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Prom

Cast: Aimee Teegarden, Nicholas Braun, Danielle Campbell, Christine Elise, Trevor Peterson

trailer for Prom, directed by Joe Nussbaum, screenplay by (2011)Report problemRelated quotes
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Christeen Sixteen

She's got me dizzy, she sees me through to the end
She's got me in her hands and there's no use in pretending
Christine sixteen, Christine sixteen
She drives me crazy, I want to give her all I've got
And she's hot every day and night, there is no doubt about it
Christine sixteen, Christine sixteen
"I don't usually say things like this to girls your age, but when I saw you
coming out of the school that day, that day I knew, I knew, I've got to have
you, I've got to have you."
She's' been around, but she's young and clean
I've got to have her, can't live without her, whoo no
Christine sixteen, Christine sixteen
Christine, Christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah
So clean, Christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, Christine, yeah, yeah
Christine, Christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, Christine, yeah, yeah
Christine, Christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Christine, Christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah
Christine, Christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah
Christine, Christine, sixteen, sixteen, Christine, yeah, yeah
Christine, Christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah

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Christine Sixteen

Shes got me dizzy, she sees me through to the end
Shes got me in her hands and theres no use in pretending
Christine sixteen, christine sixteen
She drives me crazy, I want to give her all Ive got
And shes hot every day and night, there is no doubt about it
Christine sixteen, christine sixteen
I dont usually say things like this to girls your age, but when I saw you
Coming out of the school that day, that day I knew, I knew, Ive got to have
You, Ive got to have you.
Shes been around, but shes young and clean
Ive got to have her, cant live without her, whoo no
Christine sixteen, christine sixteen
Christine, christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah
So clean, christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, christine, yeah, yeah
Christine, christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, christine, yeah, yeah
Christine, christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Christine, christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah
Christine, christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah
Christine, christine, sixteen, sixteen, christine, yeah, yeah
Christine, christine, sixteen, sixteen
Christine, yeah, yeah, yeah

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Amy Lowell

The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck

1

A yellow band of light upon the street
Pours from an open door, and makes a wide
Pathway of bright gold across a sheet
Of calm and liquid moonshine. From inside
Come shouts and streams of laughter, and a snatch
Of song, soon drowned and lost again in mirth,
The clip of tankards on a table top,
And stir of booted heels. Against the patch
Of candle-light a shadow falls, its girth
Proclaims the host himself, and master of his shop.


2

This is the tavern of one Hilverdink,
Jan Hilverdink, whose wines are much esteemed.
Within his cellar men can have to drink
The rarest cordials old monks ever schemed
To coax from pulpy grapes, and with nice art
Improve and spice their virgin juiciness.
Here froths the amber beer of many a brew,
Crowning each pewter tankard with as smart
A cap as ever in his wantonness
Winter set glittering on top of an old yew.


3

Tall candles stand upon the table, where
Are twisted glasses, ruby-sparked with wine,
Clarets and ports. Those topaz bumpers were
Drained from slim, long-necked bottles of the Rhine.
The centre of the board is piled with pipes,
Slender and clean, the still unbaptized clay
Awaits its burning fate. Behind, the vault
Stretches from dim to dark, a groping way
Bordered by casks and puncheons, whose brass stripes
And bands gleam dully still, beyond the gay tumult.


4

'For good old Master Hilverdink, a toast!'
Clamoured a youth with tassels on his boots.
'Bring out your oldest brandy for a boast,
From that small barrel in the very roots
Of your deep cellar, man. Why here is Max!
Ho! Welcome, Max, you're scarcely here in time.

