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The Debt Collector

Cast: Scott Adkins, Louis Mandylor, Vladimir Kulich, Tony Todd, Rustic Bodomov, Alexa Bondar, Rachel Brann

trailer for The Debt Collector, directed by Jesse V. Johnson (2018)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jacob's Wives

These are the words of Jacob’s wives, the words
Which Leah spake and Rachel to his ears,
When, in the shade at eventide, he sat
By the tent door, a palm-tree overhead,
A spring beside him, and the sheep around.

And Rachel spake and said, The nightfall comes
Night, which all day I wait for, and for thee.

And Leah also spake, The day is done;
My lord with toil is weary and would rest.

And Rachel said, Come, O my Jacob, come;
And we will think we sit beside the well,
As in that day, the long long years agone,
When first I met thee with my father’s flock.

And Leah said, Come, Israel, unto me;
And thou shalt reap an harvest of fair sons,
E’en as before I bare thee goodly babes;
For when was Leah fruitless to my lord?

And Rachel said, Ah come! as then thou cam’st,
Come once again to set thy seal of love;
As then, down bending, when the sheep had drunk,
Thou settedst it, my shepherd O sweet seal!
Upon the unwitting, half-foretasting lips,
Which, shy and trembling, thirsted yet for thine
As cattle thirsted never for the spring.

And Leah answered, Are not these their names
As Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah four?
Like four young saplings by the water’s brim,
Where straining rivers through the great plain wind
Four saplings soon to rise to goodly trees
Four trees whose growth shall cast an huger shade
Than ever yet on river-side was seen.

And Rachel said, And shall it be again
As, when dissevered far, unheard, alone,
Consumed in bitter anger all night long,
I moaned and wept, while, silent and discreet,
One reaped the fruit of love that Rachel’s was
Upon the breast of him that knew her not?

And Leah said, And was it then a wrong
That, in submission to a father’s word,
Trembling yet hopeful, to that bond I crept,
Which God hath greatly prospered, and my lord,
Content, in after-wisdom not disowned,

[...] Read more

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Louis Xvi Of France

louis sixteenth of france
louis sixteenth of franc
louis sixteenth of fran
louis sixteenth of fra
louis sixteenth of fr
louis sixteenth of f
louis sixteenth of
louis sixteenth o
louis sixteenth
louis sixteent
louis sixteen
louis sixtee
louis sixte
louis sixt
louis six
louis si
louis s
louis
loui
lou
lo
l

poem by Nicolas Grenier
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How the Boy Stole Christmas

Based on 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas', by Dr. Seuss.
Done for a school project=)

Once, upon a falling snowflake,
In a land far, far away,
There lived all the Whats,
Preparing for Christmas day.

There was one What that stuck out,
The richest What of them all,
He had light brown hair, and big brown eyes
His given name was Paul.

Paul was a greedy boy,
His best friend was Ebenezer Scrooge
And anytime Paul lied,
His little nose turned huge!

Paul was the only What in Whattown,
That really hated this time of the year,
He ruined all the children’s fun,
His pranks were in full gear.

Paul thought Christmas was just trouble,
He only thought of himself,
He thought that Santa Claus was stupid,
And hurt the feelings of every single elf.

He hated everybody that liked Christmas,
There was only one exception of his,
A beautiful What named Rachel,
Whom he never wanted to diss.

Now every story has a problem,
And this one’s is pretty big,
Paul crushed on the Christmas-lover Rachel,
But Rachel thought Paul was a pig.

You see, Rachel was an EXTREME Christmas fanatic,
Loving every aspect of it,
She volunteered everywhere that she could,
And her money? Donated every bit.

She helped out at school and Church,
Sang carols at the old folks’ home,
Baked cookies with younger children,
Made ornaments out of foam.

Rachel hated anybody that hated Christmas,
She was like a packaged deal,

[...] Read more

poem by Selina Marie
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Archduchess Anne

1--I

In middle age an evil thing
Befell Archduchess Anne:
She looked outside her wedding-ring
Upon a princely man.

II

Count Louis was for horse and arms;
And if its beacon waved,
For love; but ladies had not charms
To match a danger braved.

III

On battlefields he was the bow
Bestrung to fly the shaft:
In idle hours his heart would flow
As winds on currents waft.

IV

His blood was of those warrior tribes
That streamed from morning's fire,
Whom now with traps and now with bribes
The wily Council wire.

