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Rat In Mi Kitchen

(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen what am I gonna do?
There's a rat in me kitchen what am I gonna go?
I'm gonna fix that rat thats what i'm gonna do,
I'm gonna fix that rat.
When you open your mouth you don't talk, you shout
And you give every body the blame,
But when they catch you up,
They will shut you up
And you got no one to blame
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen ........
When you out on the street,
You practice lies and deceipt
And you scandalize my name
But when I catch you up
I'm gonna pull you up
I'm gonna check-out inside your brain
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen .......
When yo deh pon the scene,
You make everyone scream
Because they know your so unjust
But when they catch you up
They will kick you up
Because you someone they cannot trust
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen .......
You invade my space
Make me feel disgraced
And you just don't give a damn
If I had my way
If I had my say
I'd like to see you hang
(chorus)
There's a rat in me kitchen .....
(repeat chorus and fade)

song performed by Ub40
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Shout

We-eee-eeel....
You know you make me wanna (Shout!)
Kick my heels up and (Shout!)
Throw my hands up and (Shout!)
Throw my head back and (Shout!)
Come on now (Shout!)
Don't forget to say you will
Don't forget to say, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
(Say you will)
Say it right now bab-ay
(Say you will)
Come on, come on
(Say you will)
Say it, will-a you-ooooo!
(Say you will)
You got it, now!
(Say) say that you love me
(Say) say that you need me
(Say) say that you want me
(Say) you wanna please me
(Say) come on now
(Say) come on now
(Say) come on now
(Say) come on now
(Say) I still remember
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
When you used to be nine years old
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
Yeah-yeah!
I was a fool for you, from the bottom of my soul, yeah!
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
Now that you've grown, up
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
Enough to know, yeah yeah
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
You wanna leave me, you wanna, let me go
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop)
I want you to know
I said I want you to know right now, yeah!
You been good to me baby
Better than I been to myself, hey! hey!
An if you ever leave me
I don't want nobody else, hey! hey!
I said I want you to know-ho-ho-hey!
I said I want you to know right now, hey! hey!
You know you make me wanna
(Shout-wooo) hey-yeah
(Shout-wooo) yeah-yeah-yeah
(Shout-wooo) aaaalll-right

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song performed by Isley Brothers
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shout

You know you want to make me:
Shout!
Take my finger!
Shout!
Throw my hands back!
Shout!
Kick my heels up!
Shout!
Come on now.
Shout!
Take it easy
Shout!
Take it easy
Shout!
Take it easy
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit softer now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
A little bit louder now.
Shout!
Hey hey hey hey!
Hey hey hey hey!

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song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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Give The Po Man A Break

Give po man a break
Give po man a break
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a
Give po man a

[...] Read more

song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Shout It Out Loud

Well, the nights begun and you want some fun
Do you think youre gonna find it (think youre gonna find it)
You got to treat yourself like number one
Do you need to be reminded (need to be reminded)
It doesnt matter what you do or say
Just forget the things that youve been told
We cant do it any other way
Everybodys got to rock and roll, whoo, oh, oh
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
If you dont feel good, theres a way you could
Dont sit there broken hearted (sit there broken hearted)
Call all your friends in the neighborhood
And get the party started (get the party started)
Dont let em tell you that theres too much noise
Theyre too old to really understand
Youll still get rowdy with the girls and boys
cause its time for you to take a stand, yeah, yeah
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Youve got to have a party
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Turn it up louder
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Everybody shout it now
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Oh yeah
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
Hear it gettin louder
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud
And everybody shout it now
Shout it, shout it, shout it out loud

song performed by Kiss
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shout & Shimmy

