommere morie gronfer droke,
Mie lethalle speere, alych a levyn-mylted oke.
Thus sayethe the Goddes; goe, yssue to the playne;
Forr there shall meynte of mytte menn be slayne.
MAGNUS.
Whie, soe there evere was, whanne Magnus foughte.
Efte have I treynted noyance throughe the hoaste,
Athorowe swerdes, alyche the Queed dystraughte,
Have Magnus pressynge wroghte hys foemen loaste.
As whanne a tempeste vexethe soare the coaste,
The dyngeynge ounde the sandeie stronde doe tare,
So dyd I inne the warre the javlynne toste,
Full meynte a champyonnes breaste received mie spear.
Mie sheelde, lyche sommere morie gronfer droke,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Chatterton
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The Hammers

I

Frindsbury, Kent, 1786

Bang!
Bang!
Tap!
Tap-a-tap! Rap!
All through the lead and silver Winter days,
All through the copper of Autumn hazes.
Tap to the red rising sun,
Tap to the purple setting sun.
Four years pass before the job is done.
Two thousand oak trees grown and felled,
Two thousand oaks from the hedgerows of the Weald,
Sussex had yielded two thousand oaks
With huge boles
Round which the tape rolls
Thirty mortal feet, say the village folks.
Two hundred loads of elm and Scottish fir;
Planking from Dantzig.
My! What timber goes into a ship!
Tap! Tap!
Two years they have seasoned her ribs on the ways,
Tapping, tapping.
You can hear, though there's nothing where you gaze.
Through the fog down the reaches of the river,
The tapping goes on like heart-beats in a fever.
The church-bells chime
Hours and hours,
Dropping days in showers.
Bang! Rap! Tap!
Go the hammers all the time.
They have planked up her timbers
And the nails are driven to the head;
They have decked her over,
And again, and again.
The shoring-up beams shudder at the strain.
Black and blue breeches,
Pigtails bound and shining:
Like ants crawling about,
The hull swarms with carpenters, running in and out.
Joiners, calkers,
And they are all terrible talkers.
Jem Wilson has been to sea and he tells some wonderful tales
Of whales, and spice islands,
And pirates off the Barbary coast.
He boasts magnificently, with his mouth full of nails.
Stephen Pibold has a tenor voice,
He shifts his quid of tobacco and sings:

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Disobedience

James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he;
"You must never go down
to the end of the town,
if you don't go down with me."

James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown.
James James Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down
to the end of the town
and be back in time for tea."

King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"

James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town
without consulting me."

James James
Morrison's mother
Hasn't been heard of since.

[...] Read more

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.

Much malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stocked with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked, and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wonted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die,
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
Meanwhile she quenched her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cooled her blood.
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
To express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturbed the friendly meal.
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor failed she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgments herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Decay

O Poesy is on the wane,
For Fancy's visions all unfitting;
I hardly know her face again,
Nature herself seems on the flitting.
The fields grow old and common things,
The grass, the sky, the winds a-blowing;
And spots, where still a beauty clings,
Are sighing 'going! all a-going!'
O Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.

The bank with brambles overspread,
And little molehills round about it,
Was more to me than laurel shades,
With paths of gravel finely clouted;
And streaking here and streaking there,
Through shaven grass and many a border,
With rutty lanes had no compare,
And heaths were in a richer order.
But Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.

I sat beside the pasture stream,
When Beauty's self was sitting by,
The fields did more than Eden seem
Nor could I tell the reason why.
I often drank when not adry
To pledge her health in draughts divine;
Smiles made it nectar from the sky,
Love turned een water into wine.
O Poesy is on the wane,
I cannot find her face again.

The sun those mornings used to find,
Its clouds were other-country mountains,
And heaven looked downward on the mind,
Like groves, and rocks, and mottled fountains.
Those heavens are gone, the mountains grey
Turned mist--the sun, a homeless ranger,
Pursues alone his naked way,
Unnoticed like a very stranger.
O Poesy is on the wane,
Nor love nor joy is mine again.

