Citatepedia^®.com

Olympia

When i went to school in Olympia and everyone's the same
And so are you in Olympia and everyone's the same
We look the same, we talk the same
Baby, baby, baby, baby
Won't you please make me real oh no
Make me real oh no
Make me real oh no
Hurt me
I went to school with Calvin
Hey, hey, hey, hey
And what do you do with a revolution
I went to school in Olympia
Baby, baby, baby, baby
And everyone's the same
And so are you in Olympia
Won't you please make me real, make me sick
Make me real, make it stick
Make me real
Do it for the kids some more
Fascist sexists
I went to school in Olympia
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

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

Girls Get The Bass In The Back (feat. Bounty Killer) (Hey Baby Remix)

Hey baby, baby (4x)
All the boys say
Hey, hey... (2x)
All the boys say (3x)
Hey, hey... (2x)
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
I'm the kind of girl
That hangs with the guys
Like a fly in the wall
With my secret eyes
Taking it in
Try to be feminine
With my make-up bag
Watching all the sin
Misfit, I sit
Lit up, wicked
Everybody is surrounded by the girls
With the tank tops and the flirty words
I'm just sipping on chamomile
I'm watching boys and girls and their sex appeal
With a stranger in my face who says he knows my mom
And went to my high school
All the boys say
Hey baby, hey baby
Girls say, girls say
Hey baby, baby
All the boys say
Hey baby, hey baby
Girls say, girls say
Hey baby, baby
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Girls say, girls say
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Hey baby, baby
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Boys say, boys say
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
All the boys get the girls in the back
I'm the one they feed upon
Give a bit a star is born
And if you have enough you'll get the pass
And you can tell your friends how you made it back
No matter what they say I'm still the same
Somehow everybody knows my name
And all the girls wanna get with the boys
And the boys really like it
All the boys say
Hey baby, hey baby
Girls say, girls say

[...] Read more

song performed by No Doubt
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

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.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto II

While thus a mind humane, and wise, he shows,
All-eloquent of truth his language flows.
Youth, tho' depress'd, thro' all his form appears;
Thro' all his sentiments the depth of years.
Thus he-Yet farther Industry behold,
Which conscious waits new wonders to unfold.
Enter my chapel next-Lo! here begin
The hallow'd rites, that check the growth of sin.
When first we met, how soon you seem'd to know
My bosom, lab'ring with the throbs of woe!
Such racking throbs!-Soft! when I rouse those cares,
On my chill'd mind pale Recollection glares!
When moping Frenzy strove my thoughts to sway,
Here prudent labours chas'd her pow'r away.
Full, and rough-rising from yon sculptur'd wall,
Bold prophets, nations to repentance call!
Meek martyrs smile in flames! gor'd champions groan!
And muse-like cherubs tune their harps in stone!
Next shadow'd light a rounding force bestows,
Swells into life, and speaking action grows!
Here pleasing, melancholy subjects find,
To calm, amuse, exalt the pensive mind!
This figure tender grief, like mine, implies,
And semblant thoughts, that earthly pomp despise.
Such penitential Magdalene reveals;
Loose-veil'd, in negligence of charms she kneels.
Tho' dress, near-stor'd, its vanity supplies,
The vanity of dress unheeded lies.
The sinful world in sorrowing eye she keeps,
As o'er Jerusalem Messiah weeps.
One hand her bosom smites; in one appears
The lifted lawn, that drinks her falling tears.

Since evil outweighs good, and sways mankind,
True fortitude assumes the patient mind:
Such prov'd Messiah's, tho' to suff'ring born,
To penury, repulse, reproach and scorn.
Here, by the pencil, mark his flight design'd:
The weary'd virgin by a stream reclin'd,
Who feeds the child. Her looks a charm express,
A modest charm, that dignifies distress.
Boughs o'er their heads with blushing fruits depend,
Which angels to her busied consort bend.
Hence by the smiling infant seems discern'd,
Trifles, concerning Him, all heav'n, concern'd.

Here the transfigur'd Son from earth retires:
See! the white form in a bright cloud aspires!