Do you feel alright? well do you feel alright children? do you feel alright?
Do you feel alright? well do you feel alright children? do you feel alright?
You know you make me want to shout shimmy, oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy,
You know you make me want to shout shimmy, oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy,
Oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy, oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy,
Oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy, oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy,
Oh yeah you know I walk up to the front, I try to do the flop,
Oh yeah you know I walk up to the front, I try to do the flop,
I walk up to the back, and I move on side to side,
I walk up to the back, and I move on side to side,
Then I stop, oh yeah and then I drop,
Then I stop, oh yeah and then I drop,
Oh yeah and then I drop, oh yeah and then I do a little thing ? ? ? ? ? ,
Oh yeah and then I drop, oh yeah and then I do a little thing ? ? ? ? ? ,
Do you feel alright? do you feel so good? do you feel so good?
Do you feel alright? do you feel so good? do you feel so good?
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright? tell me now, tell me now,
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright? tell me now, tell me now,
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright? everybody do you feel so good?
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright? everybody do you feel so good?
You know I feel alright, you know you make me want to shout shimmy,
You know I feel alright, you know you make me want to shout shimmy,
Oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy, oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy,
Oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy, oh yeah you gonna shout shimmy,
Oh yeah you gonna shout a little bit soft, shout a little bit quieter,
Oh yeah you gonna shout a little bit soft, shout a little bit quieter,
Shout a little bit soft, come on soft, shout a little bit soft,
Shout a little bit soft, come on soft, shout a little bit soft,
A little bit soft, cool down, cool down, come on, cool it down,
A little bit soft, cool down, cool down, come on, cool it down,
I feel so good, I feel alright, drum on, drum on, drum on drummer,
I feel so good, I feel alright, drum on, drum on, drum on drummer,
Everybody everybody everybody clap your hands, come on clap your hands,
Everybody everybody everybody clap your hands, come on clap your hands,
Clap your hands, a little bit harder, a little bit louder,
Clap your hands, a little bit harder, a little bit louder,
A little bit harder, a little bit louder, a little bit louder,
A little bit harder, a little bit louder, a little bit louder,
Come on and shout, everybody, come on and shout, come on and shout baby,
Come on and shout, everybody, come on and shout, come on and shout baby,
Come on and shout baby, do you feel alright? do I feel so good?
Come on and shout baby, do you feel alright? do I feel so good?
Do you feel alright? do I feel so good? call a doctor, call a doctor,
Do you feel alright? do I feel so good? call a doctor, call a doctor,
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright? do you feel alright?
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright? do you feel alright?
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright?
Do you feel alright? do you feel alright?
You know I feel so good Im gonna shout and shimmy all night,
You know I feel so good Im gonna shout and shimmy all night,

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song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Book III - Part 03 - The Soul is Mortal

Now come: that thou mayst able be to know
That minds and the light souls of all that live
Have mortal birth and death, I will go on
Verses to build meet for thy rule of life,
Sought after long, discovered with sweet toil.
But under one name I'd have thee yoke them both;
And when, for instance, I shall speak of soul,
Teaching the same to be but mortal, think
Thereby I'm speaking also of the mind-
Since both are one, a substance interjoined.

First, then, since I have taught how soul exists
A subtle fabric, of particles minute,
Made up from atoms smaller much than those
Of water's liquid damp, or fog, or smoke,
So in mobility it far excels,
More prone to move, though strook by lighter cause
Even moved by images of smoke or fog-
As where we view, when in our sleeps we're lulled,
The altars exhaling steam and smoke aloft-
For, beyond doubt, these apparitions come
To us from outward. Now, then, since thou seest,
Their liquids depart, their waters flow away,
When jars are shivered, and since fog and smoke
Depart into the winds away, believe
The soul no less is shed abroad and dies
More quickly far, more quickly is dissolved
Back to its primal bodies, when withdrawn
From out man's members it has gone away.
For, sure, if body (container of the same
Like as a jar), when shivered from some cause,
And rarefied by loss of blood from veins,
Cannot for longer hold the soul, how then
Thinkst thou it can be held by any air-
A stuff much rarer than our bodies be?