Love's sun went down without a frown,
For very joy it used to grieve us;
I often think the West is gone,
Ah, cruel Time, to undeceive us.
The stream it is a common stream,
Where we on Sundays used to ramble,

[...] Read more

poem by John Clare
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Looking for Love

We married when we were just nineteen,
I thought her a perfect catch,
We'd fallen in love on the day she came
To watch, at a football match,
I'd fallen badly, injured my leg
And was subbed in the second half,
She came to the dressing room, and tied
My leg with her silken scarf.

She said that she was a trainee nurse
And practice was better than none,
I told her I was a graduate,
I'd be limping from now on,
We took a seat at a coffee shop
And stayed for the afternoon,
As I gazed at her dark brown eyes and hair,
And she smiled at me in the gloom.

Our romance whirled us on at a pace
That was breathless, with content,
Whatever our fate would hold for us
We were sure that it was meant,
I ceased to notice the other girls,
And she looked only at me,
We tied the knot on a fresh Spring morn
As we stood by a willow tree.

We made our home in a city flat
Close to her hospital,
I studied and crammed for my Ph.D.
Not counting the cost at all,
But soon we were way behind in the rent
And moved on out to the burbs,
Life was more difficult than we'd thought,
We grew our own veggies, and herbs.

She worked three shifts, and came home tired,
And I would study all night,
Then one came in as the other went out,
I felt that it wasn't right,
We argued then, and we made it up,
Then we argued a little more,
She said she'd go to her parents then,
But I just barred the door.

We'll just have to work it out, ' I said,
'We can't go giving up now,
I know that I love you, Sylvia,
And things will improve, somehow.'
'I love you too, but it's such a mess, '

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Esa Loca

[Intro: R.O.B.B.]
Yo you remember Tony from Capicu?
And carribean chicks be like papi chu
All you haters out there can't stop me dude
I got niggas out there dem shotta you
Y'all not ready for R-R-O y'all not ready for Se-an-Paul
Y'all not ready for Tony Toca
Ladies, esa loca
[Tony Touch (Sean Paul)]
Ay yo good lookin, from D.R. to Brooklyn
Puerto Rico to Montego do it for the people
Toca aka Mr. Suavito
Do what I do like I'm doin it for me though
Rep for my bredren that's without question
Pull out the weapon in case they start flexin
T. Touch he bust so stop guessin
I weed up now wheel it up in a session
Rudebwoy selecta yeah I'm a get'cha
I'm nice under pressure write a quick lecture
Sean Paul nothin but love soon as I met ya
So let's do this and show 'em who the rudest
You must be kiddin me, gettin rid of me
Guns'll blast like them boys in Tivoli
Or Rema and Jungle where all the killers be
Even in Italy they still consider me
One of the dopest that's cause I lasted
The rest is all hopeless nothin but asses
I'm so focused yet I'm so blasted
(Dutty Yeah!)
And I'm out son big up all the masses
[Sean Paul]
Tell dem all for races seh nuh guy caan try race case
Gwaan stop di progress and a gwaan embrace this
A old rust off magnum mi a got hitch upon mi waist
Tell mi if you nuh love how di teflon taste
Well I don't need a lawyer cause there won't be a case
Forget what you see now your life is get replaced
I'm di dappa Dutty dung inna di biz
I'm about to show you what respect really is
Punk yah nuh nuttin, yo I know you really think your clever
But you caan stop di style dem never
Real push button, start it if yuh ready fi whatever
Yo tell mi if you heard of mi never dem call mi
[Cho: Sean Paul]
The Dutty Loca, the Tony Toca
Man a gallis, man a gangsta, man a born herbalist
Oonu listen out, Esa Loca
The Dutty Loca, the Tony Toca
Man a gallis, man a gangsta, man a internationalist
Oonu listen out, Esa Loca

[...] Read more

song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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On The 09 All Ireland Football Final

For the Cork Gaelic Footballers another humbling defeat
By their neighbours Kerry in Croke Park once more they've been beat
In Gaelic Football in Ireland Kerry to the fore
With 36 All Ireland titles and their fans hoping for more.

