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Punch Up At 'Dart Man's Aim

Fifteen stone and just five foot eight
And yet he doesn't seem overweight
Deep, deep chest and shoulders wide
The strongest in this countryside.

He's the mighty Dan the frog
From the house beside the bog
Swarthy looking with raven hair
A happy man without a care.

He's no plans to take a wife
As he prefers the single life
And he's still a young man anyway
Just twenty five on his last birthday

Froggy is his dad's nickname
And that's from where the name frog came
But his nickname of frog he doesn't appreciate
In fact the word called frog he's grown to hate.

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poem by Francis Duggan
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Song: The House of Cards

Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
and admire it's lavish facades.
The hearth's as transparent,
as the heart of young Faust,
in the beautiful house of cards.

And on the balcony suite, where all powers meet;
as made men they're known as goodfellas.
See the play of elites, who admit no defeats,
but display their true corporate colours.

Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
lest like glass it shatters to shards.
When you hold up a mirror,
they scatter like grouse,
in the beautiful house of cards.

Like fat cats in heat, or on hunting retreat,

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poem by David SmithWhite
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Trip To Nowhere

I was born in a backstreet
Where people live a dirty life
Of course it was different most of the time
But it was not my fault
A life in hell
I saw it every morning
Dreamsndesires
Cant hide myself anymore
I tried to live in heaven
But this dream did not come true
I tried to live in heaven
Next time Ill try to knock on this door again
Ive been hunting
Day and night
Oh, Ive been losing
Please, hold me tight
Why am I here now
And what can I do
You tell me youre sorry
You know it aint true

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song performed by U. D. O.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Two Birthday Card Greetings!

1)
Some birthday cards are humurous
With jokes that make you smile,
Others are cute, with kittens on,
Or cherubs that beguile.
Some have flowery greetings,
Some, sentimental verse.
Some poke fun at someone's age,
While others - well, they're worse!
But my favourite kind of card is one
That comes straight from the heart.
No wit or soppy message. Just -

Happy birthday, you old f...! ! ! !

2)
Some cards are huge and colourful,
With greetings bright and cheerful.
Others are sweet or touching
And can make you feel quite tearful.

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poem by Dawn Ferrett
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Buy Me A Condo

Gonna buy me a condo
Gonna buy me a cuisinart
Get a wall-to-wall carpeting
Get a wallet full o credit cards
I gonna buy me a condo, never have to mow de lawn
I gonna get me da t-shirt wit de alligator on
Wo, used to live in jamaica but I dont live dere no more
Had to change me lifestyle
Do tings I never done before
So now Im just a lonely rastaman
Living in dis american town
Gonna sell me bob marley records
Gonna get me some jackson browne
I gonna buy me a condo
Gonna buy me a cuisinart
Get a wall-to-wall carpeting
And get a wallet full o credit cards, eh
I gonna buy me a condo, never have to mow de lawn
I gonna get me da t-shirt wit de alligator on
Wo, gonna cut off me dreadlocks

[...] Read more

song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Tower

SAILING TO BYZANTIUM
I

THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-- Those dying generations -- at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire

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poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Borough. Letter X: Clubs And Social Meetings

YOU say you envy in your calm retreat
Our social Meetings;--'tis with joy we meet.
In these our parties you are pleased to find
Good sense and wit, with intercourse of mind;
Composed of men who read, reflect, and write,
Who, when they meet, must yield and share delight.
To you our Book-club has peculiar charm,
For which you sicken in your quiet farm;
Here you suppose us at our leisure placed,
Enjoying freedom, and displaying taste:
With wisdom cheerful, temperately gay,
Pleased to enjoy, and willing to display.
If thus your envy gives your ease its gloom,
Give wings to fancy, and among us come.
We're now assembled; you may soon attend -
I'll introduce you--'Gentlemen, my friend.'
'Now are you happy? you have pass'd a night
In gay discourse, and rational delight.'
'Alas! not so: for how can mortals think,
Or thoughts exchange, if thus they eat and drink?

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poem by George Crabbe
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Nothing to declare

we need passports id-s and an
unrepeatable unique crucial numbers of a citizen

we look at those photographs with weary visa faces
that reflect a tiresome long standing in a queue
why can't we sit

we need hands palms a pointer sealed in an
unrepeatable unique crucial print of a citizen
why can't we make a handshake

we need this for the sake of neat info organization
so as not to be lost so as to be easily found
why is no one looking for us

we need health cards credit cards phone cards
business cards membership cards
why can't we discard them

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Widows

My mother's playing cards with my aunt,
Spite and Malice, the family pastime, the game
my grandmother taught all her daughters.

Midsummer: too hot to go out.
Today, my aunt's ahead; she's getting the good cards.
My mother's dragging, having trouble with her concentration.
She can't get used to her own bed this summer.
She had no trouble last summer,
getting used to the floor. She learned to sleep there
to be near my father.
He was dying; he got a special bed.

My aunt doesn't give an inch, doesn't make
allowance for my mother's weariness.
It's how they were raised: you show respect by fighting.
To let up insults the opponent.

Each player has one pile to the left, five cards in the hand.
It's good to stay inside on days like this,

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poem by Louise Gluck
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The Gamblers

Life's a jail where men have common lot.
Gaunt the one who has, and who has not.
All our treasures neither less nor more,
Bread alone comes thro' the guarded door.
Cards are foolish in this jail, I think,
Yet they play for shoes, for drabs and drink.
She, my lawless, sharp-tongued gypsy maid
Will not scorn with me this jail-bird trade,
Pets some fox-eyed boy who turns the trick,
Tho' he win a button or a stick,
Pencil, garter, ribbon, corset-lace —
His the glory, mine is the disgrace.

Sweet, I'd rather lose than win despite
Love of hearty words and maids polite.
"Love's a gamble," say you. I deny.
Love's a gift. I love you till I die.
Gamblers fight like rats. I will not play.
All I ever had I gave away.
All I ever coveted was peace

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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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