Besides we feel that mind to being comes
Along with body, with body grows and ages.
For just as children totter round about
With frames infirm and tender, so there follows
A weakling wisdom in their minds; and then,
Where years have ripened into robust powers,
Counsel is also greater, more increased
The power of mind; thereafter, where already
The body's shattered by master-powers of eld,
And fallen the frame with its enfeebled powers,
Thought hobbles, tongue wanders, and the mind gives way;
All fails, all's lacking at the selfsame time.
Therefore it suits that even the soul's dissolved,
Like smoke, into the lofty winds of air;

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poem by Lucretius
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Baby Blues

(bth australian version)
I wonder whats happening to me
Things are changing so dramatically
Ill search for you, youre not really there
Still I wonder knowing that you do care
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
He is the best thing to come my way
Perfect picture baby blues in my day
He is the best thing to come around
Sleeping in his cradle safe and sound
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up, I shut up
I shut up, I shut up, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
I shut up now, I shut up now
Baby blues, baby blues
Baby blues, baby blues
Baby baby, baby blues
Baby baby, baby blues
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la
Sha la la, sha la la, sha la la, sha la la

song performed by Cranberries
Added by Lucian Velea
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Doin' Time On The Rockline

3...4...Alright everybody out there.
Comin' to ya live from 93.3 Jacksonville, Florida.
We're Limp Bizkit, check it out.
I been around the world and then some.
Dum ditty dum kid where you comin' from?
I went from the garage to steppin' on these stages,
outrageous rhymes left my mind,
and soon became contagious.
An MC with bad habits,
I am, see a mic and I grab it.
So scary ain't it?
I'm comin' raw with no corrections,
Servin' all perfections
For what I do with my erections.
So dream on. And dream until your dream comes true.
Reality check kid, that's why you're on the deck, kid.
While you're in your car, no matter where you are.
You lip sink these jams 'cause you're far from a superstar.
And if you're lonely, hoe.
I ain't the one that gives a damn, hoe.
I like it so low.
No need to brag about the Heiny, 'cause I'm on the deal,
And bitches still find me.
And since I got a record on the billboard,
You fish talkin' bands, with demos in your hands,
Always up my ass, askin' me if I'ma sign 'em.
But ya, don't flow, it don't flow.
I catch a buzz with the Dom Perignon.
When Jerry Springer's on, no need to carry on.
What's with all the frustration,
Need a demonstration, punk, to check the variation.
I might need to be dazed when I taste your lyrical waste, punk.
Because your lyrical styles, are lyrical what?
I make hysterical piles of all you lyrical sluts.
(chorus)
I'm doin' time on the rock line [repeats 2x].
I'm doin' time.
Mish mosh up in the brain, I'm on my cycle.
Like 'em highways, my ways, they're up and down like the Dow Jones.
I bust these microphones, don't exaggerate.
I keep it real and only speak about this sh[record scratches]t I hate.
Don't hate your people, just the 'tudes.
The attitudes, lose the attitude, and I won't be freakin' mad at you.
But if you're bitin' don't be frightened, kid.
I'm sorta likin' what you're stealin',
Your open wound style needed some healin'.
You're shut down by my flow, I'm glad you know,
Behind the spark I got the phattest freakin' live show.
You feel the tension?
The eyeballs in your socket can't comprehend how I rock it.

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song performed by Limp Bizkit
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gareth And Lynette

The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent,
And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring
Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine
Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled away.
'How he went down,' said Gareth, 'as a false knight
Or evil king before my lance if lance
Were mine to use--O senseless cataract,
Bearing all down in thy precipitancy--
And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows
And mine is living blood: thou dost His will,
The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that know,
Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall
Linger with vacillating obedience,
Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whistled to--
Since the good mother holds me still a child!
Good mother is bad mother unto me!
A worse were better; yet no worse would I.
Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force
To weary her ears with one continuous prayer,
Until she let me fly discaged to sweep
In ever-highering eagle-circles up
To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop
Down upon all things base, and dash them dead,
A knight of Arthur, working out his will,
To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came
With Modred hither in the summertime,
Asked me to tilt with him, the proven knight.
Modred for want of worthier was the judge.
Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said,
"Thou hast half prevailed against me," said so--he--
Though Modred biting his thin lips was mute,
For he is alway sullen: what care I?'

