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The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.

quote by Alexander Pope
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Pan Of Sorrows

I will give you the grain of tears,
Roast my sorrows in your pan,
O, tender of the fire.

Tender of the fire, branch of magnolia,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.

I am late already,
The shadows are fading,
The cattle have returned,
From the forest.
The birds have raised their clamor.
Roast my sorrows in your pan,
Tender of the fire.

Hurry, be quick,
I have far to go,
To the place
Where my companions have gone.
I have heard the road to that town is difficult
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.

When my turn comes,
Your bale of kindling is damp.
Why has your earthen pan
Become flaccid?
What has gone wrong with your fire?
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.

Mine is just a handful of grains,
Roast them, and let me go on my way,
Don't leave them raw,
Roast them well.
I beg you, bring an end to this wrangling,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.

The wind has dropped,
Its mournful weeping ended.
A sweet heat
Is rising in the stars.
My breaths are like a marriage procession
Whose bridegroom is displeased.
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
O tender of the fire.

Tender of the fire, branch of magnolia,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.

poem by Shiv Kumar Batalvi
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I've learned

Ive learned that to love someone doesnt have to involve pain,
Ive learned that to have a friend you must be a friend first,
Ive learned that in time youll see your mistakes and learn from them,
Ive learned that to be alone sometimes is the best thing for you,
Ive learned that in order to love a person you must feel loved,
Ive learned that if your wrong admit it or youll never forgive yourself,
Ive learned that your first love will be a part of you and you may never forget,
Ive learned that in order to move on you must fix what was first wrong,
Ive learned that if you ever mess up, you can always start over again,
Ive learned that to be 'cool' doesnt involve pressure,
Ive learned to accept what I have and be happy,
Ive learned that people will come and go so tell the ones you love how you feel,
Ive learned that to respect yourself you must respect others,
Ive learned that your actions always involve consequences whether it be good or bad,
Ive learned that priceless words can mean the world to someone,
Ive learned that sometimes being silent is the best solution,
Ive learned to expect the unexpected,
Ive learned that healing a broken heart involves tears and pain,
Ive learned to see the world in the eyes of others,
And Ive learned that each new day is a day to touch a life.

poem by Carly Almonde
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Any Soldier To His Son

What did I do, sonny, in the Great World War?
Well, I learned to peel potatoes and to scrub the barrack floor.
I learned to push a barrow and I learned to swing a pick,
I learned to turn my toes out, and to make my eyeballs click.
I learned the road to Folkestone, and I watched the English shore,
Go down behind the skyline, as I thought, for evermore.
And the Blighty boats went by us and the harbour hove in sight,
And they landed us and sorted us and marched us "by the right".
"Quick march!" across the cobbles, by the kids who rang along
Singing "Appoo?" "Spearmant" "Shokolah?" through dingy old Boulogne;
By the widows and the nurses and the niggers and Chinese,
And the gangs of smiling Fritzes, as saucy as you please.

I learned to ride as soldiers ride from Etaps to the Line,
For days and nights in cattle trucks, packed in like droves of swine.
I learned to curl and kip it on a foot of muddy floor,
And to envy cows and horses that have beds of beaucoup straw.
I learned to wash in shell holes and to shave myself in tea,
While the fragments of a mirror did a balance on my knee.
I learned to dodge the whizz-bangs and the flying lumps of lead,
And to keep a foot of earth between the sniper and my head.
I learned to keep my haversack well filled with buckshee food,
To take the Army issue and to pinch what else I could.
I learned to cook Maconochie with candle-ends and string,
With "four-by-two" and sardine-oil and any God-dam thing.
I learned to use my bayonet according as you please
For a breadknife or a chopper or a prong for toasting cheese.
I learned "a first field dressing" to serve my mate and me
As a dish-rag and a face-rag and a strainer for our tea.
I learned to gather souvenirs that home I hoped to send,
And hump them round for months and months and dump them in the end.
I learned to hunt for vermin in the lining of my shirt,
To crack them with my finger-nail and feel the beggars spirt;
I learned to catch and crack them by the dozen and the score
And to hunt my shirt tomorrow and to find as many more.