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Savage
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Bug

Mother Earth, can you feed us now?
Feed me now, feed me now
Mother Earth, can you see us now?
Hold me down, hold me down
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Mother Earth, can you feed us now?
Burst the bug, be forever loved
Hold me down, you can't hold me down
Break the bones, throw your stones
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
Feed me now, see me now
Mother Earth, can you see us now?
Throw the stones, throw the stones
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution

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

Hey Baby

Hey baby, baby
Hey, hey, hey hey, hey hey child.
Child, child, oh.
Hey, hey, baby,
Hey, hey, hey, hey hey, child.
Say come on baby and tell me one more time
Alright, honey, come on baby and tell about it one more time
I said 25 minutes is all I have at hand.
Said go, go and take me in your arms
Say go and take me in your arms
You can buy me a house, you can buy me anything you want.
I want a house in the country at the time that I think came on
I want a house in the country at the time that I think came on
So Ill call you baby once when I need any more, hey!
Hey, hey, baby hey.
Hey, hey, baby hey.
Hey, hey, baby hey.
I said hey, hey, baby hey.
Oh, hey, hey, baby hey.
Hey, hey, baby hey.
Hey, hey, hey, baby hey
Hey, hey, hey, baby hey
Hey, hey, hey, baby hey.
I said hey, hey, hey, baby hey, hey!!!
Hey, hey, hey, baby hey
Hey, hey, hey, baby hey.
Have a ham sandwich ?

song performed by Janis Joplin
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Drivin With Your Eyes Closed

I met a frenchman in a field last night
He was out there with an easel,
Painting carnival light
He said, I used to paint the princess;
I used to paint the frogs
Now I paint mustaches on dangerous dogs
He said, sometimes its a country;
Sometimes its a girl
You, everybody got to have a purpose
In this world
You yankees are so silly about matters of
The heart
Dont you know that women are the only
Works of art
Youre drivin with your eyes closed
Youre drivin with your eyes closed
Youre drivin with your eyes closed
Youre gonna hit somethin
But thats the way it goes
Some guys were born to rimbaud
Some guys breathe baudelaire
Some guys just got to go and put
Their rockets everywhere
You can breed em by the thousands;
You can trick and you can train
Just look at all those poor dogs that are
Dragged down bu the seine
How many arrows must I shoot into the
Blue?
Ah, you little maniac, Im crazy over you
Before the dearth of lovers and
The punishment of pride
Lets go scrape out on the terrazzo
Its just to hot outside
Youre drivin with your eyes closed
Youre drivin with your eyes closed
Youre drivin with your eyes closed
Youre gonna hit somethin
But thats the way it goes
Talk talk, talk and talk
Talk talk, sweet talk
Talk talk, tough talk
Talk talk, dirty talk
Talk talk, walk and talk
Talk talk, big talk
Kiss kiss, kiss
Talk talk, talk and talk
Talk talk, smooth talk
Talk talk, body talk
Talk talk, back talk

[...] Read more

song performed by Don Henley
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Love Revolution

This is gettin old baby
Time for a real change
Time to turn our whole world around
cause I been getting restless now
Wondering whats up between you and me
Is gettin me down
Weve been hangin on for far too long
Somehow everything went wrong
Were in a place we dont belong anymore
You know that its true baby
So Ill see you around
Just walk away until you can make
A love revolution (love revolution)
And come back to me
Just do whatever it takes
Whatever you need to make
A love revolution (love revolution)
For you baby, for me baby
I said love, love revolution
I said love, love revolution
Hey Im not afraid to change
Inside and out baby
With or without you by my side
Its time to scream and shout
Let all these feelings out
Find out whats happening inside
Take away the borders inside your head
And youll see other things instead
Realize the life weve led is all over now
You know that its true baby
So Ill see you around
Just walk away until you can make
A love revolution (love revolution)
And come back to me
Just do whatever it takes
Whatever you need to make
A love revolution (love revolution)
For you baby, for me baby
I said love, love revolution
I said love, love revolution
If were gonna turn the world around
Its time that we get down to it
If were gonna turn the world around
Its time that we get down to it
Now I know that theres another way
And Im not waiting one more day
To make love revolution
For you baby, for me baby
And I wanna be around
When your walls come tumbling down

[...] Read more

song performed by Belinda Carlisle
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Orlando Furioso Canto 10

ARGUMENT
Another love assails Bireno's breast,
Who leaves one night Olympia on the shore.
To Logistilla's holy realm addressed,
Rogero goes, nor heeds Alcina more:
Him, of that flying courser repossest,
The hippogryph on airy voyage bore:
Whence he the good Rinaldo's levy sees,
And next Angelica beholds and frees.

I
Of all the loves, of all fidelity
Yet proved, of all the constant hearts and true,
Of all the lovers, in felicity
Or sorrow faithful found, a famous crew,
To Olympia I would give the first degree
Rather than second: if this be not due,
I well may say that hers no tale is told
Of truer love, in present times or old.

II
And this she by so many proofs and clear,
Had made apparent to the Zealand lord,
No woman's faith more certain could appear
To man, though he her open heart explored:
And if fair truth such spirits should endear,
And they in mutual love deserve reward,
Bireno as himself, nay, he above
Himself, I say, should kind Olympia love.