V

Archduchess Anne the Council ruled,
Count Louis his great dame;
And woe to both when one had cooled!
Little was she to blame.

VI

Among her chiefs who spun their plots,
Old Kraken stood the sword:
As sharp his wits for cutting knots
Of babble he abhorred.

VII

He reverenced her name and line,
Nor other merit had
Save soldierwise to wait her sign,
And do the deed she bade.

VIII

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
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Blush Response

[rachel:]
Do you like our owl?
[deckard:]
Is it artificial?
[rachel:]
Of course it is
[deckard:]
Must be expensive
[rachel:]
Very
[rachel:]
Im rachel
[deckard:]
Deckard
[rachel:]
Its seems you feel our work is not a benefit to the public
[deckard:]
Replicants are like any other machines
They are either a benefit or a hazard
If theyre a benefit, its not my problem
[rachel:]
May I ask you a personal question?
[deckard:]
Sure
[rachel:]
Have you ever retired a human, by mistake?
[deckard:]
No [rachel:]
But in your position that is a risk
[tyrell:]
Is this to be an empathy test?
Capilary dilation of the so called blush response
... fluctuation of the pupil
Involuntary dilation of the iris
[deckard:]
We call it voight-kampf for short
[note: named after the people who developed this test]
[rachel:]
Mr. deckard, dr. elden tyrell
[tyrell:]
Demonstrate it. I want to see it work
[deckard:]
Were is the subject?
[tyrell:]
I want to see it work on a person
I want to see a negative before I provide you with a positive
[deckard:]
Whats that gonna prove?
[tyrell:]
Indulge me

[...] Read more

song performed by Vangelis
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Little Rachel

By jim byfield
You dont need no high i.q.
To get right down and sing the blues.
If youre down, heres what to do;
Me and my guitar will sing for you.
Oh, little rachel, oh.
Oh, little rachel, oh.
Oh, little rachel, oh.
Oh, little rachel, oh.
I got a box and an old whisk broom.
We gonna rock around the room.
When my guitar plays this tune,
We gonna dance to the light of the moon.
Chorus
What you feel, that aint no jive.
The get down sound makes you feel alive.
Chorus
Push it, little rachel, push it.
Push it, little rachel, push it.
Pull it, little rachel, pull it.
Pull it, little rachel, pull it.

song performed by Eric Clapton
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Can't Blame Louis

One small town boy whose dreams were higher
Thought up a plan
To be a city man
Out in the world
Bright burned the fire
Through every door
He was so sure
Than he ran into a problem
He heard the voice inside him say
"do you believe that what you have is what you need"
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis
He found a girl
His heart's desire
She was the first
She quenched the thirst
His social whirl
Did not inspire
Her live divine
Soon lost its shine
Now he's counting every hour
Wondering where she spent the night
She doesn't slow, it seems he'll never know
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis
Take a day and trace a thought to where it all began
Wondering how you felt at every turn
Even thought reality was not part of the plan
By reaching out you lit the spark forever
Louis thought he'd find the answer
In a world that has no soul
He moved on, to learn onother song
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis

song performed by Level 42
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Chronicle Of The Drum

Part I.

At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,
Whoever will choose to repair,
Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors
May haply fall in with old Pierre.
On the sunshiny bench of a tavern
He sits and he prates of old wars,
And moistens his pipe of tobacco
With a drink that is named after Mars.

The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,
And as long as his tap never fails,
Thus over his favorite liquor
Old Peter will tell his old tales.
Says he, 'In my life's ninety summers
Strange changes and chances I've seen,—
So here's to all gentlemen drummers
That ever have thump'd on a skin.

'Brought up in the art military
For four generations we are;
My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry,
The Huguenot lad of Navarre.
And as each man in life has his station
According as Fortune may fix,
While Conde was waving the baton,
My grandsire was trolling the sticks.

'Ah! those were the days for commanders!
What glories my grandfather won,
Ere bigots, and lackeys, and panders
The fortunes of France had undone!
In Germany, Flanders, and Holland,—
What foeman resisted us then?
No; my grandsire was ever victorious,
My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne.

'He died: and our noble battalions
The jade fickle Fortune forsook;
And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance,
The victory lay with Malbrook.
The news it was brought to King Louis;
Corbleu! how his Majesty swore
When he heard they had taken my grandsire:
And twelve thousand gentlemen more.