I learned to sleep by snatches on the firestep of a trench,
And to eat my breakfast mixed with mud and Fritz's heavy stench.
I learned to pray for Blighty ones and lie and squirm with fear,
When Jerry started strafing and the Blighty ones were near.
I learned to write home cheerful with my heart a lump of lead
With the thought of you and mother, when she heard that I was dead.
And the only thing like pleasure over there I ever knew,
Was to hear my pal come shouting, "There's a parcel, mate, for you."

So much for what I did do - now for what I have not done:
Well, I never kissed a French girl and I never killed a Hun,
I never missed an issue of tobacco, pay, or rum,
I never made a friend and yet I never lacked a chum.
I never borrowed money, and I never lent - but once

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous English
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The Hasty Pudding

A POEM IN THREE CANTOS

Canto I

Ye Alps audacious, through the heavens that rise,
To cramp the day and hide me from the skies;
Ye Gallic flags, that o'er their heights unfurled,
Bear death to kings, and freedom to the world,
I sing not to you. A softer theme I choose,
A virgin theme, unconscious of the muse,
But fruitful, rich, well suited to inspire
The purest frenzy of poetic fire.
Despise it not, ye bards to terror steeled,
Who hurl your thunders round the epic field;
Nor ye who strain your midnight throats to sing
Joys that the vineyard and the stillhouse bring;
Or on some distant fair your notes employ,
And speak of raptures that you ne'er enjoy.
I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel,
My morning incense, and my evening meal,
The sweets of Hasty Pudding. Come, dear bowl,
Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my soul.
The milk beside thee, smoking from the kine,
It's substance mingled, married in with thine,
Shall cool and temper thy superior heat,
And save the pains of blowing while I eat.
Oh! could the smooth, the emblematic song
Flow like thy genial juices o'er my tongue,
Could those mild morsels in my numbers chime,
And, as they roll in substance, roll in rime,
No more thy awkward unpoetic name
Should shun the muse, or prejudice thy fame;
But rising grateful to the accustomed ear,
All bards should catch it, and all realms revere!
Assist me first with pious toil to trace
Through wrecks of time thy lineage and they race;
Declare what lovely squaw, in days of yore,
(Ere great Columbus sought thy native shore)
First gave thee to the world; her works of fame
Have lived indeed, but lived without a name.
Some tawny Ceres, goddess of her days,
First learned with stones to crack the well-dried maize,
Through the rough sieve to shake the golden shower,
In boiling water stir the yellow flour:
The yellow flour, bestrewed and stirred with haste,
Swell in the flood and thickens to a paste,
Then puffs and wallops, rises to the brim,
Drinks the dry knobs that on the surface swim;

[...] Read more

poem by Joel Barlow
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Vulgar Before Me

To you. seperation, only to put it down.
To you. desperation, only to be around.
So on and so under, misdirected in other words.
Always I wonder is there anything I can do for you?
Anything I can do? well I can do anything...
To some, Ive been singled out, always I take your fall.
To some, same and broken down,
All weve left is dropping around you.
And you know these lines theyre open ended.
These books were meant to be followed,
And your rules left to be read...
Is there anything I can do?
I can do anything. i can do anything,
Its vulgar before me...
Is there anything I can do?
I can do anything. I can do anything.
Its vulgar before me, vulgar before me...
Vulgar before me, vulgar before me.
Vulgar, vulgar before me.
Anything I can do?
I can do anything. I can do anything.
Vulgar before me, vulgar before me...

song performed by Candlebox
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bessie's Boil

Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
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Egg Man

I looked out the window and seen his bald head
I ran to the fridge and pulled out an egg
Scoped him with my scopes he had no hair
Launched that shot and he was caught out there
Saw the convertible driving by
Loaded up the slingshot and let one fly
He went for his to find he didn't have one
Put him in check correct with my egg gun
The egg a symbol of life
Go inside your house and bust out your wife
Pulled out the jammy he thought it was a joke
The trigger I pulled his face the yoke
Reached in his pocket took all his cash
Left my man standing with an egg moustache
Suckers they come a dime a dozen
And when I say dozen you know what I'm talking about
Humpty Dumpty was a big fat egg
He was playing the wall and then he broke his leg
Tossed it out the window three minutes hot
Hit the Rastaman he said *bloodclot*
Which came first the chicken or the egg
I egged the chicken then I ate his leg
Riding the trains in between cars
When I pull out the station *you're gonna get yours*
Drive by eggings plaguing L.A.
*Yo they just got my little cousin ese*
Sometimes hard boiled sometimes runny
It comes from a chicken not a bunny dummy
People laugh it's no joke
My name's Yauch and I'm throwing the yoke
*Now they got me in a cell* but I don't care
It was then that I caught catching people out there
We all dressed in black we snuck up around the back
We began to attack the eggs did crack on Haze's back
Sam I am down with the program
Green eggs and ham Yosemite Sam
Come Halloween you know I come strapped
I throw it at a sucker K-pap
You made the mistake you judge a man by his race
You go through life with egg on your face
You woke up in the morning with a peculiar feeling
You looked up and saw egg dripping from the ceiling
Families puck rocks the businessman
I'll dog anybody with an egg in my hand
Not like the crack that you put in a pipe
But crack on your forehead here's a towel now wipe