My mum was from Kerry that I cannot deny
But why it aches me when Cork lose a big game I do wonder why?
Though long absent from Ireland a sense of parochialism I do retain
Some-things from our past always with us do remain.

But Kerry fans with their 09 All Ireland victory need not get carried away
As their hurlers are quite poor though that does seem a sad thing for to have to say
Like Kilkenny Ireland's premier hurling County Kerry G A A rankings low
The lowest even in Munster as all G A A fans do know.

For the Liam Mcarthy Cup Kerry Hurlers never allowed for to play
For that not deemed to be good enough by the administrators of the G A A
Like the Kilkenny Footballers Kerry Hurlers amongst the lowly rate
Though their many Football victories their fans have to celebrate.

Kerry are 09 All Ireland Senior Football Champions their neighbours Cork they did outplay
In Croke Park in Dublin Ireland on September's third sunday
But Cork the only winners of the Hurling and Football double for them an amazing feat
With Ireland best Football and Hurling Counties at the highest level do compete.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Said Sadly

James iha: you should know that I love you
And I cant help but fall for you
Oh honey Im just a fool
Now you know
Nina gordon: darling, Ill never be true
You see, for so long I was blue
James iha: Im not the lonely one
Nina gordon: and if I hurt, then you will, too
Oh honey I always lose
Now you know
James iha & nina gordon: lover, when will you?
James iha: Im so afraid that noone cares
James iha & nina gordon: lover, cant find you
James iha: I swear to God dont leave me here
James iha & nina gordon: now you know
James iha & nina gordon: only you know that it cant be
When noone else here really means
James iha: anything to me
James iha & nina gordon: if you hurt inside
If you confide in me again
Nina gordon: since you ran away
James iha: hold me now, tell me how
Nothings lost
James iha & nina gordon: lover, when will you?
Im so afraid that noone cares
Lover, cant find you
And noone knows what brings us here
Lover
James iha: hold me now
Nina gordon: hold me now
James iha: tell me how
James iha & nina gordon: nothings lost

song performed by Veruca Salt
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sleep And Poetry

As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete
Was unto me, but why that I ne might
Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight
[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese
Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese. ~ Chaucer

What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men's knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia's countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.

But what is higher beyond thought than thee?
Fresher than berries of a mountain tree?
More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,
Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle?
What is it? And to what shall I compare it?
It has a glory, and naught else can share it:
The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy,
Chasing away all worldliness and folly;
Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder,
Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;
And sometimes like a gentle whispering
Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing
That breathes about us in the vacant air;
So that we look around with prying stare,
Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial limning,
And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning;
To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended,
That is to crown our name when life is ended.
Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,
And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice!
Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things,
And die away in ardent mutterings.

No one who once the glorious sun has seen,

[...] Read more

poem by John Keats
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Hammer Of Love

I was a young man,
When the hammer came down,
Thought I could handle it,
Wouldn't do me no harm.
She was a young girl,
Stars in her hair,
Rings on her finger tips,
A diamond so rare.
Hammer came down from above,
Hammer, Hammer of love.
Oho, won't you save me.
She was a young girl,
With dangerous ways,
The tears of a demon,
Kissed by a saint.
Hammer came down from above,
Oh, Hammer, Hammer of love.
Oho, yeah.
Though you pound this bitter heart,
Down to a molten steel,
Cast it in the furnace,
Of your burning spinning wheel,
I will rise up through the flames,
To wrap you in my arms,
Brand you with my loving seal
And steal your tender charms.
Oh, yeah.
The scent of our loving,
Woke my desire,
She stirred my smouldering heart,
Left me on fire.
Oh, Hammer down from above,
Oh, Hammer, Hammer of love.
Hammer, how you saved me
Hammer, how you saved me
Saved my soul.
Hear me calling you,
Through the misty morning,
Mountain and Valley,
Ocean and Sea.

song performed by Bad Company
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hammer Horror

