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For Me You Are…………

Building the wall of confidence, all around my ribs
Inspiring, when am alone, even in noise
Showing me, the fairy way, when I get confused
Hauling me from, those atrocious affairs, that matters
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Pursuing illusion, enlightening my life
Reaching, as a shadow at the time of tide
Intimacy, in the dream that comes into my mind
Yielding smile at my labor, creating zeal at my failure
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)

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poem by Nibedit Nahak
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Broken Fairy Tales

Heres a little story that I made up
So let's play make believe
In my castle on the cliff
I look out to sea

I just wanna have some fun
I just wanns have a good time
My party is nothing special
I just can't seem to realize

In my little fairy tale book
That's where my dreams wait for me
In my little own world
My prince waits for me

Broken dreams and fairy tales
One of those things I know so well
My fantasy dreams aren't real anymore
They're just Broken Fairy Tales

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poem by AnneMarie Hewlett
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

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poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Talking China Doll Dreams of Merry Go Round, Playground & Fairy Stage

Fair fairy tales would be perfect for putting child to bed,
inciting images of speedy spinner merry-go-round or swings instesad,
for once ignoring the bare wood or carpet
which level inner sides of the house to let.

Listen to talking over obscure passage abiss
that drops as the gentle rain from heaven's bliss
of the midwinter's nightmarish dream,
that most fairies piece together in writing a reem.

Legendary voices appear as light, flexible and round ales
who are drunk upon observing intoxicating illustrations to fairy tales.
For the poet, without talking about it.
is being there were gone except for royal wit.

However under fairy tales of old bloat
the wizard encounters the talking scape goat.
Metamorphosis of stork to love is unlike modern fairy tale
of wolves abd talking animals where imginative realms fail.

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poem by Hercolena Oliver
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The Legend of Mirth

The Four Archangels, so the legends tell,
Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael,
Being first of those to whom the Power was shown
Stood first of all the Host before The Throne,
And, when the Charges were allotted, burst
Tumultuous-winged from out the assembly first.
Zeal was their spur that bade them strictly heed
Their own high judgment on their lightest deed.
Zeal was their spur that, when relief was given,
Urged them unwearied to new toils in Heaven;
For Honour's sake perfecting every task
Beyond what e 'en Perfection's self could ask. . .
And Allah, Who created Zeal and Pride,
Knows how the twain are perilous-near allied.

It chanced on one of Heaven's long-lighted days,
The Four and all the Host being gone their ways
Each to his Charge, the shining Courts were void
Save for one Seraph whom no charge employed,

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Gangland

(smith/burr)
Shadows may hide you but also may be your grave
Youre running today maybe tomorrow youll be saved
You pray for daylight to save you for a while
You wonder if your children will face the killers smile
Dead men -- tell no tales
In gangland -- murders up for sale
Dead men -- tell no tales
In gangland -- where jail birds die
Face at the window leers into your own
But its only your reflection still you tremble in your bones
How long can you hide? how long till they come?
A rat in a trap but youve got to survive
Once you were glad to be free for a while
The air tasted good and the world was your friend
Then came the day when the hard times began
Now your alone but alive for how long?
A knife at your throat another body on the pile
A contract to keep and its service with a smile
Murder for vengeance or murder for gain

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song performed by Iron Maiden
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 13

And I awaked therwith, witlees nerhande,
And as a freke that fey were, forth gan I walke
In manere of a mendynaunt many yer after,
And of this metyng many tyme muche thought I hadde
First how Fortune me failed at my mooste nede,
And how that Elde manaced me, myghte we evere mete;
And how that freres folwede folk that was riche,
And [peple] that was povere at litel pris thei sette,
And no corps in hir kirkyerd ne in hir kirk was buryed
But quik he biquethe hem aught or sholde helpe quyte hir dettes;
And how this coveitise overcom clerkes and preestes;
And how that lewed men ben lad, but Oure Lord hem helpe,
Thorugh unkonnynge curatours to incurable peynes;
And how that Ymaginatif in dremels me tolde
Of Kynde and of his konnynge, and how curteis he is to bestes,
And how lovynge he is to bestes on londe and on watre
Leneth he no lif lasse ne moore;
The creatures that crepen of Kynde ben engendred;
And sithen how Ymaginatif seide, ' Vix iustus salvabitur,'
And whan he hadde seid so, how sodeynliche he passed.

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poem by William Langland
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Dead Men Tell No Tales

They say that dead men tell no tales!

Except of barges with red sails
And sailors mad for nightingales;

Except of jongleurs stretched at ease
Beside old highways through the trees;

Except of dying moons that break
The hearts of lads who lie awake;

Except of fortresses in shade,
And heroes crumbled and betrayed.

But dead men tell no tales, they say!

Except old tales that burn away
The stifling tapestries of day:

Old tales of life, of love and hate,

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poem by Haniel Long
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For A Friend

LIKE a street drug, his poison
took, and took well, like a dull
knife, it cuts the skin, then
finds the blood, then soul.
OH fairy tales, take this child
in your hands,
OH fairy tales, let the white
horse come, and take this child
to a place called, me, love,
and them.
LIKE a street whore, this
man sells his body to the
dogs, the rich take what they
want, and the poor kick,
and kick, untill he finds his
way back home.
OH fairy tales, take this
child in your hands,
oh fairy tales, let the
white horse come, and take this

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poem by David Gerardino
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Me, Love, Them

LIKE a street drug, his poison
took, and took well, like a dull
knife, it cuts the skin, then
finds the blood, then soul.
OH fairy tales, take this child
in your hands,
OH fairy tales, let the white
horse come, and take this child
to a place called, me, love,
and them.
LIKE a street whore, this
man sells his body to the
dogs, the rich take what they
want, and the poor kick,
and kick, untill he finds his
way back home.
OH fairy tales, take this
child in your hands,
oh fairy tales, let the
white horse come, and take this

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poem by David Gerardino
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