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Kiss Me Red

I could paint your picture in the sky tonight
Your lipstick on the moon it shines so bright
Baby its full and white
Honey its full tonight
(chorus 1)
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
I could paint your picture in my room tonight
Your bodys on my mind its clear and bright
Oh but youre far away
And what I wouldnt pay
(chorus 2)
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..

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song performed by Cheap Trick
Added by Lucian Velea
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I wish I lived on a planet that had two suns---regular sun and 'rogue' sun. That way, when somebody asked me what time it was, I'd say, 'Regular time' And they'd say, 'Yeah.' And I'd say, 'Sorry, all I have is rogue time.' It'd be fun to be a stuck-up rogue-time guy.

Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Added by Lucian Velea
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Vic and Vo

When one remembers Vo Rogue the famous race horse one remembers his trainer Victory Rail
For they were great together and they never seemed to fail
To give value for money Vo Rogue the gallant bay
Was a champion on pace galloper who often led all of the way

The mighty weight for age horse who galloped without shoes
He won many group races and was seldom seen to lose
Well trained by the likeable Vic and ridden by Cyril Small
Their feats Australian racegoers forever will recall.

Not one bred in the purple and of an unfashionable breed
But when the starting gates flew open Vo bounded to the lead
An out and out front runner he did not need a racing plan
He galloped on relentlessly and 'twas beat him if you can.

Since Vo Rogue was a champion a decade has gone by
And on looking back those years have sped how time just seems to fly
He must be getting on in years and time has left him slow
And where he lives in retirement now I wouldn't even know

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poem by Francis Duggan
Added by Poetry Lover
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Garden Street

LONG and drowsy and white and wide,
Villas and arbours on either side,
Pleasant under the cloudless skies,
Garden Street in the sunlight lies.
Twice a day — at the morning hour,
And again when the lights of sunset flower —
Its pavements ring to the footfall-noise
Of men and women, and girls and boys.
Townward, sprightly of foot, they go;
Home they come in the evening glow,
Labours over and questing done —
Some with money and some with none.
Most hours through, from morn to night,
It dreams and dreams in the drowsy light:
No call is there of the huckster-clan,
Of the bottle-oh and the rabbit-man.
Wafted odours of nameless flowers
Perfume the march of the golden hours;
Under the laurels, cooling the eye,
Pools of shade in the sunshine lie.

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poem by Roderic Quinn
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An Alibi

A famous journalist, who long
Had told the great unheaded throng
Whate'er they thought, by day or night.
Was true as Holy Writ, and right,
Was caught in-well, on second thought,
It is enough that he was caught,
And being thrown in jail became
The fuel of a public flame.

'_Vox populi vox Dei_,' said
The jailer. Inxling bent his head
Without remark: that motto good
In bold-faced type had always stood
Above the columns where his pen
Had rioted in praise of men
And all they said-provided he
Was sure they mostly did agree.
Meanwhile a sharp and bitter strife
To take, or save, the culprit's life
Or liberty (which, I suppose,

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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XII. The Book and the Ring

Here were the end, had anything an end:
Thus, lit and launched, up and up roared and soared
A rocket, till the key o' the vault was reached,
And wide heaven held, a breathless minute-space,
In brilliant usurpature: thus caught spark,
Rushed to the height, and hung at full of fame
Over men's upturned faces, ghastly thence,
Our glaring Guido: now decline must be.
In its explosion, you have seen his act,
By my power—may-be, judged it by your own,—
Or composite as good orbs prove, or crammed
With worse ingredients than the Wormwood Star.
The act, over and ended, falls and fades:
What was once seen, grows what is now described,
Then talked of, told about, a tinge the less
In every fresh transmission; till it melts,
Trickles in silent orange or wan grey
Across our memory, dies and leaves all dark,
And presently we find the stars again.
Follow the main streaks, meditate the mode

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I’m A Rogue

I’m a rogue who likes to prorogue any
routine job because I know, tomorrow
I will stop procrastinating, if I should do
everything today, what on earth would
I do another day

Some people may think postponement
should not be condoned; but it gives me
time to assemble my thoughts, sip a little
wine, reflect on la dolce vita, and as soon
as inspiration

Springs spontaneously, this rogue tackles
her work without prorogue, enjoying a merci-
less march through the dry marshes of her
boring documents, until she reaches the
satisfying end

And throttles back again, back to reflective
cruising mode, ready to prorogue in the same

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poem by Margaret Alice
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Early Days of Rockford

Air -- "Lucy Long"

My friends, I pray you listen,
I'll sing a little song,
About the village of Rockford,
It will not take me long;
And how it was first settled
By enterprising men,
And all the news about it,
I'll tell you if I can.

Situated in a wilderness,
With forests all around,
Thirteen miles from Grand Rapids,
Is this florishing town.
On the banks of Rogue river,
Where runs the water still,
And in the early settled days,
Was called Laphamville.

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poem by Julia A Moore
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The Boy Mimics The Father

The boy mimics the father he is his father's son
And he tells all of his young mates of the good things his dad has done
The mentors of tomorrow are the fathers of today
Through your good or bad example your child follows the way.

Since dad was his role model before he walked on his feet
The mistakes of the father the son he will repeat
The mentor of his young years is the mentor of his life
He watched dad beat his mother he too will beat his wife.

The boys mimics the father though you well may disagree
That us humans are impressionable but that's how 'twould seem to me
The main role model of our childhood through life points us the way
The young rogue of the future is the son of the rogue of today.

That the boy mimics the father in most cases does apply
And why this should be I cannot say though I can understand why
The boy mimics the father his role model is dad
And most times that is a good thing though on rare occasions it can be bad.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Rosetta Stone

The Rosetta Stone,
The mother tongue,
Logue, longue, league;
Ghetto queen!
Colleague, tongue, rogue, brogue;
But, i am inspired by your works.

Floor, flour, four, fair, far!
Like a letter from my beloved one;
Farm, form, from, film, firm!
Whiff,
Whey,
Fill, full, foil, fell, fail, free!
Wheeze,
Whelp,
Fee, face, fence, fight, flight, freedom!

Ghetto king!
Argue, morgue, rogue, drogue;
Wheezy,

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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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