Citatepedia^®.com

If bitterness wants to get into the act, I offer it a cookie or a gumdrop.

quote by James Broughton
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Cookie Jar

Jesus" & "Baby" sample in BG throughout}
Another life goes 2 the winner
Another soul goes 2 the dream
Another hell goes 2 the sinner
Don't give up no matter how tough it seems
Come and dig the power of somethin' above ya
It was there all along cuz it was made 2 love ya
It gave your flowers rain
Even though U won't play His game
U push it away but still it's pullin' 4 ya (I don't know)
CHORUS:
I don't know what He'll do witcha when He getcha
Put U in His cookie jar, save U 4 a rainy day
I don't know what He'll do witcha when He getcha
Put U in His cookie jar, save U 4 a rainy day
He might need U on the Eve Of Destruction
2 co-sign His order on that Judgment Day
Shout His name from the highest hill
The bigger the headache, the bigger the pill
Every purple mutha need 2 look His way
The funk is here 2 stay
CHORUS
(I don't know)
Another life goes 2 the winner
Another soul goes 2 the dream
Another hell goes 2 the sinner
Don't give up no matter how tough it seems
All in all, we got 2 come 2gether
And make a world that's 7 light-years better
Come on, don't be shy
So they're laughin' high
It's waiting 4 those who can storm the weather
Hey!
I don't know what He'll do witcha when He getcha
I don't know what He'll do witcha when He getcha
Put U in His cookie jar, save U 4 a rainy day (Save ya, save ya)
I say I don't know
(CHORUS)
Save ya, baby
Oh no, yeah
(CHORUS)
I.. I.. I.. oh I
Save, save, save me baby
I.. I..
I.. I.. I don't know what He'll do witcha
I.. I..
I.. I.. I.. I.. I don't know what He'll do witcha when He getcha
Put U in His cookie jar, save U 4 a rainy day
Baby
I..

[...] Read more

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

Of Cookies... and smiling

It’s not the way that
the cookie crumbles that matters….
Nor more important is where
the cookie crumbs scatters

It’s inevitable that
the cookie will shatter
It’s an immutable fact
So what does it matter?

No…Its not the way that
Your cookie crumbles that matters
And only a little more so
Of where the cookie crumbs scatter

What’s most important about cookies…
A fact that is so simple and sublime
Is that the people who get their cookies……often
Seem to Go about smiling… most of the time

poem by David Whalen
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Third Monarchy, being the Grecian, beginning under Alexander the Great in the 112. Olympiad.

Great Alexander was wise Philips son,
He to Amyntas, Kings of Macedon;
The cruel proud Olympias was his Mother,
She to Epirus warlike King was daughter.
This Prince (his father by Pausanias slain)
The twenty first of's age began to reign.
Great were the Gifts of nature which he had,
His education much to those did adde:
By art and nature both he was made fit,
To 'complish that which long before was writ.
The very day of his Nativity
To ground was burnt Dianaes Temple high:
An Omen to their near approaching woe,
Whose glory to the earth this king did throw.
His Rule to Greece he scorn'd should be confin'd,
The Universe scarce bound his proud vast mind.
This is the He-Goat which from Grecia came,
That ran in Choler on the Persian Ram,
That brake his horns, that threw him on the ground
To save him from his might no man was found:
Philip on this great Conquest had an eye,
But death did terminate those thoughts so high.
The Greeks had chose him Captain General,
Which honour to his Son did now befall.
(For as Worlds Monarch now we speak not on,
But as the King of little Macedon)
Restless both day and night his heart then was,
His high resolves which way to bring to pass;
Yet for a while in Greece is forc'd to stay,
Which makes each moment seem more then a day.
Thebes and stiff Athens both 'gainst him rebel,
Their mutinies by valour doth he quell.
This done against both right and natures Laws,
His kinsmen put to death, who gave no cause;
That no rebellion in in his absence be,
Nor making Title unto Sovereignty.
And all whom he suspects or fears will climbe,
Now taste of death least they deserv'd in time,
Nor wonder is t if he in blood begin,
For Cruelty was his parental sin,
Thus eased now of troubles and of fears,
Next spring his course to Asia he steers;
Leavs Sage Antipater, at home to sway,
And through the Hellispont his Ships made way.
Coming to Land, his dart on shore he throws,
Then with alacrity he after goes;
And with a bount'ous heart and courage brave,
His little wealth among his Souldiers gave.
And being ask'd what for himself was left,
Reply'd, enough, sith only hope he kept.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Bradstreet
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Act Nice & Gentle

You dont need no fancy clothes
Whered you get them, goodness knows?
Just show some civility.
Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.
I dont need no luxuries,
As long as you are understanding,
Im not difficult to please.
Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.
Well Im the kind of guy who likes
To take you as I find you
So throw away those false eyelashes and,
Act nice, act nice, baby.
Come on baby, hold my hand.
Come on baby, understand, you gotta
Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.
Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.
Come on baby, hold my hand.
Come on baby, understand, you gotta
Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.
Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Lookie, Lookie

Lookie, lookie, here comes Cookie
walking down the street.
The boys are all aflutter
when their eyes do meet.