song performed by Beastie Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Eggman

I looked out the window and seen his bald head
I ran to the fridge and pulled out an egg
Scoped him with my scopes he had no hair
Launched that shot and he was caught out there
Saw the convertible driving by
Loaded up the slingshot and let one fly
He went for his to find he didn't have one
Put him in check correct with my egg gun
The egg a symbol of life
Go inside your house and bust out your wife
Pulled out the jammy he thought it was a joke
The trigger I pulled his face the yoke
Reached in his pocket took all his cash
Left my man standing with an egg moustache
Suckers they come a dime a dozen
And when I say dozen you know what I'm talking about
Humpty Dumpty was a big fat egg
He was playing the wall and then he broke his leg
Tossed it out the window three minutes hot
Hit the Rastaman he said *bloodclot*
Which came first the chicken or the egg
I egged the chicken then I ate his leg
Riding the trains in between cars
When I pull out the station *you're gonna get yours*
Drive by eggings plaguing L.A.
*Yo they just got my little cousin ese*
Sometimes hard boiled sometimes runny
It comes from a chicken not a bunny dummy
People laugh it's no joke
My name's Yauch and I'm throwing the yoke
*Now they got me in a cell* but I don't care
It was then that I caught catching people out there
We all dressed in black we snuck up around the back
We began to attack the eggs did crack on Haze's back
Sam I am down with the program
Green eggs and ham Yosemite Sam
Come Halloween you know I come strapped
I throw it at a sucker K-pap
You made the mistake you judge a man by his race
You go through life with egg on your face
You woke up in the morning with a peculiar feeling
You looked up and saw egg dripping from the ceiling
Families puck rocks the businessman
I'll dog anybody with an egg in my hand
Not like the crack that you put in a pipe
But crack on your forehead here's a towel now wipe

song performed by Beastie Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Song Of The Egg

One sunny morning in late june
I heard a strange and mournful tune
I looked around the empty room
And stood awhile feeling bemused
A strange hallucination came
Was it a dimming in the brain?
But louder still the cries were coming
Like a distant droning humming
And then I saw the egg box open
Inside a weeping egg was broken
'oh take me to the boiling pot, or fry me quick, or scramble me,
come quick and cook me, set me free!
The unbroken eggs were strangely silent
Being advocates of violence
Rounded on the broken egg
'Oh take him quick and smash his head! '
Unable to fulfil his wish
The portly consumer changed his dish
Leaving the eggs inside the box
He had some fish
And changed his socks
Then caught a number 7 bus
And contemplating all the fuss
Threw the egg box from the bus
Only the broken egg was taken
To fry up later with some bacon
Arriving home later in the day
He found the egg had slid away
Off the plate and down the drain
Never to be seen again
but every now and then a drone
Rattled the pipes inside his home
The plumber was called but nothing was done
' It's a humming egg that's on the run, too slippery to clean away'
The bleedin humming lasted all day! There's nothing more that can be done,
'You'll have to wait til the fat lady's sung'
He thought of hiring a singer, but every singer was getting thinner
Til he found a fat girl called doris walking her dog out in the forest
She agreed to sing and being FAT
He thought 'she put an end to that,.moaning droning from the drain'
But when she stopped it came again,
Much stronger, louder harsh and clearer
Until the man could barely hear her
He called the priest to exorcise it
He called the Doctor for some pills
The constant humming made him ill
Until one day he'd had enough
He made a bomb and blew it up!
Standing amidst the smoke and rubble
He felt relieved of all his troubles

[...] Read more

poem by Yvette Smith
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Prejudice