You stood in the belltower,
But now youre gone.
So who knows all the sights
Of notre dame?
Theyve got the stars for the gallant hearts.
Im the replacement for your part.
But all I want to do is forget
You, friend.
Hammer horror, hammer horror,
Wont leave me alone.
The first time in my life,
I leave the lights on
To ease my soul.
Hammer horror, hammer horror,
Wont leave it alone.
I dont know,
Is this the right thing to do?
Rehearsing in your things,
I feel guilty.
And retracing all the scenes,
Of your big hit,
Oh, god, you needed the leading role.
It wasnt me who made you go, though.
Now all I want to do is forget
You, friend.
Hammer horror, hammer horror,
Wont leave me alone.
The first time in my life,
I leave the lights on
To ease my soul.
Hammer horror, hammer horror,
Wont leave it alone.
I dont know,
Is this the right thing to do?
Who calls me from the other side
Of the street?
And who taps me on the shoulder?
I turn around, but youre gone.
Ive got a hunch that youre following,
To get your own back on me.
So all I want to do is forget
You, friend.
Hammer horror, hammer horror,
Wont leave me alone.
The first time in my life,
I leave the lights on
To ease my soul.
Hammer horror, hammer horror,
Wont leave it alone.
I dont know,

[...] Read more

song performed by Kate Bush
Added by Lucian Velea
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The wheels on the bus

‘The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
All night long’

The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
All night long

The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
All night long

The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
All night long

The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush shus
Hush hus hush
Hush hush
The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush hush
All night long

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Marmion: Canto V. - The Court

I.

The train has left the hills of Braid;
The barrier guard have open made
(So Lindesay bade) the palisade,
That closed the tented ground;
Their men the warders backward drew,
And carried pikes as they rode through
Into its ample bound.
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there,
Upon the Southern band to stare.
And envy with their wonder rose,
To see such well-appointed foes;
Such length of shaft, such mighty bows,
So huge, that many simply thought,
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought;
And little deemed their force to feel,
Through links of mail, and plates of steel,
When rattling upon Flodden vale,
The clothyard arrows flew like hail.

II.

Nor less did Marmion's skilful view
Glance every line and squadron through;
And much he marvelled one small land
Could marshal forth such various band:
For men-at-arms were here,
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate,
Like iron towers for strength and weight,
On Flemish steeds of bone and height,
With battle-axe and spear.
Young knights and squires, a lighter train,
Practised their chargers on the plain,
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein,
Each warlike feat to show,
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain,
The high curvet, that not in vain
The sword sway might descend amain
On foeman's casque below.
He saw the hardy burghers there
March armed, on foot, with faces bare,
For vizor they wore none,
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight;
But burnished were their corslets bright,
Their brigantines, and gorgets light,
Like very silver shone.
Long pikes they had for standing fight,
Two-handed swords they wore,
And many wielded mace of weight,

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Lady of the Lake: Canto IV. - The Prophecy

I.
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and love through future years!'
Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.

II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,
Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.
All while he stripped the wild-rose spray,
His axe and bow beside him lay,
For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood
A wakeful sentinel he stood.
Hark!-on the rock a footstep rung,
And instant to his arms he sprung.
'Stand, or thou diest!-What, Malise?-soon
Art thou returned from Braes of Doune.
By thy keen step and glance I know,
Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.'-
For while the Fiery Cross tried on,
On distant scout had Malise gone.-
'Where sleeps the Chief?' the henchman said.
'Apart, in yonder misty glade;
To his lone couch I'll be your guide.'-
Then called a slumberer by his side,
And stirred him with his slackened bow,-
'Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho!
We seek the Chieftain; on the track
Keep eagle watch till I come back.'

III.
Together up the pass they sped:
'What of the foeman?' Norman said.-
'Varying reports from near and far;
This certain,-that a band of war
Has for two days been ready boune,
At prompt command to march from Doune;
King James the while, with princely powers,
Holds revelry in Stirling towers.
Soon will this dark and gathering cloud
Speak on our glens in thunder loud.
Inured to bide such bitter bout,
The warrior's plaid may bear it out;
But, Norman, how wilt thou provide
A shelter for thy bonny bride?''-

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Tale XV

ADVICE; OR THE 'SQUIRE AND THE PRIEST.