She can strut and she can sway,
making them all stare.
But Cookie just keeps walking
as if they were not there.

Lookie, lookie, there goes Cookie
passing them all by.
She's not aware of how she looks
and here's the reason why.

Cookie's life is hard at home.
She doesn't trust a guy.
Her father left when she was five
and she never found out why?

Her mother told her 'Don't trust boys.
They'll break your heart in two.'
But maybe there'll be one someday
that stares but will be true.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Toeing To Toe

Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
And it got too hot,
To get your cookies baked to taste.

Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
Now you think you should stop...
Concentrating on your need,
For sweets.

But if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
A cool mint 'coolah-tah'.
Or have some green tea with me.
I'm having crackers and cheese.

And if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
That cool mint 'coolah-tah'.
Add some snuggled hugging....
With your toe to my toes touch too!

Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
And it got too hot,
To get your cookies baked to taste.

Did you leave your cookie cutter,
Near that boiling pot?
Now you think you should stop...
Concentrating on your need,
For sweets.

So if you wanna,
You can still whip up...
A cool mint 'coolah-tah'.
And do some toe to toe with me.

That's if you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe...
With me.
If you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe with me.
That's if you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe...
With me.
If you wanna,
Do some toeing to toe with me.
That's if you wanna,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Peanut-Butter Cookie 2

-How old was he?
-About my age.
-Tell me about him, again.
-There's not much to tell. I was standing on the curb. I didn't see him coming. Suddenly, there he was. I found myself looking into his eyes. They were gray, I think.
-And?
-He stopped. He opened the paper bag he was carrying and held it out. Obviously, I was supposed to help myself. The bag was jaded and looked like it had seen alot of action, that particular morning.
-The cookies!
-Yep, the cookies. It wouldn't be nice to refuse. In those days, people still worried about such things.
-Courtesy is the most efficient form of coercion. Everybody wins.
-Be that as it may, I reached into the bag and took out-surprise-a peanut-butter cookie. I knew it was a peanut-butter cookie. It was sandy blond and had hatch marks from a fork on top.
-So you ate the cookie?
-Unh-unh.His hands were filthy, the little urchin, my doppelganger. But I waved the cookie around as if I was delighted to have it, and wanted, at that moment, nothing more. It seemed the nice thing.
-So what happened to him?
-How should I know? Suddenly he was gone.
Awful! Is consciousness just circular memory? Is reality?
-Gone. He moved on. Rejoined the parade.
-But he wormed his way into your menagerie of long-term memories-
-I guess.
-It's sad, you know.
-Why do you say that?
-Because he was so young and so poor. He's probably not even alive. He probably died of starvation. A protein deficiency.
-That's morbid. He may be quite alive and kicking. He may have won the lottery for twenty million and have eighteen grandkids.
-You're right, I guess. I just assumed...
-Don't. It tells more about the person making the assumption than about reality. People always assume tragedy.
-You're right, of course. How did it end?
-I heard my mother calling.Looking over my shoulder I saw the statue of Billy Penn-way up, the sun glinting off his hat. Then, there was my mother. In the flesh. Big as life. She grabbed my wrist and hustled me on. She was mad. Because I got away, I guess.
-And that was that?
-And that was that.

poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Mas Alla

This song is a ballad with a bolero rhythmic taste combined by the congas, bongos, maracas, and the acoustic guitar with nylon strings.
Mas alla (beyond) expresses how when you do the right things in your life; when you give whthout asking for something in return, when you really care, when you forgive, when you work hard for y
Deals you then begin to discover your true self by begining to build a better tommorrow, beyond the pain ,the tears and the hate there shines the light of love within each heart . give peace a
Ve; that what the whole world needs more of.
Cuando das sin esperar
When you give without expecting
Cuando quieres de verdad
When you truly love
Cuando brindas perdon
When you offer forgiveness
En lugar de rencor
In place of bitterness
Hay paz en tu corazn
There is peace in your heart
Cuando sientes compasion
When you feel compassion
Del amigo y su dolor
For a friend and his pain
Cuando miras la estrella
When you look at the star
Que oculta la niebla
That is hidden in the mist
Hay paz en tu corazn
There is peace in your heart
-----------
Coro
Mas alla del rencor
Beyond the bitterness
De las lagrimas y el dolor
Of the tears and the pain
Brilla la luz del amor
The light of love shines
Dentro de cada corazn
Inside of each heart
Ilusin, navidad
Illusion, christmas
Pon tus suenos a volar
Let your dreams soar
Siembra paz
Sow peace
Brida amor
Offer love
Que el mundo entero pide mas
Because the whole world is asking for more
-----------
Cuando brota una oracion
When a prayer blossoms
Cuando aceptas el error
When you accept mistakes
Cuando encuentras lugar

[...] Read more

song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Offering

I offer you my forests and my street-cries
With hands of double-patience under the clock,
The antiseptic arguments and lies
Uttered before the flood, the submerged rock.
The sack of meal pierced by the handsome fencer,
The flowers dying for a great adventure.

