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What you do as a policeman might be the right thing to do, but it's not entertaining. I left that behind me.

quote by Dennis Farina
Added by Lucian Velea
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Phrenology

"COME, collar this bad man -
Around the throat he knotted me
Till I to choke began -
In point of fact, garotted me!"

So spake SIR HERBERT WRITE
To JAMES, Policeman Thirty-two -
All ruffled with his fight
SIR HERBERT was, and dirty too.

Policeman nothing said
(Though he had much to say on it),
But from the bad man's head
He took the cap that lay on it.

"No, great SIR HERBERT WHITE -
Impossible to take him up.
This man is honest quite -
Wherever did you rake him up?

"For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,
Indeed, I'm no apologist,
But I, some years ago,
Assisted a Phrenologist.

"Observe his various bumps,
His head as I uncover it:
His morals lie in lumps
All round about and over it."

"Now take him," said SIR WHITE,
"Or you will soon be rueing it;
Bless me! I must be right, -
I caught the fellow doing it!"

Policeman calmly smiled,
"Indeed you are mistaken, sir,
You're agitated - riled -
And very badly shaken, sir.

"Sit down, and I'll explain
My system of Phrenology,
A second, please, remain" -
(A second is horology).

Policeman left his beat -
(The Bart., no longer furious,
Sat down upon a seat,
Observing, "This is curious!")

[...] Read more

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Policeman

Everyday he wakes up
As his bare feet hit the floor
Grabs a cup of coffee
Straps his magnum on once more
Feeds the cat he lives with
Since his wife walked out the door
In nine years hell retire with a pension
Everyday he suffers
cause he sees all kinds of pain
Sometimes feels helpless
In a world thats gone insane
Then he wins a battle
It restores his faith again
Its only human kindness he is after
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
He is a policeman, you know
Every night he comes home
With a sixpack all alone
Feeds the cat he lives with
He picks up the telephone
Needs to talk with someone
But the only love hes known
Was lost forever, he is a policeman
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show

song performed by Chicago
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Thugs In Our House

Cast of characters
Graham, a teenager
Mother, a busy housewife
Father, a conservative husband
Policeman, a young constable
Scene: a kitchen in suburbia, one bright saturday morning
Act one
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. her husband burns his paper, sucks his pipe while studying
Their cushion-floor, his viscous poly-paste breath comes out. their
Wall-paper world is shattered by his shout. a boy in blue is busy
Banging out a headache on the kitchen door. all the while graham
Slept on, dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted
To.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Act two
Narrator: the young policeman who just can't grow a moustache will
Open up his book, and spoil their breakfast with reports of asians who
Have been so badly kicked.
Policeman: is this your son's wallet i've got here? he must have
Dropped it after too much beer!
Mother: oh, officer, we can't believe our little angel is the one
You've picked.
Narrator: and all the while graham slept on, dreaming of a world
Where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Narrator: they never read those pamphlets in his bottom drawer.
Policeman: they never read that tattoo on his arm.
Narrator: they thought that was just a boys club badge he wore.
Policeman: they never thought he'd do folks any harm.
Act three
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. she's singing something stale and simple now this business has
Fizzled out. her little tune is such a happy song. her son is
Innocent, he can't do wrong, 'cos dad's a judge and knows exactly what
The job of judging's all about. and all the while graham slept on,
Dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Mother: no thugs in our house!
Father: no thugs in our house!
Complete cast (in unison): no thugs in our house, dear!