[...] Read more

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Roan Stallion

The dog barked; then the woman stood in the doorway, and hearing
iron strike stone down the steep road
Covered her head with a black shawl and entered the light rain;
she stood at the turn of the road.
A nobly formed woman; erect and strong as a new tower; the
features stolid and dark
But sculptured into a strong grace; straight nose with a high bridge,
firm and wide eyes, full chin,
Red lips; she was only a fourth part Indian; a Scottish sailor had
planted her in young native earth,
Spanish and Indian, twenty-one years before. He had named her
California when she was born;
That was her name; and had gone north.
She heard the hooves and
wheels come nearer, up the steep road.
The buckskin mare, leaning against the breastpiece, plodded into
sight round the wet bank.
The pale face of the driver followed; the burnt-out eyes; they had
fortune in them. He sat twisted
On the seat of the old buggy, leading a second horse by a long
halter, a roan, a big one,
That stepped daintily; by the swell of the neck, a stallion. 'What
have you got, Johnny?' 'Maskerel's stallion.
Mine now. I won him last night, I had very good luck.' He was
quite drunk, 'They bring their mares up here now.
I keep this fellow. I got money besides, but I'll not show you.'
'Did you buy something, Johnny,
For our Christine? Christmas comes in two days, Johnny.' 'By
God, forgot,' he answered laughing.
'Don't tell Christine it's Christmas; after while I get her something,
maybe.' But California:
'I shared your luck when you lost: you lost me once, Johnny, remember?
Tom Dell had me two nights
Here in the house: other times we've gone hungry: now that
you've won, Christine will have her Christmas.
We share your luck, Johnny. You give me money, I go down to
Monterey to-morrow,
Buy presents for Christine, come back in the evening. Next day
Christmas.' 'You have wet ride,' he answered
Giggling. 'Here money. Five dollar; ten; twelve dollar. You
buy two bottles of rye whiskey for Johnny.'
A11 right. I go to-morrow.'
He was an outcast Hollander; not
old, but shriveled with bad living.
The child Christine inherited from his race blue eyes, from his
life a wizened forehead; she watched
From the house-door her father lurch out of the buggy and lead
with due respect the stallion
To the new corral, the strong one; leaving the wearily breathing
buckskin mare to his wife to unharness.

[...] Read more

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Trooper Campbell

One day old Trooper Campbell
Rode out to Blackman's Run,
His cap-peak and his sabre
Were glancing in the sun.
'Twas New Year's Eve, and slowly
Across the ridges low
The sad Old Year was drifting
To where the old years go.

The trooper's mind was reading
The love-page of his life --
His love for Mary Wylie
Ere she was Blackman's wife;
He sorrowed for the sorrows
Of the heart a rival won,
For he knew that there was trouble
Out there on Blackman's Run.

The sapling shades had lengthened,
The summer day was late,
When Blackman met the trooper
Beyond the homestead gate.
And if the hand of trouble
Can leave a lasting trace,
The lines of care had come to stay
On poor old Blackman's face.

`Not good day, Trooper Campbell,
It's a bad, bad day for me --
You are of all the men on earth
The one I wished to see.
The great black clouds of trouble
Above our homestead hang;
That wild and reckless boy of mine
Has joined M'Durmer's gang.

`Oh! save him, save him, Campbell!
I beg in friendship's name!
For if they take and hang him,
The wife would die of shame.
Could Mary or her sisters
Hold up their heads again,
And face a woman's malice
Or claim the love of men?

`And if he does a murder
'Twere better we were dead.
Don't take him, Trooper Campbell,
If a price be on his head;
But shoot him! shoot him, Campbell,

[...] Read more

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Christine Irene

(robin wilson, jesse valenzuela)
Well Im a little too ripe to be actin like this
Like some young guy barely got his first kiss
From my first baby steps to my last cigarette
Every single little thing was leading to this
Christine irene
Pretty as a girl on a magazine
Christine irene
My christine irene
Youve been around too long to react so coy
Like Im something that youd best avoid
Like a first date kiss from an anxious guy
Knowing that hes got a little more in mind
Christine irene
Pretty as a girl on a magazine
Christine irene
My christine irene
We can last til dawn if the moon stays bright
And hang our secret on its last light
From a first date kiss that could not hide
We both wanted something more tonight
Christine irene
Pretty as a girl on a magazine
Christine irene
My christine irene
Christine irene
Prettiest girl as Ive ever seen
Christine irene
My christine irene

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Prom [trailer 2]

Cast: Cameron Monaghan, Aimee Teegarden, Thomas McDonell, Danielle Campbell, Nicholas Braun, Christine Elise, Dean Norris, Faith Ford