III
Not only should he nevermore deceive
Her for another, were that woman she
Who so made Europe and wide Asia grieve,
Or fairer yet, if one more fair there be;
But rather that quit her the light should leave,
And what is sweet to taste, touch, hear, and see,
And life and fame, and all beside; if aught
More precious can in truth be styled, or thought.

IV
If her Bireno loved, as she had loved
Bireno, if her love he did repay
With faith like hers, and still with truth unmoved,
Veered not his shifting sail another way;
Or ingrate for such service - cruel proved
For such fair love and faith, I now will say;
And you with lips comprest and eye-brows bent,
Shall listen to the tale for wonderment;

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Orlando Furioso Canto 10

ARGUMENT
Another love assails Bireno's breast,
Who leaves one night Olympia on the shore.
To Logistilla's holy realm addressed,
Rogero goes, nor heeds Alcina more:
Him, of that flying courser repossest,
The hippogryph on airy voyage bore:
Whence he the good Rinaldo's levy sees,
And next Angelica beholds and frees.

I
Of all the loves, of all fidelity
Yet proved, of all the constant hearts and true,
Of all the lovers, in felicity
Or sorrow faithful found, a famous crew,
To Olympia I would give the first degree
Rather than second: if this be not due,
I well may say that hers no tale is told
Of truer love, in present times or old.

II
And this she by so many proofs and clear,
Had made apparent to the Zealand lord,
No woman's faith more certain could appear
To man, though he her open heart explored:
And if fair truth such spirits should endear,
And they in mutual love deserve reward,
Bireno as himself, nay, he above
Himself, I say, should kind Olympia love.

III
Not only should he nevermore deceive
Her for another, were that woman she
Who so made Europe and wide Asia grieve,
Or fairer yet, if one more fair there be;
But rather that quit her the light should leave,
And what is sweet to taste, touch, hear, and see,
And life and fame, and all beside; if aught
More precious can in truth be styled, or thought.

IV
If her Bireno loved, as she had loved
Bireno, if her love he did repay
With faith like hers, and still with truth unmoved,
Veered not his shifting sail another way;
Or ingrate for such service - cruel proved
For such fair love and faith, I now will say;
And you with lips comprest and eye-brows bent,
Shall listen to the tale for wonderment;

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Rocknroll / Nightclubbing

Lyrics reproduced from holiday 80 - japanese 12
(as interpreted by virgin records japan)
(accuracy is not guaranteed)
Rocknroll, rock, rocknroll
Rocknroll, rock, rocknroll
Do you still recall in the juke box hall when the music played
And the world span around to a brand new sound of those far off days
In their blue suede shoes they would scream and shout
And theyd sing the blues, let it all hang out
Rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
A rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
Rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
Rocknroll, rock, rocknroll
A rocknroll, rock
Took the queen of bop to the high school hop, dancing to the beat
With a u.s. male and her pony tail, well she looked so sweet
Times are changing fast but we wont forget, though that age is past, well be rockin yet
Rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
A rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
Rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
Rocknroll, rock, rocknroll
A rocknroll, rock
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
(repeat again and again and again and again and again and again)
Do you still recall in the juke box hall when the music played
And the world span around to a brand new sound of those far off days
Times are changing fast but we wont forget
Though that age is past, well be rockin yet
Rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
A rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
Rocknroll - hey! - rocknroll
Rocknroll, rock, rocknroll
A rocknroll, rock
Night clubbing, were night clubbing
Were whats happening
Night clubbing, were night clubbing
Were on this machine
We meet people, brand new people
Theyre something to see when youre
Night clubbing, were night clubbing
Oh, well soon make love
Night clubbing, were night clubbing
Were walking through town
Night clubbing, were night clubbing
We rock like a ghost
We learn dances, brand new dances
Like the nuclear bomb, when were
Night clubbing, the right, white clubbing

[...] Read more

song performed by Human League
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