I offer you the mysterious parable,
The mount of reason, the hero's glassy hymn,
The disquieting uproar of the obvious
Hate in the taproom, murder in the barn
The long experienced finger of the Gulf Stream,
The flying sense of glory in a failure's dream.

I offer you the bubble of free will,
The rarefied agony of forgotten places,
The green cadaver stirring to the moon's pull,
The cheerful butchery of raw amateur faces
Which, like the half-blind nags shipped off for food
Die, doubtless serving some higher good.

I offer you the Egyptian miracle,
The acrobat doing handsprings in the rain,
A touched up photograph in sepia
Of the future teasing the fibres of the brain
I offer you the seven league army boots he wears
Striding down the black funnel of the years.

I offer you a coral growth of cells,
A flash of lightning anchored in a carafe
The withered arm of the last century
Cannot provoke a demon to anger us,
The strap-hanging skeleton of what has been
Is out of date forever like the crinoline.

I offer you clouds of nuisance, fleur de lis,
The opening lips of summer where pigeons rest
The exploding office of the vast nebula
The heraldic device under the left breast,
The taut string and the scribbler's Roman tread
Impinging on the slow shores of the dead.

I offer you the tithes of discontent,
The deck-games played with shadows on a cruise
Beyond the islands, marked on the ancient maps
With the broken altars, markets in disuse
To some "unspoilt" and blessed hemisphere
Where comfort twists the lucid strands of air.

I would offer you so much more if you would turn

[...] Read more

poem by Kenneth Allott
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Accordingly

someday everyone will be wise in the future
everyone will be sensible and forward thinking
wear sensible shoes and act accordingly in the future
wise action according to everyone will be the act
of the future everyone will be futuristic someday
according to god according to everyone and their shoes
in the future everyone will be godless and free
act accordingly in the future or else
play accordions wisely in your godless future
in the future accordions will play themselves

act three in the future: there will be no accordions
everyone will get nostalgic for the accordion god
and act as if they were wise in the future
everyone will be according to god
in the future everyone will not act accordingly
wisdom is unholy in the future
to act accordingly is to stay out of trouble
in the future jails will be bigger and much better
everyone will need some punishment in the future
thinking of accordions will be a crime

lawrence welk is a revolutionary in the future
to act accordingly is to act with wisdom
everyone will act as one in the future
accordingly for everyone to act
in the future everyone will be discredited
everyone must act now to avoid the future
be wise and dont act accordingly
play accordions in the street the future cannot
wait for wisdom and forced accord
one chord might save the future

poem by Stephen Roxborough
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Act Of Faith

I tell you honestly,
Dont you go and throw your heart away
I know its so hard to do
Youve got to let go when you want to hold on
I know how much you miss him celebrate what you had
Dont cry about the things left unsaid
Itll do no good
You look for mercy and a meaning somewhere
You know that the hurting wont go
til you walk through the fire
Its gonna take an act of faith stand up and face the day
Its gonna take an act of faith, nobody can make you stay
Its gonna take an act of faith
Maybe love will find its way back into your life
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Stand up, dont you fall
You just take good care of where you are
Youre thinking lifes through with you
Thats not what hed want or what you should do
I know you loved him baby celebrate who he was
I know you know youve got to go on and live your life
Go down to the river of the spirit that runs through you
And lay yourself down in the healing waters
Its gonna take an act of faith stand up and face the day
Its gonna take an act of faith, nobody can make you stay
Its gonna take an act of faith
Maybe love will find its way back into your life
Love is a healer
There is no purpose served in holding on
Love is a healer
There is no understanding why
Love is a healer
There is no sin in you that brought this to your door
My love, it just is
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Heres my heart my love is in it
Its gonna take an act of faith stand up and face the day
Its gonna take an act of faith, nobody can make you stay
Its gonna take an act of faith
Maybe love will find its way back into your life
Its gonna take an act of faith stand up and face the day
Its gonna take an act of faith, nobody can make you stay
Its gonna take an act of faith