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Trevor my bestfriend/Brother

Trevor
..you my bestfriend
...my life
...my world
....Trevor i miss you so much
.....wishing they would free you
.....Trevor
.....you is very strong
.....wise
.....smart
......loven
.....caring
......Real
.....Trevor
......i sit here in tears
......wishing you was here
.....wishing you can be here to help me through the hard times
......I'm waiting on you
......Trevor
.......you will always be my bestfriend/brother
.......Trevor! ! ! !
.........Please free my bestfriend/Brother

I really miss my bestfriend he like areal brother to me it not the same with out him..Trevor i love you

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Aimee

Tell me what do I do about it
When you break down and cry
I try to give you all my love and affection
Please believe me
I try
Oh Aimee
I know I've been unkind
I guess I wasn't much of a friend
Oh Aimee
Let's leave it all behind
Cause I'm gonna love you
I'm gonna love you
Im gonna love you ''Til the end
Aimee
There's so much you give me
So much to live for
When I'm feeling down
You just turn it around
And the pain Isn't there anymore
Oh Aimee
I know I've been unkind
I guess I wasn't much of a friend
Oh Yeah
Aimee
Let's leave it all behind
Cause I'll always love you
I'll always love you
I'll always love you "Til the end
Angel in the night
You'll be my angel in the night
Angel in the night
You'll be my angel in the night
Angel in the night
You'll be my angel in the night
Dont' ever tell me lies
Cause I'll always be your friend
And I'm gonna love you
I'm gonna love you
Im gonna love you 'Til the end
So tell me what do I do about it
When you break down and cry
I try to give you all my love and affection
Please believe me
I try
Oh Aimee
I know I've been unkind
I know I wasn't much of a friend
Oh Yeah
Aimee
Let's leave it all behind

[...] Read more

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Oi To The World

Haji was a punk just like any other boy
And he never had no trouble till he started up his oi band
Safe in the garage or singing in the tub
Till haji went too far and he plugged in at the pub
twas a cold christmas eve when trevor and the skins
Popped in for a pint and to nick a back of crisps
Trevor liked the music but not the unity
He unwound hajis turban and he knocked him to his knees
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
Haji was a bloody mess, he ran out through the crowd
He said well meet again we are bloody but not unbowed
Trevor called his bluff and told him where to meet
Christmas day on the roof down at 20 oxford street
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
On the roof with the nun chucks trevor broke a lot of bones
But haji had a sword like that guy in indiana jones
Police sirens wailing, a bloody dying man
Haji was alone and abandoned by his band
Trevor was there fading and still so full of hate
When the skins left him there and went down the fire escape
Oi! oi!
But then haji saw the north star shining more then ever
So he made a tourniquet from his turban saving trevor
They repelled down the roof with the rest of the turban
And went back to the pub where they bought each other bourbon
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
If God came down on christmas day
I know exactly what hed say
Hed say oi to the punks and oi to the skins-
But oi to the world and everybody wins!
Oi! oi!

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Marie Christine

Have you seen the lighthouse shining from the rock
For the ship marie christine and all her gallant lot
Now have you seen the lighthouse
Oh we are close to land
Cried the brave young captain to his wretched band
Now have you seen the harbor cried marie christine
Have you seen the jagged rocks in the waters in between
Now have you seen the lighthouse
Oh save me if you can
For if you do I promise Ill never sail again
Now have you seen the lighthouse shining from the rock
Cried the brave young captain to his wretched lot
Now gather all your photographs
And don your coats of blue
If anyone can save us now, marie christine tis you
When I first saw marie christine the woman that she was
I ssigned aboard toman her sails and honor well her cause
I christened her with old champagne
And I drove her to the west
Of all the men who sailed on her, in truth I sailed her best
Have you seen the lighthouse shining from the rock
For the ship marie christine and all her gallant lot
Now have you seen the lighthouse
Oh we are close to land
Cried the brave young captain to his wretched band
Come all ye would be sailors
All ye would be sailors
All ye would be sailors
If anyone can save us now, marie christine tis you
If anyone can save us now, marie christine tis you