One Star In The Dirty Window

for the occupiers of Wall Street

One star in the window and that’s enough to see me through the darkness for another night. Trying to weave a flying carpet out of a snakepit. Toxic wavelengths of mind. Poison arrowheads that make it worse to be wounded than killed outright. And all over Perth tonight I imagine there are bruised hearts like mine and yours turning cyanotically blue from having drunk from the same tainted wellsprings of life like fish that have no choice. The apples of October have been laced with the razorblades of Halloween by the psychopathic tree that hands them out like treats to the children in the doorway of an upright coffin. And the leaves are burning up in a fever of arsenic. Spiders work the loom like the strings of the system that hooks us by our gills in its seine nets until the great wild seas of our awareness and the dangerous freedom to look for new ungovernable continents within us so we can flee the corporate corruption of this one is reduced to the neurotic dimensions of a fish farm. If you are poor. If you’re worried about how to pay the rent this month. If it’s winter and there are harpies and sprites and ghouls threatening to turn the gas, the lights, the elements of life off like trolls under the bridge your money built to bilk you until it collapses from lack of repair. If you don’t how you’re going to manage to buy your kid a birthday present this year and you’re even more afraid of Christmas. If you’re poor and your prospects are as bleak as this deserted street tonight now all the ladys-in-waiting, princes, jesters, and warring kings have called it a night and emptied their street court like a bar. If you’re chronically tortured by the rags of dignity with the blood of a lost cause upon them like something that cost your mother and father their lives to fight for. And you’re ashamed of the straitjacket you’ve been forced to wear in order to have some overseer raise a spoon to your lips three exact times of the day like banking hours and GST cheques. If you smoulder with rage like a underground cedar fire burning in your roots like fuses of lightning afraid to explode. If you’re poor. If the weight of the world is on your back heavier than any cross the spiritual spin doctors of the complicit church and their political henchmen encourage you to carry like a virtue all the way to a fabricated heaven on the installment plan, but you can’t bear the load as a volunteer stretcher-bearer anymore, carrying your own corpse to the grave, while they rave in the wealth of what they have deprived you of here and now. If you’re poor. If you feel like a subliminal archetype of guilt in the collective unconscious of a society of quisling theosophists and weight-concscious c.e.o.’s sitting down to salads of money they eat out of the skulls of the children they’ve starved to death. If you don’t make enough money in Oregon to appeal to hypocritic oaths that sit on decisive committees to see if your son is worthy of a kidney transplant. An education. Piano lessons. A future that isn’t always an echo worse than the voices we heard yesterday protesting to the vampires that without a free blood bank they didn’t stand a chance of surviving the contributions they’re expected to make at night. If you’re poor in a chilly apartment in Perth tonight and you’re being eaten alive by the eggs that have been laid on your forehead like the living host to sustain the young of the killer bees that have sewn their nettles in the honey of life like the military-industrial complex of the hive. If you’re poor and you don’t get one year’s free subscription to satellite radio on the bus you have to take to work every morning surrounded by ads for the latest Ford-150 pick up truck ready to do a man’s work at the dropp of a hard hat and then go hunting in the country, and the new black paint is trying to imitate the skin of a naked woman, because your sex life depends on what you drive, and the sumptuary laws of the lies you’re allowed to wear like a Roman triumph are too stringent to get the dirt out of the dowdy greens and browns of your serfdom long enough to get laid by the calendar girls who sit like mermaids on a brand new truck, but have never sung to you. If you’re the poor wretch sitting in the doorway of the Bank of Nova Scotia across Foster Street in the small hours of the morning like a bird that gets to pick the parasites off the back of the hippopotamus that keeps rolling over on you in your sleep. For a fee. To hold up your end of a symbiotic relationship whereby you’re expected to eat shit and call it your daily bread. Eat humiliation, a ration of rat meat, and call it a just portion. Eat your education like bitter food for thought when you see how the fascistic ignorance of antediluvian fat men and their gold-digging wives are dignified by the juke-box of the news as if the point of view of a maggot on how to turn base metal into a gold butterfly it will never become were worthy of the same air time they give to eagles. One hundred news outlets with the same six slug lines like the top hits of the day. Catastrophe du jour. With rescued puppy stories for the trimmings. Eat information like the news. It’s Chinese food of the mind. Not very filling. With a fortune-cookie and a fat tape worm of better things to come wrapped around your bowels like the noose of a downed powerline that spared the cost of the rope to lynch you by your large intestine. If you’re poor and you’re always the falling leaf and never the apple. If you’re poor and it’s always autumn to judge by the banks of junkmail and bills that are swept up on your doorsill at all times of the year. If you’re poor and you’re punished for being out on the streets after curfew for having dropped through the cracks of your caste by a neocon leper colony privatized by the messianic lobbyists of free enterprise with one finger on the scales of equal opportunity because there isn’t a feather’s worth of good in them when they go before the jackal god of death and their grubby hearts are found wanting. If you’re poor and you’re listening to the North Carolina state legislature discussing your extermination in the civic minded tones of the Pied Piper of Hamlin and you’re eating your self-respect like the plague rat of why the rich suffer. Because in their creationist myth your womb is the enemy of the state. And you the infectious carrier of the pestilence. If you’re poor and sitting by the window on a warped floor behind the heritage field stones of an upstairs ghetto apartment in Perth feeling like the second coming of the Irish potato famine with no where to emigrate this time to be third in line below the Scotch and English on the food chain. If you’re poor. Tattoo this on your forehead like an Egyptian destiny you and your eyes will live to see fulfilled. It’s not your fault. Even if you’ve given up. Even if you’re gaping like zero, like absolute nothing, between two hissing sibilants of a serpentine medical symbol unravelling. And the dragon’s lost its wings. And the physician doesn’t care enough to heal himself because he’s lost his faith in oaths. Or dangerous hope has given way to futile despair and they’re both siblings of the absurd. It’s not your fault that you were born into a society where even the