IN yonder red-brick mansion, tight and square,
Just at the town's commencement, lives the mayor.
Some yards of shining gravel, fenced with box,
Lead to the painted portal--where one knocks :
There, in the left-hand parlour, all in state,
Sit he and she, on either side the grate.
But though their goods and chattels, sound and new,
Bespeak the owners very well to do,
His worship's wig and morning suit betray
Slight indications of an humbler day

That long, low shop, where still the name appears,
Some doors below, they kept for forty years :
And there, with various fortunes, smooth and rough,
They sold tobacco, coffee, tea, and snuff.
There labelled drawers display their spicy row--
Clove, mace, and nutmeg : from the ceiling low
Dangle long twelves and eights , and slender rush,
Mix'd with the varied forms of genus brush ;
Cask, firkin, bag, and barrel, crowd the floor,
And piles of country cheeses guard the door.
The frugal dames came in from far and near,
To buy their ounces and their quarterns here.
Hard was the toil, the profits slow to count,
And yet the mole-hill was at last a mount.
Those petty gains were hoarded day by day,
With little cost, for not a child had they ;
Till, long proceeding on the saving plan,
He found himself a warm, fore-handed man :
And being now arrived at life's decline,
Both he and she, they formed the bold design,
(Although it touched their prudence to the quick)
To turn their savings into stone and brick.
How many an ounce of tea and ounce of snuff,
There must have been consumed to make enough !

At length, with paint and paper, bright and gay,
The box was finished, and they went away.
But when their faces were no longer seen
Amongst the canisters of black and green ,
--Those well-known faces, all the country round--
'Twas said that had they levelled to the ground
The two old walnut trees before the door,
The customers would not have missed them more.
Now, like a pair of parrots in a cage,
They live, and civic honours crown their age :
Thrice, since the Whitsuntide they settled there,
Seven years ago, has he been chosen mayor ;
And now you'd scarcely know they were the same ;
Conscious he struts, of power, and wealth, and fame ;

[...] Read more

poem by Jane Taylor
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Canto the Fifth

I
When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves,
They little think what mischief is in hand;
The greater their success the worse it proves,
As Ovid's verse may give to understand;
Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity,
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

II
I therefore do denounce all amorous writing,
Except in such a way as not to attract;
Plain -- simple -- short, and by no means inviting,
But with a moral to each error tack'd,
Form'd rather for instructing than delighting,
And with all passions in their turn attack'd;
Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill,
This poem will become a moral model.

III
The European with the Asian shore
Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream
Here and there studded with a seventy-four;
Sophia's cupola with golden gleam;
The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar;
The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu.

IV
I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me;
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be;
All feelings changed, but this was last to vary,
A spell from which even yet I am not quite free:
But I grow sad -- and let a tale grow cold,
Which must not be pathetically told.

V
The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades;
'T is a grand sight from off the Giant's Grave
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease;
There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don Juan: Canto The Fifth

When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves,
They little think what mischief is in hand;
The greater their success the worse it proves,
As Ovid's verse may give to understand;
Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity,
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

I therefore do denounce all amorous writing,
Except in such a way as not to attract;
Plain- simple- short, and by no means inviting,
But with a moral to each error tack'd,
Form'd rather for instructing than delighting,
And with all passions in their turn attack'd;
Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill,
This poem will become a moral model.

The European with the Asian shore
Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream
Here and there studded with a seventy-four;
Sophia's cupola with golden gleam;
The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar;
The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu.

I have a passion for the name of 'Mary,'
For once it was a magic sound to me;
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be;
All feelings changed, but this was last to vary,
A spell from which even yet I am not quite free:
But I grow sad- and let a tale grow cold,
Which must not be pathetically told.

The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades;
'T is a grand sight from off 'the Giant's Grave
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease;
There 's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

'T was a raw day of Autumn's bleak beginning,
When nights are equal, but not so the days;
The Parcae then cut short the further spinning
Of seamen's fates, and the loud tempests raise
The waters, and repentance for past sinning

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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First Year University Expereinces

I learned why it is not wise to skip class often

I learned that skipping homework in university is not the same as skipping homework in high school

I learned what it feels like to be awake for over 2 days

I learned how to smoke pot from a bong

I learned how to compose an essay the day before it's due

I learned that the Freshman 15 is no joke

I learned how to do laundry

I learned to pretend to be happy

I learned to multitask

I learned to be more sociable

I learned why my parents and teachers warned me about the difficulty of university