[...] Read more

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Picture Perfect

Picture perfect a life that you saw in a magazine
Or maybe a travelling book
Wanted to get on that plane and fly away
cause you are a rock star deep down inside
You walk with a swagger, got nothin' to hide
Cigarette in your mouth, a cuff on your jeans
Your sideburns are perfect, you're a perfect and lean
So you made an oil painting to inmortalize
All of the hope and vision in your eyes
In your leisure coat and cowboy hat
North American records and so much to bat for
Please bring me along
Please bring me along
Because I want to see everything you have to offer me
Get a job lifting cement
Oh it's so dry when it rains it gets wet
And the village was great, now it's a suburb
You left behind half of all that you had learnt
Relearn a couple things along the way
The thrift shop so clean all for half what you'd pay
So you try everything on, on for size
Drop top your Camaro and go for a ride
Please bring me along
Please bring me along
Because I want to see everything you have to offer me
And I don't mind to sit here and waste my time
Oh but this world is not mine to define
And I want to shine
Please bring me along
Please take me away
I don't want to stay
And I want to see everything you have to offer me
And I want to see everything you have to offer me
And I want to see everything you have to offer me
I want to see everything the world has to offer me
I want to see everything the world has to offer me
I want to show everything I have to offer it
I want to show everything I have to offer it now

song performed by Nelly Furtado
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Bishop Blougram's Apology

No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk.
A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith!
We ought to have our Abbey back, you see.
It's different, preaching in basilicas,
And doing duty in some masterpiece
Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart!
I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes,
Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere;
It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh?
These hot long ceremonies of our church
Cost us a little—oh, they pay the price,
You take me—amply pay it! Now, we'll talk.

So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs.
No deprecation—nay, I beg you, sir!
Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know,
I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out,
We'd see truth dawn together?—truth that peeps
Over the glasses' edge when dinner's done,
And body gets its sop and holds its noise
And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time:
Truth's break of day! You do despise me then.
And if I say, "despise me"—never fear!
1 know you do not in a certain sense—
Not in my arm-chair, for example: here,
I well imagine you respect my place
(Status, entourage, worldly circumstance)
Quite to its value—very much indeed:
—Are up to the protesting eyes of you
In pride at being seated here for once—
You'll turn it to such capital account!
When somebody, through years and years to come,
Hints of the bishop—names me—that's enough:
"Blougram? I knew him"—(into it you slide)
"Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day,
All alone, we two; he's a clever man:
And after dinner—why, the wine you know—
Oh, there was wine, and good!—what with the wine . . .
'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk!
He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen
Something of mine he relished, some review:
He's quite above their humbug in his heart,
Half-said as much, indeed—the thing's his trade.
I warrant, Blougram's sceptical at times:
How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!"
Che che, my dear sir, as we say at Rome,
Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take;
You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths:
The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Afternoon Musings

who first took the cookie from the cookie jar?

who me?
yes you
not i
then who?

(for the grown-up
insomniacs
try the song

and change cookie
to love

it works)

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hookey Rookie

You can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.

Said you can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.
'Cause before I met you, baby...
I played hookey!

You can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.

Said you can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.
'Cause before I met you, baby...
I played hookey!

I asked myself if that did...benefit?
What I did.
And who was with me.
Nothing that was done then was a fit.
No one would give.
And being played in the streets today...
Some say ain't easy!
I left it done and behind me, to forget.

You can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.

Said you can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.
'Cause before I met you, baby...
I played hookey!

Yes...
And you can teach me.
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.
Said you can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.
'Cause before I met you, baby...
I played hookey!

Just for nookie.
I played hookey!
Just a rookie,
Gettin' nookie!
Missing you...
My Cookie!

You can teach me...
Like I never ever had been taught in time before.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Comforting Place

You rush downstairs to the kitchen with excitement as the heart felt aroma of chocolate chip cookies seeps through every room in your house.
So enamored and filled with relief that your anguishing wait is over, you cannot help but notice each cookie's golden brown, wrinkled crust glistening as steam whisps seductively around your nose drawing you near, as if in a trance. While rich chocolate oasises seep delicately into each cookie.
And when they are finally cool enough to eat, you push and grab for the biggest chip, filled cookie on the rack and bite eagerly into the crust, but savoring every flavor.
The texture, so soft and moist, melts like ice in a bowl luke warm water. But, as the last piece slips down your throat, the after taste is so overwhelming that you yearn for another, and another and another until you are satisfied.
But then you comforting place is shattered, like a mirror to a hardwood floor, as your mother walks in to an empty cooling rack and a nervous child afraid of what her mother will say, with chocolate smears resting in the corners of ther mouth and the tips of her fingers.

By: Cece
Age: 14

(This was orginally an imagery activity for my honors english class. Our assignment was to write about our individual comforting place and... mine was chocolate chip cookies! So, I hope you liked it. But I don't know about you but, I'm hungry!)

poem by Cece Cook
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!