mirages in this desert of stars are bundled and sold like real estate. That illusions and diseases apply for patents of ownership. That even the constellations have become the work of surveyors not shepherds on a hillside and the poor are being foreclosed and evicted from the signs of the zodiac because they can’t pay the rent or the mortgage on the house they were born into. Or the hydro on the stars. Even if your spinal cord tinkles like the burnt out filament of a dead lightbulb and the shining’s gone out. It’s not your fault if the universe that was airlifted to you at birth as your portion of life with nothing missing was intercepted and sold at prices that eat their own on the black market of free enterprise for the poor, or they couldn’t afford it, and socialism for the rich because they couldn’t survive without you. You might be like the sea in the lowest place of all but all things flow like rivers down into you. And the depth of the valley of shadows and death you’re walking through alone is a function of the height of the mountain that digs it like a grave it will be buried in. When all the grains of sand like stars come together they make a sea of waves where life thrives in the here and now spontaneously not a pyramid for the sake of a single capstone whose happy afterlife is founded on quicksand.
Saw a huge spiderweb once under a streetlamp at Carleton University thirty-six years ago. Six spiders, their abdomens obese as lightbulbs, six tumours ripening on the panicked cells and neural networks of more frenzied insects drawn to the light out of the dark than their webs were meant to accommodate. The webs were ripping under the weight of the horrified fruits of their gluttony stuck in the powerlines like kites and running shoes and treacherous parachutes. The dew spangled veils of the morning were being torn off like consumerist dream catchers to entice the mob to the artificial radiance of the light that drove them crazy. But the spiders were too satiate to move. And they were being pulled down along with their prey under the massive superflux of their immensely successful catastrophe. Pleonaxia. The disease of more and more and more. And all the insects had to do because the conglomerate spiders were too immobilized by the obscenity of their gigantism to stick an ice-pick in the back of Trotsky’s neck in Cuba was to keep a cool enough head to extricate themselves puppet string by puppet string, spinal cord by spinal cord, straitjacket by straitjacket, wing by wing from the web. But most were paralyzed by their own fear waiting for the fatal moment of the ruinous agenda to come like a budget cutting knife to end their nightmare. And after all these years that terrible insight still provides me with blood-freezing metaphors into the present economic system that preys upon the poor by beading the foodchain with black thoraxes as if they were the ninety-nine names of God and it were a rosary we could all say our novinas on pleading for more lifeboats and happier lifelines than the rigging of this ship of state that’s going down with all of us aboard as the captains of industry jump like rats in Genoa back into the year 1348 when there were corpses galore to feed on.
If you’re poor. Come to the revolution but leave your guillotine at home. Come to the revolution but leave Lenin in Geneva. Come to the revolution like Wat Tyler but don’t believe the promises of the king. Come to the revolution like Spartacus but don’t put your faith in pirates to provide you with the means of escape. Come to the revolution like Toussaint L’Ouverture in Haiti but first drive the fer de lance out of your sugar-cane so that no innocent bystanders get bit as an off-handed matter of population control. Come to the revolution like Aung San Suu Kyi ready to sit down in the teahouses of Burma to pry the fingers of the junta off the throats of the people like the petals of a flower whose time has come to let go. Come to the revolution like Ghandi walking all the way to the sea to turn the pillars of British imperialism to salt without all the fire and brimstone of Sodom and Gomorrah. Come like him to the revolution as a leader who knew how to follow his people. Come to the revolution like Helen Keller who stood up to the Rupert Murdochs of the age who were more in need of signage than she was on behalf of the rights of the working people and declared Oh, ridiculous Brooklyn Eagle! What an ungallant bird it is! Socially blind and deaf, it defends a system that’s intolerable. The Eagle and I are at war. Come to the revolution like Nelson Mandela to an international rugby match in the uniform of a Springbok scrum half to show that over-rated hatred can’t make a comeback over the jubilation of people in play with one another in time enough to win. Come to the revolution like Victor Jara and the Chilean art brigades and bring that guitar and that voice he left us that you’ve been wanting to play for decades with a compassionate feel for the sorrows of others right down to the tips of your social democratic fingerprints as if you weren’t born too late to celebrate a lost cause with a Cinderella story right out the social pages of the mid-sixties into the front page slug lines of msnbc news today. And remember it’s better to sing sincerely than well when you’ve got Bob Dylan for a voice coach. Come to the revolution like Tuwakal Karman of Yemen like the first coffee flower of the Arab Spring to raise her voice against Ali Abdullah Saleh in the name of human rights and freedom of expression. Come to the revolution like Martin Luther to the church door in Wittenburg and post your thirty-three articles of protest but don’t think because you throw inkwells at the devil that’s the same as writing your name in blood on the marble of Wall Street or a war memorial for the dead of Vietnam. Come like George Washington to the American Revolution ready to lay your power down as a sign of complete victory over what satisfies the industrial complexity of the generals’ hearts. Come like Barack Obama to the wellsprings of a cleaner watershed than that which flowed like the corrupt ditches of the tainted bloodstreams of Eden like the four rivers of the running sores of the trickle down economics of the political food chain that ran before him for office by putting a carrot in front of a donkey and all your eggs in one basket in front of a rampaging elephant. Come to the revolution like Emmeline Pankhurst to a hunger strike in a game of cat and mouse with the government who’ll catch you and let you go to fatten you up and keep you from being force fed before they arrest you again for throwing your weight around like Emily Davison at the king’s horse in the name of wanting to run like a candidate at the same race track without the handicap of not being able to vote. Come to the revolution like Dolores Jiminez y Muro with a political plan to give Emiliano Zapata a Mexican classroom of political reform worth dying for. If you’re poor, as Kurt Cobain said, come as you are. And if Jesus doesn’t want you for a sunbeam then come as a cloud. Come as a mountain. Come as a full eclipse of the moon or a loveletter that someone sent back or come as seven come eleven and trust in your luck when the dice are not loaded like skulls with no eyes against you.