'At Namur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet
Were we posted, on plain or in trench:
Malbrook only need to attack it

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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The Sensation Captain

No nobler captain ever trod
Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD,
So good - so wise - so brave, he!
But still, as all his friends would own,
He had one folly - one alone -
This Captain in the Navy.

I do not think I ever knew
A man so wholly given to
Creating a sensation,
Or p'raps I should in justice say -
To what in an Adelphi play
Is known as "situation."

He passed his time designing traps
To flurry unsuspicious chaps -
The taste was his innately;
He couldn't walk into a room
Without ejaculating "Boom!"
Which startled ladies greatly.

He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,
Not, you will understand, in joke,
As some assume disguises;
He did it, actuated by
A simple love of mystery
And fondness for surprises.

I need not say he loved a maid -
His eloquence threw into shade
All others who adored her.
The maid, though pleased at first, I know,
Found, after several years or so,
Her startling lover bored her.

So, when his orders came to sail,
She did not faint or scream or wail,
Or with her tears anoint him:
She shook his hand, and said "Good-bye,"
With laughter dancing in her eye -
Which seemed to disappoint him.

But ere he went aboard his boat,
He placed around her little throat
A ribbon, blue and yellow,
On which he hung a double-tooth -
A simple token this, in sooth -
'Twas all he had, poor fellow!

"I often wonder," he would say,

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Healthy Back Bag

animated bag of chips
amor dive bag
american eagle outfitters bags
ambag poly bags wholesale
american airlines bag limits
american beauty plastic bag theme mp3
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alt ieri bassoon bag
almond flavored tea bags
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amulet bag book
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amy butler sweet life bag
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ani hand bags
american west rodeo bags
amex insurance for delayed bags
an interchangeable foundation bag
al verio martini bags
animal bag mp3
american trail ventures atv cargo bags
aluminium coated plastic bags
amy butlet runaway bag pattern
angel bag
animae bop bag
allowed to carry on garment bag
a nimal bag print tote
an imal overnight bag
aloksak bags
amz bag fun src
ameribag microfiber bag
american tourister laptop bag
allied waste service blue bags
american indian medicine bags
alternative to plastic trash bags
amish buggy bag
alpha poly bag
ammo shoulder bag
american sign language tote bags
animated gif people with hand bags
amazing bag grace pipe
altieri bags

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Portrait of Rachel Fayne

She glided into the studio
And dropped her clothes on the floor,
Gave the artist a pirouette,
And said: 'Do you want any more? '
He shrugged, and told her to take a seat
While he etched the background in,
'I'll paint you draped on the canapé,
I'll tell you, when I begin! '

She wandered naked around the room,
At home in the artist's den,
Rachel Fayne was the model's name,
She'd modelled since she was ten.
From auburn hair to her shapely calves
She'd stared from a hundred scenes,
That hung in frames under different names
As a slave, or a Gypsy Queen.

Her lips were full and her eyes were green,
They'd startled men in the past,
Staring from frames in the galleries,
In the windows of shops they passed,
So haughty and so beautiful,
And beyond the reach of men,
Yet here she'd bare, for all to share
Through the brush in the artist's den!

She hadn't sat for John Durrell
Before, but she knew his work,
The famous 'Woman of Paddington',
The 'Girl by the Friendly Kirk, '
His 'Venus under the Waterfall' -
Her heart had skipped a bit,
As she stared green-eyed in her wounded pride,
Would he never ask her to sit?

The summons came through a friend of hers,
'Be there, first thing in the morn! '
She'd bathed, and powdered her body well
By the light of the breaking dawn,
For John Durrell was a master, skilled
And she knew it would seal her fame,
To be tied to an R.A. masterpiece,
And the famous Durrell name.

'Don't ask too many questions, he's
Intense, and immersed in paint,
He's hard and cold, and inclined to scold
If you don't sit still, or faint,
He'll look at you like a curlicue,

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Rachel

The story of Rachel is a story of great love,
A story shaped by our Heavenly Father above.
A story of great mystery,
A wonderful story of biblical history.

Of a man in search of the love of his life,
The woman God would provide for a wife.
An epic of a wicked father, who cheated and lied,
A man of faith worked seven years and cried.

When the calendar turned over a fourteenth year,
Jacob would hear Rachel's sweet whisper in his ear.
He would remember a dry and dusty by a well,
And Rachel's beauty as well.

Rachel, to be true to your God is to be true to your self,
Follow the book and gain great spiritual wealth.
You have a natural beauty a delight to behold,
Much like the Rachel of old.