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A Letter To Elise

Oh elise it doesn't matter what you say
I just can't stay here every yesterday
Like keep on acting out the same
The way we act out
Every way to smile
Forget
And make-believe we never needed
Any more than this
Any more than this
Oh elise it doesn't matter what you do
I know i'll never really get inside of you
To make your eyes catch fire
The way they should
The way the blue could pull me in
If they only would
If they only would
At least i'd lose this sense of sensing something else
That hides away
From me and you
There're worlds to part
With aching looks and breaking hearts
And all the prayers your hands can make
Oh i just take as much as you can throw
And then throw it all away
Oh i throw it all away
Like throwing faces at the sky
Like throwing arms round
Yesterday
I stood and stared
Wide-eyed in front of you
And the face i saw looked back
The way i wanted to
But i just can't hold my tears away
The way you do
Elise believe i never wanted this
I thought this time i'd keep all of my promises
I thought you were the girl always dreamed about
But i let the dream go
And the promises broke
And the make-believe ran out...
Oh elise
It doesn't matter what you say
I just can't stay here every yesterday
Like keep on acting out the same
The way we act out
Every way to smile
Forget
And make-believe we never needed
Any more than this
Any more than this

[...] Read more

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Nicholas Nye

Thistle and darnell and dock grew there,
And a bush, in the corner, of may,
On the orchard wall I used to sprawl
In the blazing heat of the day;

Half asleep and half awake,
While the birds went twittering by,
And nobody there my lone to share
But Nicholas Nye.

Nicholas Nye was lean and gray,
Lame of leg and old,
More than a score of donkey's years
He had been since he was foaled;
He munched the thistles, purple and spiked,
Would sometimes stoop and sigh,
And turn to his head, as if he said,
"Poor Nicholas Nye!"

Alone with his shadow he'd drowse in the meadow,
Lazily swinging his tail,
At break of day he used to bray,--
Not much too hearty and hale;
But a wonderful gumption was under his skin,
And a clean calm light in his eye,
And once in a while; he'd smile:--
Would Nicholas Nye.

Seem to be smiling at me, he would,
From his bush in the corner, of may,--
Bony and ownerless, widowed and worn,
Knobble-kneed, lonely and gray;
And over the grass would seem to pass
'Neath the deep dark blue of the sky,
Something much better than words between me
And Nicholas Nye.

But dusk would come in the apple boughs,
The green of the glow-worm shine,
The birds in nest would crouch to rest,
And home I'd trudge to mine;
And there, in the moonlight, dark with dew,
Asking not wherefore nor why,
Would brood like a ghost, and as still as a post,
Old Nicholas Nye.

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The Thirteenth Street Bus

god died...
nothing else unusual about the day.
the Thirteenth Street bus was late again,
people passed each other walking heads down.
when the bus finally arrived,
no one was there.
old Mr. Peterson and his crippled wife,
were nowhere to be seen.

three hours earlier...
an angry young man sat alone,
hugging his knees and shaking,
in an empty room neath a bare light bulb.
unable to focus or think,
peeling back the layers of hell...
consumed by the rage of need.

old Mr. Peterson made the coffee,
and boiled water for oatmeal.
two creams and a sugar,
and he took a cup,
to his wife still lying in bed.
he felt the faint smile of the wrinkled face,
birds just outside the window were singing..
45 years, or maybe yesterday,
he didnt know or care anymore.

the enraged young man
caught Mr. Peterson in the kitchen,
and cracked his skull with a lead pipe.
he rifled his pockets for what he could get,
and started slamming through drawers.
Mrs. Peterson hobbled in on her walker,
he stabbed her with a kitchen knife...
and left her dying on the floor,
as he pillaged the house....
the birds were silent as he ran.

when the police burst through the door,
it was already too late.
his body hung in an empty closet,
while the radio blared in stark despair.
crumpled clothes in the corner,
a mattress unmade in the center of the room.
a food stamp card and a dirty needle,
an unopened letter from the unemployment office.
a lone picture on a stack of boxes,
taken three years earlier...
the young man in his military uniform,
the day he came home from Iraq.