poem by Patrick White
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Dont Talk To Strangers

When you were just a young girl and still in school
How come you never learned the golden rule
Dont talk to strange men, dont be a fool
Im hearing stories, I dont think thats cool
Why dont you tell me, someone is loving you
Cause youre my girl, some say its no longer true
Youre seeing some slick continental dude
Im begging you, please
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk, dont talk, dont talk,
Dont talk, dont talk to him
Nobody, talk, nobody, ever told you, dont talk
Now tell me, hows life in the big city
I hear the competitions tough, baby thats a pity
And every mans an actor, every girl is pretty
I dont like whats getting back to me
Now whos this, don juan Ive been hearing of
Love hurts when only ones in love
Did you fall at first sight or did you need a shove
Im begging you, please
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk, dont talk, dont talk,
Dont talk, dont talk to him
Nobody, talk, nobody ever told you, dont talk
*fais lamour avec moi (*make love to me)
Whats he saying baby
*viens dormir, mon amour (*come to sleep my love)
I asked you not to talk to him
*je taime donne moi ton coeur ce soir (*i like you to give me your heart this night)
Im begging you
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk, dont talk, dont talk,
Dont talk, dont talk to him
Nobody, talk, nobody ever told you, dont talk
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you,
Baby dont you talk,
Dont talk to strangers

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hey, Hey, Hey

(words & music by joy byers)
All right girls, Ill show you what to do
This boat will sparkle like a diamond when we get through
By the numbers there aint much time
Were gonna start an assembly line
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
You get the sandpaper, you get the pails
You get the hammer baby, you get the nails
You get the paint, you get the brush
cause were gonna give it the special touch
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
We got a magic potion that will help us win
I dont know how to spell it but dip right in
Blako-oxy-tonic phosphate, its the latest scoop
But thats all right girls you can call it goop
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Work the sandpaper, hammer that nail
Tote that paintbrush and lift that pail
Get a rhythm going, nice and easy
Come on and use a little elbow greasy
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
O.k. girls, were all through
Im gonna tell you what were gonna do
Well fall right down and have some fun
And Im gonna kiss you all one by one
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Huh, huh, huh
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Huh, huh, huh
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

I Am An American Indian

Ahwhoo-ooo hey hey ah whoo hey hey...
Ahhhwhoo-ooo hey hey ahhh hey!

Ahwhoo-ooo hey hey ah whoo hey hey...
Ahhhwhoo-ooo hey hey ahhh hey!

I am an American Indian more than an image to fade.
I am an American Indian more than an image to fade,
Away!
I am an American Indian more than an image to fade.
I am an American Indian more than an image to fade,
Away!

Ahwhoo-ooo hey hey ah whoo hey hey...
Ahhhwhoo-ooo hey hey ahhh hey!

