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On The Death Of K. Edward The First

Alle, that beoth of huerte trewe,
A stounde herkneth to my song
Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe,
That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among;
Of a knyght, that wes so strong,
Of wham God hath don ys wille;
Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong,
That he so sone shall ligge stille.

Al Englond ahte for te knowe
Of wham that song is, that y synge;
Of Edward Kyng, that lith so lowe,
Zent al this world is nome con springe:
Trewest mon of all thinge,
Ant in werre war ant wys,
For him we ahte oure honden wrynge,
Of Christendome he ber the prys.

Byfore that oure kyng was ded,
He spek ase mon that wes in care,

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Blow, Northern Wind

ICHOT a burde in boure bryht,
That fully semly is on syht,
Menskful maiden of myht;
   Feir ant fre to fonde;
In al this wurhliche won
A burde of blod ant of bon
Never yete y nuste non
   Lussomore in londe.
   Blou northerne wynd!
   Send thou me my suetyng!
   Blou northerne wynd! blou, blou, blou!

With lokkes lefliche ant longe,
With frount ant face feir to fonge,
With murthes monie mote heo monge,
   That brid so breme in boure.
With lossom eye grete ant gode,
With browen blysfol under hode,
He that reste him on the Rode,
   That leflych lyf honoure.

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poem by Anonymous
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Another Conversa Mi Amiga....

i am proud to say, i do not hide my ignorance and lapses 7: 06 AM
but i always hide my eggs 7: 06 AM



Me

h ehehe 7: 06 AM






for fear that it may get burned 7: 07 AM

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Blow, Northern Wind

Blow, northerne wynd,
Send thou me my suetyng!
Blow, northerne wynd,
Blou, blou, blou!

Ichot a burde in bour{.e} bryht,
That fully semly is on syht,
Menskful maiden of myht,
Feir ant fre to fond{.e};
In al this wurhlich{.e} won,
A burde of blod and of bon
Never yete y nust{.e} non
Lussomore in lond{.e}.

With lokk{.e}s lefliche and long{.e},
With frount and fac{.e} feir to fong{.e},
With murth{.e}s moni{.e} mote heo mong{.e},
That brid so breme in bour{.e};
With lossom ey{.e}, grete ant god{.e},
With browen blysfol under hod{.e};

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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What is it?

What is it that looks like an ant?
Walks like an ant, falls in line like an ant,
Smells like an ant, eats like an ant,
Crawls like an ant, and thinks like an ant.

Of course, nothing but

An ant

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Snake-Doctor

Once I found an ant-lion's hole
And an ant-lion in it: nippers
Like a pair of rusty clippers.
And I saw a red ant roll
In its pit, and, quick as Ned,
This old ant-lion fanged its head,
Held it till the ant was dead.

II.

And I told my father: he
Smiled and said, 'He beats the dickens,
With his pinchers; even chickens
Have n't his voracity.
Think now what he would have done
Had you been an ant, my son,
Fallen in that pit like one.

III.

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poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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If there's God why I die

‘’Is there God then why I die’’
Wife of ant says
‘’ Why wife of ant says if there’s God
Why I die, filthy feminine house I will
Burn down and leave’’
God says

‘’Is there God then why my children die’’
Wife of ant says’’
‘’Why wife of ant says if there’s God
Why my children die, filthy clitorising rain giraffe, I will sow seed of hairy itching grass under her feet, will grow to waist’’
God says

Wife ant opened her head to sun
She asks
‘’ Is there anything worst on earth than
Soaking of my waist in mourning tears for years
Wuw nothing’’
God rubbed his nose, nguu….
Says ‘’I will see who’s strong

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poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Ant

There's an ant crawling up your back in the nighttime
There's an ant crawling up your back in the nighttime
But you think that's okay while you're sleeping
That ant crawls in your head in the nighttime
That ant crawled in your head in the nighttime
But you think that's okay while you're sleeping
Someday, that ant, he will grow up to be President
Someday, that ant, he will grow up to be President
But you think that's okay while you're sleeping
The President calls your name in the nighttime
The President calls your name in the nighttime
But you think that's okay while you're sleeping
The men ransack your house in the nighttime
The men ransack your house in the nighttime
As the ant crawls up your back while you're sleeping

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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Richard of Almaigne

A ballad made by one of the adherents to Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon after the battle of Lewes, which was fought May 14, 1264.

Sitteth alle stille, ant herkneth to me;
The Kyng of Alemaigne, bi mi leaute,
Thritti thousent pound askede he
For te make the pees in the countre,
Ant so he dude more.
Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes kying,
He spende al is tresour opon swyvyng,
Haveth he nout of Walingford oferlyng,
Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng,
Maugre Windesore,
Richard, thah thou he ever trichard,
Trichthen shalt thou never more.

The Kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel,
He saisede the mulne for a castel,

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Xtc Vs. Adam Ant

Xtc versus adam ant
Content versus form
Fighting for their place in rock and roll
There is no right or wrong
Just when you think it's finished
With xtc on top
Ant music, like a phoenix
Flies back up the charts
Xtc versus adam ant
Only one will survive
Beatle-based pop versus new romantic
History will decide
Xtc versus adam ant
I can't tell you why
Even the singer from bow wow wow
Can't make up her mind
Xtc versus adam ant
Time is marching on
Xtc versus adam ant
There is no right or wrong

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song performed by They Might Be Giants
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