[...] Read more

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A Lay of St. Nicholas

'Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellæ pulchritudinis miræ, et ecce Divus, fide catholica et cruce et aqua benedicta armatus, venit, et aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctæ et Individuæ Trinitatis, quam, quasi ardentem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit.'
-- Roger Hoveden.

Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess;
I am a-weary, and worn with woe;
Many a grief doth my heart oppress,
And haunt me whithersoever I go!'

On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid;
'Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me!'--
'Now naye, Fair Daughter,' the Lord Abbot said,
'Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be;

'There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John,
Sage Penitauncers I ween be they!
And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell,
Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey!'

'-- Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John,
Though sage Penitauncers I trow they be;
Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone.
Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee.

'Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn
Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine.
I am a Maiden royally born,
And I come of old Plantagenet's line.

'Though hither I stray in lowly array,
I am a Damsel of high degree;
And the Compte of Eu, and the Lord of Ponthieu,
They serve my father on bended knee!

'Counts a many, and Dukes a few,
A suitoring came to my father's Hall;
But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain,
He pleased my father beyond them all.

'Dukes a many, and Counts a few,
I would have wedded right cheerfullie;
But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain,
And I vow'd that he ne'er should my bridegroom be!

'So hither I fly, in lowly guise,
From their gilded domes and their princely halls;
Fain would I dwell in some holy cell,
Or within some Convent's peaceful walls!'

-- Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot,
'Now rest thee, Fair Daughter, withouten fear;

[...] Read more

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The Ghost - Book I

With eager search to dart the soul,
Curiously vain, from pole to pole,
And from the planets' wandering spheres
To extort the number of our years,
And whether all those years shall flow
Serenely smooth, and free from woe,
Or rude misfortune shall deform
Our life with one continual storm;
Or if the scene shall motley be.
Alternate joy and misery,
Is a desire which, more or less.
All men must feel, though few confess.
Hence, every place and every age
Affords subsistence to the sage,
Who, free from this world and its cares,
Holds an acquaintance with the stars,
From whom he gains intelligence
Of things to come some ages hence,
Which unto friends, at easy rates.
He readily communicates.
At its first rise, which all agree on,
This noble science was Chaldean;
That ancient people, as they fed
Their flocks upon the mountain's head,
Gazed on the stars, observed their motions,
And suck'd in astrologic notions,
Which they so eagerly pursue,
As folks are apt whate'er is new,
That things below at random rove,
Whilst they're consulting things above;
And when they now so poor were grown,
That they'd no houses of their own,
They made bold with their friends the stars,
And prudently made use of theirs.
To Egypt from Chaldee it travell'd,
And Fate at Memphis was unravell'd:
The exotic science soon struck root,
And flourish'd into high repute.
Each learned priest, oh strange to tell!
Could circles make, and cast a spell;
Could read and write, and taught the nation
The holy art of divination.
Nobles themselves, for at that time
Knowledge in nobles was no crime,
Could talk as learned as the priest,
And prophesy as much, at least.
Hence all the fortune-telling crew,
Whose crafty skill mars Nature's hue,
Who, in vile tatters, with smirch'd face,
Run up and down from place to place,

[...] Read more

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Thomas Campbell

As musings on Banks of Canadian Thames doth not necessarily consist of
meditations in verse, but the monotony of the cogitations may be relieved by a
soliloquy in prose, and as Campbell manifested a deep interest in American subjects,
we will give the following anecdote related by that genial American Author Washington
Irvine, to Sir Walter Scott. Irvine, while in Britian, visited Campbell, but found him absent
and he expressed a regret to Campbells wife that her husband did not write more. She said
that he was timid and he felt Byron and Scott o'ershadow him with their great poems. Sir
Walter replied, ' I myself produce pebbles, Scottish pebbles, but Campbell is the creator of
Diamonds of the first water.' Byron also expressed himself in a similar strain as follows :-

'Arise, O Campbell, give thy talents scope ;
Who dares aspire if thou has ceased to hope '

Campbell wrote thus of America in the beginning of the century, and by comparing the facts
as he describes them it shows the wonderous strides which the United States, especially,
have taken on the Banks of Lake Erie, as Lake Ontario seems to be favorite location for
Canadian cities.