Ahwhoo-ooo hey hey ah whoo hey hey...
Ahhhwhoo-ooo hey hey ahhh hey!

On the prairies I would hunt and stay and pray,
And worshop the 'Deities' high.
I would wear the warpaint when invaded,
Chasing enemies away.

Ahwhoo-ooo hey hey ah whoo hey hey...
Ahhhwhoo-ooo hey hey ahhh hey!

Peaceful living in a brother giving,
And dedicated to nature everyday.
Never from my heritage did I stray.
Or ever would be enslaved.

Ahwhoo-ooo hey hey ah whoo hey hey...
Ahhhwhoo-ooo hey hey ahhh hey!

I am an American Indian more than an image to fade.
I am an American Indian more than an image to fade,
Away!
I am an American Indian more than an image to fade.
I am an American Indian more than an image to fade,
Away!

On the prairies I would hunt and stay and pray,
And worship the 'Deities' high.
Aye, aye,
I'd would wear the warpaint when and if invaded,
Chasing my enemies away.
And faithful to my heritage I am...
Never far away to stray.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Revolution Calling

For a price Id do about anything
Except pull the trigger
For that Id need a pretty good cause
Then I heard of dr. x
The man with the cure
Just watch the television
Yeah, youll see theres something going on
Got no love for politicians
Or that crazy scene in d.c.
Its just a power mad town
But the time is ripe for changes
Theres a growing feeling
That taking a chance on a new kind of vision is due
I used to trust the media
To tell me the truth, tell us the truth
But now Ive seen the payoffs
Everywhere I look
Who do you trust when everyones a crook?
Revolution calling
Revolution calling
Revolution calling you
[theres a] revolution calling
Revolution calling
Gotta make a change
Gotta push, gotta push it on through
Im tired of all this bullshit
They keep selling me on t.v.
About the communist plan
And all the shady preachers
Begging for my cash
Swiss bank accounts while giving their
Secretaries the slam
Theyre all in penthouse now
Or playboy magazine, million dollar stories to tell
I guess warhol wasnt wrong
Fame fifteen minutes long
Everyones using everybody, making the sale
I used to think
That only americas way, way was right
But now the holy dollar rules everybodys lives
Gotta make a million doesnt matter who dies
Revolution calling
Revolution calling
Revolution calling you
[theres a] revolution calling
Revolution calling
Gotta make a change
Gotta push, gotta push it on through
I used to trust the media
To tell me the truth, tell us the truth

[...] Read more

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

Mama Talk To Your Daughter

Talk to your daughter
(J B Lenoir)
Mama, mama please talk to your daughter bout me
Mama, mama please talk to your daughter bout me
She made me love her and I aint gonna leave her be
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
She made me love her and I aint gonna leave her be
I aint gonna stand no quitting and she wont have me around
I aint gonna stand no quitting and she wont have me around
If she got me a ride, shed be six feet in the ground
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
She made me love her and I aint gonna leave her be
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
You should talk to your daughter (talk, talk)
She made me love her and I aint gonna leave her be

song performed by Robert Palmer
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Orlando Furioso Canto 11

ARGUMENT
Assisted by the magic ring she wears,
Angelica evanishes from view.
Next in a damsel, whom a giant bears
Beneath his arm, his bride Rogero true
Beholds. Orlando to the shore repairs,
Where the fell orc so many damsels slew;
Olympia frees, and spoils the beast of life:
Her afterwards Oberto takes to wife.

I
Although a feeble rein, in mid career,
Will oft suffice to stop courageous horse;
'Tis seldom Reason's bit will serve to steer
Desire, or turn him from his furious course,
When pleasure is in reach: like headstrong bear,
Whom from the honeyed meal 'tis ill to force,
If once he scent the tempting mess, or sup
A drop, which hangs upon the luscious cup.

II
What reason then Rogero shall withhold
From taking with Angelica delight, -
That gentle maid, there naked in his hold,
In the lone forest, and secure from sight?
Of Bradamant he thinks not, who controlled
His bosom erst: and foolish were the knight,
If thinking of that damsel as before,
By this he had not set an equal store;

III
Warmed by whose youthful beauties, the severe
Xenocrates would not have been more chaste.
The impatient Child had dropt both shield and spear,
And hurrying now his other arms uncased;
When, casting down her eyes in shame and fear,
The virtuous ring upon her finger placed,
Angelica descried, and which of yore
From her Brunello in Albracca bore.