I learned that failing is expensive

I learned small things, like freshly washed bed sheets, make me happy
I learned to lie

I learned how expensive alcohol is

I learned what it feels like to be a failure

I type this rant while skipping my business ethics class as I further delay the composition of my psychology term paper

poem by Michelle Cow
Added by Poetry Lover
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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,

[...] Read more

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

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together
See how we run like pigs from a gun, see how we fly, Im cryin
Sitting on a cornflake, Im waiting for the van to come
Corporation t-shirts, stupid bloody tuesday, man youve been a naughty boy
You let your face grow long
I am the egg man
We are the egg men
I am the walrus
Coo coo ca choo
Mister city, policemen city, pretty little policemen in a row
See how they fly like lucy in the sky, see how we run, Im cryin
Im cry, Im cryin, Im cry
Yellow mound of custard, dripping from a dead dogs eye
Grab a locker fish-wife, pornographic priestess, man youve been a
Naughty girl you let your knickers down
I am the egg man
We are the egg men
I am the walrus
Coo coo ca choo, coo coo coo ca choo
Sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun
If the sun dont come you get your tan from standing in the english rain
I am the egg man
We are the egg men
And I am the walrus
Coo coo ca choo, ca coo coo ca choo
Experts sexperts, choking smokers, dont you think the joker laughs at you?
See how they spy like pigs in the sky, see how they snide, Im cryin
Semelena pilchards, climbing up the eiffel tower
Elementary penguins singing hare krishna, man you should have seen him
Kicking edgar allan poe
I am the egg man
We are the egg men
I am the walrus
Coo coo ca choo, ca coo coo ca choo
Coo coo ca choo, ca coo coo ca choo coo coo
A tu-tu-tu baw, a tu-tu-tu baw, a tu-tu-tu baw, a tu-tu-tu baw, a tu-tu-tu baw

song performed by Oasis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pork Roll Egg And Cheese

When you've had your fun, and your work is done,
You must not succumb.
I can feel you breathe. It's like a mega-weedge inside.
Please don't hide.
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
When the guava's drained, Eddie Dingle remains.
But we must further ourselves on.
So dynamic is life, staring into the sight's
Not right, but wrong in a good way.
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
When you've had your fun, and your work is done,
You must not succumb.
I can feel you breathe. It's like a mega-weedge inside.
Please don't hide.
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
Kaiser bun. Pork roll egg and cheese.

song performed by Ween
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Pork Roll Egg & Cheese

When youve had your fun, and your work is done, you must not
Succumb
I can feel you breathe, its like a mega-weedge inside,
Please dont hide
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
When the guavas drained, eddie dingle remains
But we must further ourselves on
So dynamic is life, staring into the sights
Not right, but wrong in a good way
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
When youve had your fun, and your work is done, you must not succumb
I can feel you breathe, its like a mega-weedge inside,
Please dont hide
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Kaiser bun
Pork roll egg and cheese
(zzzz... eeezz..
(apluase and cheers)
-thank you!
-... thank you!

song performed by Ween
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Pork Roll Egg And Cheese

When you've had your fun, and your work is done,
You must not succumb.
I can feel you breathe. It's like a mega-weedge inside.
Please don't hide.
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
When the guava's drained, Eddie Dingle remains.
But we must further ourselves on.
So dynamic is life, staring into the sight's
Not right, but wrong in a good way.
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
When you've had your fun, and your work is done,
You must not succumb.
I can feel you breathe. It's like a mega-weedge inside.
Please don't hide.
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
On a kaiser bun.
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese, if you please,
Kaiser bun. Pork roll egg and cheese.

song performed by Ween
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Pork Roll Egg & Cheese

When youve had your fun, and your work is done, you must not
Succumb
I can feel you breathe, its like a mega-weedge inside,
Please dont hide
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
When the guavas drained, eddie dingle remains
But we must further ourselves on
So dynamic is life, staring into the sights
Not right, but wrong in a good way
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
When youve had your fun, and your work is done, you must not succumb
I can feel you breathe, its like a mega-weedge inside,
Please dont hide
So mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Mom, if you please, pass me the pork roll egg and cheese
If you please, on a kaiser bun
Kaiser bun
Pork roll egg and cheese
(zzzz... eeezz..
(apluase and cheers)
-thank you!
-... thank you!

song performed by Ween
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!