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair
Asked, 'Mother, though ye count me still the child,
Sweet mother, do ye love the child?' She laughed,
'Thou art but a wild-goose to question it.'
'Then, mother, an ye love the child,' he said,
'Being a goose and rather tame than wild,
Hear the child's story.' 'Yea, my well-beloved,
An 'twere but of the goose and golden eggs.'

And Gareth answered her with kindling eyes,
'Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine
Was finer gold than any goose can lay;
For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid
Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm
As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours.
And there was ever haunting round the palm
A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Only Way To Control Things

The only way to control things is with an open hand.
Water on rock
a fist can't do anything to stop the rain
that keeps washing its bloody knuckles
by kissing the raw red buds
of the pain-killing poppies clean.
Anger grows ashamed of itself
in the presence of unopposable compassion
just as planets are humbled by their atmospheres.
The soft supple things of life insist
and the hard brittle ones comply.
Bullies are the broken toys of wimps.
Power limps.
But space is an open hand.
Mass may shape it
but it teaches matter how to move
just as the sky converts its openness
into a cloud and a bird
or the silence nurtures
the embryo of a blue word
in the empty womb of the dark mother
like the echo of something that can't be said.

The only way to control things is with an open hand.
Not a posture of giving.
Not a posture of receiving.
Not a posture of greeting or farewell.
Not hanging on or letting go
but the single bridge they both make
when they're both at peace with the flow.
It's not the branch it's not the trunk
it's not the root it's not the fruit
but the open handedness of its leaves
that is a tree's consummate passion.
Isis tattoos her star on their palms
like sailors and sails
to keep them from drowning
and into the valleys of their open hands
that lie at the foot of their crook-backed mountains
the aloof stars risk the intimacy of fireflies
and fate flows down like tributaries into the mindstream
as life roots its wildflowers on both shores
as if there were no sides to the flowing
of our binary lifelines.

The only way to control things is with an open hand.
You cannot bind the knower to the knowing
as if time had to know where eternity was going
before anything could change.
X marks the spot where all maps are born

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poem by Patrick White
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Get Me Off

Give your body to me
Give your body to me
let your body be free
free your body, your body with me
Give your body to me
Give your body to me
let your body be free
free your body, your body with me
i wanna undress you
i wanna caress you
dont wanna be coy
its time to get me off
i wanna undress you
i wanna caress you
dont wanna be coy
its time to get me off
cmon baby thrust me trust me
get me off
your my poison and i can not get enough
cmon baby thrust me trust me
get me off
your my poison and i can not get enough
get me off
get me off
get me off
(getting loose getting loose)
get me off
get me off
get me off
youve got to get me off
Give your body to me
Give your body to me
let your body be free
free your body, your body with me
Give your body to me
Give your body to me
let your body be free
free your body, your body with me
i wanna undress you
i wanna caress you
dont wanna be coy
its time to get me off
i wanna undress you
i wanna caress you
dont wanna be coy
its time to get me off
cmon baby thrust me trust me
get me off
your my poison and i can not get enough
cmon baby thrust me trust me

[...] Read more

song performed by Fat Joe
Added by Lucian Velea
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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Practice Every Step

Practice every step.
Do not second guess what it takes.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

There's no sleeping for someone who has a place to go,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

Focus on that goal,
And tighten on your hold,
And...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

Practice every step.
Do not second guess what it takes.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

Every journey taken,
Must be thought of as a race...
And,
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

There's no other way to straighten out a crooked road,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

No matter what you're told,
There will be some doubts and woes...
But you,
Practice every step.
Yes you,
Practice every step.

Woes you hold will eventually go,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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