A wealthy Lord of far-extended land
Had all that pleased him placed at his command;
Widow'd of late, but finding much relief
In the world's comforts, he dismiss'd his grief;
He was by marriage of his daughters eased,
And knew his sons could marry if they pleased;
Meantime in travel he indulged the boys,
And kept no spy nor partner of his joys.
These joys, indeed, were of the grosser kind,
That fed the cravings of an earthly mind;
A mind that, conscious of its own excess,
Felt the reproach his neighbours would express.
Long at th' indulgent board he loved to sit,
Where joy was laughter, and profaneness wit;
And such the guest and manners of the hall,
No wedded lady on the 'Squire would call:
Here reign'd a Favourite, and her triumph gain'd
O'er other favourites who before had reign'd;
Reserved and modest seemed the nymph to be,
Knowing her lord was charm'd with modesty;
For he, a sportsman keen, the more enjoy'd,
The greater value had the thing destroyed.
Our 'Squire declared, that from a wife released,
He would no more give trouble to a Priest;
Seem'd it not, then, ungrateful and unkind
That he should trouble from the priesthood find?
The Church he honour'd, and he gave the due
And full respect to every son he knew;
But envied those who had the luck to meet
A gentle pastor, civil and discreet;
Who never bold and hostile sermon penned,
To wound a sinner, or to shame a friend;
One whom no being either shunn'd or fear'd:
Such must be loved wherever they appear'd.
Not such the stern old Rector of the time,
Who soothed no culprit, and who spared no crime;
Who would his fears and his contempt express
For irreligion and licentiousness;
Of him our Village Lord, his guests among,
By speech vindictive proved his feelings stung.
'Were he a bigot,' said the 'Squire, 'whose zeal
Condemn'd us all, I should disdain to feel:
But when a man of parts, in college train'd,
Prates of our conduct, who would not be pain'd?
While he declaims (where no one dares reply)
On men abandon'd, grov'ling in the sty
(Like beasts in human shape) of shameless luxury.
Yet with a patriot's zeal I stand the shock

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poem by George Crabbe
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

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poem by Talile Ali
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What the Frack?

high pressure enemas
millions of gallons
crude solution fracking-fluid
25 to 75 percent resurfaces waste-water deluge

clastic fractures giving rise to
subterranean chemical carcinogens
fissile shale releases methane into
underground drinking water supply

Pavillion, Wyoming 2010,

EPA investigation finds 39
rural ground water wells
fresh drinking water contaminated

benzene and methane
fracking fluid additive
2-butoexythanol phosphate

recommending residents
avoid their tap

Cabot Oil and Gas
three spills at one well
within a week in Dimmock Penn

8,420 gallons leaked
wetland spills kill local fish
Cabot fined $240,000 plus

to transport safe water
the affected homeowners
more than $10 million in costs

EnCana Oil and Gas
faulty well casings allow
methane to migrate through
natural faults into Colorado water supplies

75-foot tall geyser of gas
and drilling fluid
chloride, sodium,
barium and strontium,
hydrochloric acid

air toxin smog formation
benzene delivering funereal flowers
death's frankincense to the marrow

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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When You Rush To Judgement

You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
None.

You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
Not a one.

Oh, oh, oh...
When you rush to judgement,
Your emotions are your worst enemy.
When you rush to judgement,
Your emotions are your worst enemy.
When you rush to judgement,
Your emotions are your worst enemy.
When you rush to judgement.
Oh, oh, oh...
When you rush to judgement.
To pass your judgements,
When you rush to judgement.

You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
None.

You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
Not a one.

When you rush to judgement,
You have no idea.
No idea.
None.
When you rush to judgement,
No one has an idea...
What they've done.
When you rush to judgement,
What one does...
Affects more than one.
When you rush to judgement.
When you rush to judgement.

You have no idea,
What you've done.
You have no idea...
None.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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