IV
This is the ring she carried into France,
When thither first the damsel took her way;
With her the brother, bearer of the lance,
After, the paladin, Astolpho's prey.
With this she Malagigi's spells and trance
Made vain by Merlin's stair; and on a day
Orlando freed, with many knights and good,
From Dragontina's cruel servitude:

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Revolution

More calm than a heartbeat that flat lines
Quiet like a dark street under the moonlight
A phrase of action that's been screamed from the guts of men
Ever since they're first experienced
Injustice, prejudice, discrimination
A word louder than a gunshot
And softer than a baby's laugh, it will pass
Just like it always has. Until it spits off the lips of
The next man who's had it up to here.
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head?
Is that what it takes to make a solution
solution
not the first or the last to imagine it
Acknowledge the concepts, question and grasp it
Rebel against the I, and bring down the self.
Mutiny me! overthrow you
Rebellion starts within, the time is now
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head?
Is that what it takes to make a solution, solution
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head?
Is that what it takes to make a solution
Your Revolution
Purple skies, Devil eyes, Hypnotize
Little lies, Compromise, Fireflies
Samurias, Parasite, Fly by night, After light, Materialize,
Look alive, Stereotype, Do with die, lullaby, black and white
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head? your revolution
Is that what it takes to make a solution, solution, your revolution
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or at least it's been said, your revolution
Is that what it takes to make a solution?
Your Revolution
No resolution -Your Revolution
what's your solution? -Your Revolution
And no substitution -Your Revolution
And no resolution -Your Revolution
not your solution

song performed by P.O.D.
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Straight Talk

Gimme some straight talk, straight talk -- and hold the sugar please
Straight talk, straight talk -- sounds plenty sweet to me
Dont talk to me in circles in some mumbo-jumbo jive
Gimme just straight talk, straight talk and were gonna be alright
cause I like to know just where I stand, I dont like guessing games
And I hate a bunch of gibberish, so just spit it out real plain
Dont use big educated words from your bs degree
Straight talk, straight talk -- dont try b.s.-ing me
Straight talk, straight talk -- turn loose and let it go
You can tell me anything -- just like on oprahs show
Just tell me how you really feel, be on the up and up
With questions I can understand -- for answers you can trust
Pick up the phone, youre not alone -- weve all got something to say
So listen in and listen up -- well find a better way
With honesty and common sense, its really hard to miss
Straight talk, straight talk -- just tellin it like it is
Straight talk, straight talk -- theres nothing like the truth
Just tell me all your troubles -- pretend Im donahue
So dont be shy, cause we can talk -- you know youve got a friend
Call me, call me -- for simple straight talkin
Whats cookin, america?
Straight talk, straight talk
Straight talk, straight talk
So some on lets talk turkey, just straight and to the point
About passions, about problems, about noses out of joint
Now I want you all to know I care and I do understand
And hey, thanks for lending me and ear out there in radioland
Give me some straight talk, straight talk -- dont sugar coat it please
Straight talk, straight talk -- sounds sweet enough to me
But dont talk to me in circles, in your mumbo-jumbo jive
Straight talk, straight talk -- and were gonna be alright
Straight talk, straight talk -- makes plenty sense to me
Dont talk to me in circles, in your mumbo-jumbo jive
Gimme just straight talk, straight talk -- and were gonna be alright
Gimme just straight talk, straight talk -- and were gonna be alright

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Who Hurts Whom?

Hurt, is that lesson of life,
Perfect pool of Imperfects,

A kid may get hurt
Or may hurt its parents too
its parents may hurt
Or may hurt their kid too,

A brother may get hurt,
or he may hurt brothers and sisters too,
Sister gets hurt
Or she may hurt her brothers and sisters too,

Mother gets hurt or she my may hurt father too.
Father may get hurt Or may hurt mother too,

A friend gets hurt
Or may hurt his friend too!
A lover get hurts, or may hurt one's lover too,

Teacher may gets hurt
Or may hurt student too
Student gets hurt Or he may hurt his teacher too,

Life is a pool of Imperfects
And only Imperfects can perfect life,
And life is that greatest class room,
Where the greatest and perfect teacher teaches perfect lessons,

But life when teaches, we just close the chapter,
'saying it is our fate! '

Is it true that one has to hurt others to make his living?
Living a life, and make a Living aren't the differ?

People are determined to build life than live a life,
Where one may hurt others,

This the story of Buddha asking kisa Gouthami ' I will save your child, but bring handful of mustard from a home where death not entered! '

This is the story,
'I will heal your hurts, if you can bring some dust of a man's feet, whoever neither got hurt nor hurt others! '

Life a that teaches and hurt is that lesson,
Which shows the one who hurts is Imperfect than who gets hurt,
Both are still imperfect,
The one got hurt is more imperfect,
And he is the one who hurts himself,
by his desires and expectations,
He is the one who gives chance to others to hurt,

[...] Read more

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!