You are bright and willing to achieve,
Set your course drive hard and in Jesus believe.
You have parents old and new who in you delight,
And are watching to see you follow in God's might.

poem by R.K. Hart
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Saint Louis Blues

I hates to see dat evnin sun go down
Hates to see dat evnin sun go down
Cause ma baby, she done lef dis town.
If I feel tomorrow lak ah feel today
Feel tomorrow lak ah feel today,
Ill pack up my trunk, and make ma git away.
Saint louis woman wid her diamon rings
Pulls dat man roun by her apron strings.
twernt for powder an her store-bought hair
De man she love wouldnt gone nowhere, nowhere.
Got dem saint louis blues Im as blue as ah can be.
Like a man done throwed that rock down into de sea
Got dem saint louis blues Im as blue as ah can be.
Went to de gypsy get her fortune tole
To de gypsy, done got her fortune tole,
Cause she most wile bout her jelly roll.
Now dat gypsy tole her, dont you wear no black.
She done tole her, dont you wear no black.
Go to saint louis, you can win him back.
If she git tocairo, make saint louis by herself,
Git to cairo, find her old friend jeff,
Gwine to pin herself, right there, to his side if she flag his train, she sho can ride.
(spoken) and she sang
Got dem saint louis blues jes as blue as ah can be.
Dat man got a heart lak a rock cast into de sea.
Or else he wouldnt have gone so far from me.
Doggone it!
I loves day man lak a schoolboy loves his pie,
Lak a kentucky colnel ....loves his mint an rye.
Ill love ma baby till the day ah die.
Now a black-headed gal makes a freight train jump the track,
Said a black-headed gal makes a freight train jump the track,
But a long tall gal makes a preacher ball the jack.
Lawd, a blonde-headed woman make a good man leave the town,
I said a blonde-headed woman make a good man leave the town,
But a red-headed woman make a boy slap his pappy down.

song performed by Louis Armstrong
Added by Lucian Velea
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St Louis Blues

I hate's to see dat ev'nin' sun go down
Hate's to see dat ev'nin' sun go down
Cause ma baby, she done lef' dis town
If I feel tomorrow lak ah feel today
Feel tomorrow lak ah feel today
I'll pack up my trunk, and make ma git away
Saint Louis woman wid her diamon' rings
Pulls dat man 'roun' by her apron strings
'Twern't for powder an' her store-bought hair
De man she love wouldn't gone nowhere, nowhere
Got dem Saint Louis Blues I'm as blue as ah can be
Like a man done throwed that rock down into de sea
Got dem Saint Louis Blues I'm as blue as ah can be
Went to de gypsy get her fortune tole
To de gypsy, done got her fortune tole
Cause she most wile 'bout her Jelly Roll
Now dat gypsy tole her, "Don't you wear no black"
She done tole her, "Don't you wear no black
Go to Saint Louis, you can win him back"
If she git toCairo, make Saint Louis by herself
Git to Cairo, find her old friend Jeff
gwine to pin herself, right there, to his side If she flag his train, she sho' can ride
And she sang
Got dem Saint Louis Blues jes as blue as ah can be
Dat man got a heart lak a rock cast into de sea
Or else he wouldn't have gone so far from me
Doggone it!
I loves day man lak a schoolboy loves his pie
Lak a Kentucky Col'nel loves his mint an' rye
I'll love ma baby till the day ah die
Now a black-headed gal makes a freight train jump the track
Said a black-headed gal makes a freight train jump the track
But a long tall gal makes a preacher ball the jack
Lawd, a blonde-headed woman make a good man leave the town
I said a blonde-headed woman make a good man leave the town
But a red-headed woman make a boy slap his pappy down

song performed by Louis Armstrong
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto VI.

I.
O who, that shared them, ever shall forget
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathless in the mart the couriers met,
Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime
Hail'd news on news, as field on field was won,
When Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length sublime,
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun,
Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun!
O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears!
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd,
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,
That track'd with terror twenty rolling years,
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee!
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears,
To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee,
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty!

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode,
When 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's scale,
When Bruce's banner had victorious flow'd
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale;
And fiery English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,
And fiery Edward routed stout St. John,
When Randolph's war-cry swell'd the southern gale,
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was won,
And fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done.

