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Slap That Bass

Zoom zoom zoom zoom
The world is in a mess
With politics and taxes
And people grinding axes
Theres no happiness
Zoom zoom zoom zoom
Rhythm lead your ace
The future doesnt fret me
If I can only get me
Someone to slap that bass
Happiness is not a riddle
When Im listening to that
Big bass fiddle
Slap that bass
Slap it till its dizzy
Slap that bass
Keep the rhythm busy
Zoom zoom zoom
Misery, youve got to go
Slap that bass

[...] Read more

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Added by Lucian Velea
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This Bauble was preferred of Bees

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This Bauble was preferred of Bees—
By Butterflies admired
At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances—
Was justified of Bird—

Did Noon—enamel—in Herself
Was Summer to a Score
Who only knew of Universe—
It had created Her.

poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Reason For Achilles Death

And when fire bred no breath within him,
did he inculcate innocuities...his being?

He had tred intrepid cities' tears underfoot,
while gods forged, in tandem, stronger plate

For his head, chest...deemed unnecessary by
miscreant mortal within, misbegotten in Time.

Achilles dealt his brother's valor a trifle,
bauble, for value.

In turn, Achilles brother knew that weak link,
gods' foolishness. Awarded his great brother

Syncopation of laughter, and revenge...
Silence.

poem by Elysabeth Faslund
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With two spoons for two spoons

How trifling shall these gifts appear
Among the splendid many
That loving friends now send to cheer
Harvey and Ellen Jenney.

And yet these baubles symbolize
A certain fond relation
That well beseems, as I surmise,
This festive celebration.

Sweet friends of mine, be spoons once more,
And with your tender cooing
Renew the keen delights of yore--
The rapturous bliss of wooing.

What though that silver in your hair
Tells of the years aflying?
'T is yours to mock at Time and Care
With love that is undying.

[...] Read more

poem by Eugene Field
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The Market-Place

My mind is like a clamorous market-place.
All day in wind, rain, sun, its babel wells;
Voice answering to voice in tumult swells.
Chaffering and laughing, pushing for a place,
My thoughts haste on, gay, strange, poor, simple, base;
This one buys dust, and that a bauble sells:
But none to any scrutiny hints or tells
The haunting secrets hidden in each sad face.

The clamour quietens when the dark draws near;
Strange looms the earth in twilight of the West,
Lonely with one sweet star serene and clear,
Dwelling, when all this place is hushed to rest,
On vacant stall, gold, refuse, worst and best,
Abandoned utterly in haste and fear.

poem by Walter de la Mare
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A Kingly Man

O Friend of always the right,
The clue of time is hidden in my purse;
Inside is also a great travel that I embark upon.

O Friend of mine, why is this?
It is inside the purse that lingers a shiny bauble,
A shiny ring, and it lets us journey the hills of space.

The Friend: O Little man, I seek a helper
To lift me into light, and majesty is all I can utter
As I am a king who needs no travels nor journey of rings.

O Friendly King, my love is an ornament for you,
And the light of the ring is more spacious,
So I may think the task too great for you.

The Friend: O Little man, I am not dazzled by your ring,
My jewels are with me, and my friends are not.
Your journey can never begin.

[...] Read more

poem by Naveed Akram
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To Belshazzar

Belshazzar! from the banquet turn,
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;
Behold! while yet before thee burn
The graven words, the glowing wall.
Many a despot men miscall
Crown'd and anointed from on high;
But thou, the weakest, worst of all­
Is it not written, thou must die?

Go! dash the roses from thy brow--
Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;
Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,
More than thy very diadem,
Where thou hast tarnish'd every gem:
Then throw the worthless bauble by,
Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves con­temn;
And learn like better men to die!

Oh! early in the balance weigh'd,
And ever light of word and worth,

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poem by Byron
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A Myriad Heroines

Tonight sheer ecstasy and bliss, first discovered Strictly
Come Dancing, I lose myself in those dancing heroines,
Vin Diesel in the movie XXX stole the show encouraging
the individual to make a difference, Wizards of Waverley
Place had Alex experience romance in a magical journal

I have many brilliant stories also, never featuring me, there
is a myriad heroines - based on the stories I loved when I
was a kid, books I like get assimilated into it - every noble
thought integrated in a kaleidoscope that encompasses
more than this universe, after this great Sunday night

I am convinced whatever sacrifice or endurance tomorrow
requires, I am safe in an inner bauble of wonderful dreams,
need not send my own self anywhere as an infinite number
of heroines can go all over the world to do the magnificent
things suggested by myths, parables and legends

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Until The Night

Over the ocean of life’s commotion
We sail till the night comes on.
Sail and sail in a tiny boat,
Drifting wherever the billows go.
Out on the treacherous sea afloat,
Beat by the cruel winds that blow,
Hither and thither our boat is drawn,
Till the day dies out and the night comes on.

Over a meadow of light and shadow
We wander with weary feet,
Seeking a bauble men call “Fame, ”
Grasping the dead-sea fruit named “wealth, ”
Finding each but an empty name,
And the night – the night steals on by stealth,
And we count the season of slumber sweet,
When hope lies dead in the arms of defeat.

Over the river a great Forever
Stretches beyond our sight.

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Trinket Whipped Ways

None felt alive,
Unless something deemed of value
Adorned and flaunted their 'emptiness'.

Trinket whipped,
Are they who feel empty without...
A bauble, bangle or bead...
Dripping in diamonds or gold to flash about.
Trinket whipped to show a status diminishing...
As people awaken to what life really means.
For those who seek to be contented,
Free of disappointments,
And attention deliberately sought...
But not given in return,
To balance the price one pays and yearns for it.

Less fat makes one feel a release from traps.
Having less does not mean abundance has left.
A true quality of life accepts less attachments,
Allowing one to breathe.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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