On Erie's banks were tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chaunts his dismal song.
Where human fiends their midnight errand walk ;
And bathe in brains the murderous tomehawk.

The poet then predicts that cities will there arise, but more wonderfully quick they have
arisen then poets pen ever imagined. The poet also imagines the time will come when the
fleecy flocks will be straying o'er the thymey pastures and the shepherds dancing at early
morn and dewy eve, but alas, these predictions have never been verified, for the lands on
Erie's shores are too valuable for sheep walks, and it is no Arcadian bower where the
romance of the dreamy imaginations of the ancient philosophers are being enacted, but a
vigorous, intelligent, and industrious population have arisen, who have built villages,
towns and cities along its shores. But the foundation of the whole prosperity is the
intelligent, well directed industry of the farming population.

Their industry is not in vain,
For they have bounteous crops of grain,
And you behold on every field
Of grass and roots, abundant yield ;
But after all the greatest charm
Is the snug home upon the farm.
And stone walls now keep cattle warm,
The cold blast now doth them no harm.

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January Saturday

“For Elise” plays in the other room
It is two degrees below zero
On this January Saturday

The sun mid-way in the eastern sky
Brightens the morning but has not yet
Pushed the temperature up to zero

A small rabbit hopped the short distance
From the woods to the cabin
Looked around and ducked under

Today the trees are still
The winds that have battered
For three days are quiet

The lovely frost patterns on the greenhouse windows
So delightful when the cold began
Today look ordinary

Deep snow covers the grasses
A deer ventures from the trees
Browses a low bush

“For Elise” again plays from the other room
The fire gently warms us
Who was Elise?

January 22,2000

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Danielle

Come live with me my sweet Danielle!
Your face is cute though your armpits smell,
I liked those other girls as well
But I'm stuck with you so what the hell!
We may even be happy - who can tell?
Come live with me my sweet Danielle!

We live in an age when anything goes
But I wish you wouldn't sit there
Picking your nose!
Come live with me my sweet Danielle,
Come live with me in my private hell -
Do as I say and take off your clothes! !

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The Ghost,

There stands a City,-- neither large nor small,
Its air and situation sweet and pretty;
It matters very little -- if at all --
Whether its denizens are dull or witty,
Whether the ladies there are short or tall,
Brunettes or blondes, only, there stands a city!--
Perhaps 'tis also requisite to minute
That there's a Castle and a Cobbler in it.

A fair Cathedral, too, the story goes,
And kings and heroes lie entomb'd within her;
There pious Saints, in marble pomp repose,
Whose shrines are worn by knees of many a Sinner;
There, too, full many an Aldermanic nose
Roll'd its loud diapason after dinner;
And there stood high the holy sconce of Becket,
-- Till four assassins came from France to crack it.

The Castle was a huge and antique mound,
Proof against all th' artillery of the quiver,
Ere those abominable guns were found
To send cold lead through gallant warrior's liver.
It stands upon a gently rising ground,
Sloping down gradually to the river,
Resembling (to compare great things with smaller),
A well-scooped, mouldy Stilton cheese,-- but taller.

The Keep, I find, 's been sadly alter'd lately,
And, 'stead of mail-clad knights, of honour jealous,
In martial panoply so grand and stately,
Its walls are fill'd with money-making fellows,
And stuff'd, unless I'm misinformed greatly,
With leaden pipes, and coke, and coals, and bellows;
In short, so great a change has come to pass,
'Tis now a manufactory of Gas.

But to my tale.-- Before this profanation,
And ere its ancient glories were cut short all,
A poor hard-working Cobbler took his station
In a small house, just opposite the portal;
His birth, his parentage, and education,
I know but little of -- a strange, odd mortal;
His aspect, air, and gait, were all ridiculous;
His name was Mason -- he'd been christen'd Nicholas.

Nick had a wife possessed of many a charm,
And of the Lady Huntingdon persuasion;
But, spite of all her piety, her arm
She'd sometimes exercise when in a passion;
And, being of a temper somewhat warm,

[...] Read more

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