II.
Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower,
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,
And waked the solitary cell,
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell.
Princess no more, fair Isabel,
A vot'ress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear
Dim veil and wollen scapulare,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,
That stern and rigid vow,
Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold?-
And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?
No sister she of convent shade;
So say these locks in lengthen'd braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Wrecked Illusions

Dedicated to Louis Becke

You are now in London town,
Louis Becke,
Keeping up your old renown,
Writing yarns of women brown,
Getting yellow money down,
Or a cheque.

That is right enough, maybe -
You are wise;
But your Isles of the South Sea,
Where the life is bold and free,
You may have them all for me -
Dash your eyes!

I armful of you, I am,
To the neck;
And I cannot think with a calm
Of your tales 'By Reef and Palm'
But I have to mutter 'D--n
Louis Becke!'

You have lined, the press records
(Not in joke),
At the hospitable boards
Of a lot of dukes and lords,
And beguiled them with you words -
Simple folk!

Yet I would not envy you,
Be it said,
if the tales you told were true
As they were unique and new -
But you made them all up, Loo,
In your head.

Never, as in days of yore,
(You will see)
On your pages shall I pore,
With their yarns of love and gore,
Never, Louis, anymore
Becke for me.

I'd rejoice to have you here
(You might grieve!)
With your pen behind your ear,
In this clammy atmosphere,
Where it rains all round the year,

[...] Read more

poem by Victor James Daley
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The Santa-Fe Trail (A Humoresque)

I asked the old Negro, "What is that bird that sings so well?" He answered: "That is the Rachel-Jane." "Hasn't it another name, lark, or thrush, or the like?" "No. Jus' Rachel-Jane."

I. IN WHICH A RACING AUTO COMES FROM THE EAST

This is the order of the music of the morning: —
First, from the far East comes but a crooning.
The crooning turns to a sunrise singing.
Hark to the calm -horn, balm -horn, psalm -horn.
Hark to the faint -horn, quaint -horn, saint -horn. . . .

Hark to the pace -horn, chase -horn, race -horn.
And the holy veil of the dawn has gone.
Swiftly the brazen ear comes on.
It burns in the East as the sunrise burns.
I see great flashes where the far trail turns.

Its eyes are lamps like the eyes of dragons.
It drinks gasoline from big red flagons.
Butting through the delicate mists of the morning,
It comes like lightning, goes past roaring.
It will hail all the wind-mills, taunting, ringing,
Dodge the cyclones,
Count the milestones,
On through the ranges the prairie-dog tills—
Scooting past the cattle on the thousand hills. . . .
Ho for the tear-horn, scare-horn, dare-horn,
Ho for the gay -horn, bark -horn, bay -horn.
Ho for Kansas, land that restores us
When houses choke us, and great books bore us!
Sunrise Kansas, harvester's Kansas,
A million men have found you before us.

II. IN WHICH MANY AUTOS PASS WESTWARD

I want live things in their pride to remain.
I will not kill one grasshopper vain
Though he eats a hole in my shirt like a door.
I let him out, give him one chance more.
Perhaps, while he gnaws my hat in his whim,
Grasshopper lyrics occur to him.

I am a tramp by the long trail's border,
Given to squalor, rags and disorder.
I nap and amble and yawn and look,
Write fool-thoughts in my grubby book,
Recite to the children, explore at my ease,
Work when I work, beg when I please,
Give crank-drawings, that make folks stare

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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Putin's Witch Hunt Hooligan Crimes

under leader Vladimir Putin
criminal thief must be in jail
men like Mikhail Khodorkovsky
who take an anti-party stand

Putin's Stalinized words
ring dictatorship hollow
as everyone who now lives
in Putin's spun cage knows

thieves in our resurrected
Russia don't exclusively
belong in a jail sentenced
they belong in government

thieves strut in and around
their power base Kremlin
every official high and low
steals steals steals we know?

reaping sly political party line
means not ending up in prison
golden eggs government laid
means choice owning a chunk

of Cyprus Nice or London town
purchase power stems ultimately
from good political calculations
modern 'Gulag' is said to mean

the entire Soviet repressive system
the set of procedures that prisoners
once called the state 'meat-grinder'
the arrests the KGB interrogations?

the transport in unheated cattle cars
forced labor destruction of families
the years spent if survived in exile
the early political unnecessary deaths

beware beware beware Vladimir
with his witch hunt hooliganism
charges Putin's 'regime routinely
jails dissident journalists activists'

Vladimir Putin has his victims
display sit in glass walled cages
any brave citizens who V. Putin
deems dissidents who speak seek

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.

Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.

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poem by Byron
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