[...] Read more

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Thugs In Our House

Cast of characters
Graham, a teenager
Mother, a busy housewife
Father, a conservative husband
Policeman, a young constable
Scene: a kitchen in suburbia, one bright saturday morning
Act one
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. her husband burns his paper, sucks his pipe while studying
Their cushion-floor, his viscous poly-paste breath comes out. their
Wall-paper world is shattered by his shout. a boy in blue is busy
Banging out a headache on the kitchen door. all the while graham
Slept on, dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted
To.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Act two
Narrator: the young policeman who just can't grow a moustache will
Open up his book, and spoil their breakfast with reports of asians who
Have been so badly kicked.
Policeman: is this your son's wallet i've got here? he must have
Dropped it after too much beer!
Mother: oh, officer, we can't believe our little angel is the one
You've picked.
Narrator: and all the while graham slept on, dreaming of a world
Where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Narrator: they never read those pamphlets in his bottom drawer.
Policeman: they never read that tattoo on his arm.
Narrator: they thought that was just a boys club badge he wore.
Policeman: they never thought he'd do folks any harm.
Act three
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. she's singing something stale and simple now this business has
Fizzled out. her little tune is such a happy song. her son is
Innocent, he can't do wrong, 'cos dad's a judge and knows exactly what
The job of judging's all about. and all the while graham slept on,
Dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Mother: no thugs in our house!
Father: no thugs in our house!
Complete cast (in unison): no thugs in our house, dear!

[...] Read more

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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March of Memories

Left, right - left, right . . .
We march today for memories (the grizzled Digger said)
Memories of lost dreams and comrades gone ahead
Comrades bloody war took, dreams that men have slain
(Left, right - left, right . . .) Not ours to dream again.
There was Shorty Hall and Len Pratt, Long Joe and Blue,
Skeet and Brolga Houlihan, and Fat and me and you:
Bright lads, the old bunch; eager lads and keen
That first day we marched down thro' this familiar scene.
Dreams were ours, and high hopes went with us overseas.
(Left, right - left, right . . . ) And now 'tis memories.

We march again for memories (the grizzled Digger sighed)
Memories of lost mates, of foolish hopes that died.
First, Shorty got his issue on the beach at Sari Bair.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) The vision of him there
Brought the dawn of disillusion. I needed little more
To blood me to the butchery, the filthiness called war.
Shorty, like a limp rag, slung there anyhow,
Sprawling on the warm sand like I can see him now.
Always was a merry mate, a rare lad for fun.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And Shorty, that was one.

We march today for memories; and they come crowding fast
As each year adds another page to the story of the past.
Pratt went west at Mena Base; raved of home and peace.
(Left, right - left, right . . . ) His was a kind release.
For a Lone Pine shell-burst got him; and he was less than man.
'Twas a sniper's bullet bore the name of Brolga Houlihan.
We called him Happy Houlihan, the man who took a chance.
Then the Reaper paused and plotted for the rest of them in France -
Except Long Joe, the luckless, a youth ill-shaped for war.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And Long Joe was four.

We march today for memories. Little else had we
When we marched home as veterans. Blue and you and me.
For Skeet went with a night raid, and none came back alive.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) So Skeet, he tallied five.
Five gone and four to fight; us and Blue and Fat,
Who vowed he was too big to hit; but a whizz-bang settled that.
Yet Fat was lucky to the end - an end that held no pain.
All hell erupted where he stood; and none saw him again.
And Blue marched, and you marched, and I, a war-torn three.
(Left. right - left, right . . . ) Marched with memory.

We march again with memories (the grizzled Digger spake)
One year? Ten years? How soon shall we awake
To glorious reality? For lately it would seem -
(Left, right - left, right . . .) - we march within a dream.
Where Shorty is, and Blue is, and Happy Houlihan,

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Communication

Light beams from outer space
Drifting to your satellite
Your dish responds
Communication disinformation
So entertaining
Blood money blood money
Its wild in here
Theres a girl on the floor
Shes gonna blow this place apart
Gonna take us all
All away
Communication disinformation
So entertaining
Blood money blood money
Its wild out here
You should see the light
]from the crown of the king
The king of the night
Spinning metal blue satellite
Your dish responds
Communication disinformation
So entertaining
Blood money blood money
Its wild out here
Situations alright
Gonna keep up the lies
And our version of life
I wont leave this dirty place
Ill stay here til the end
The lights are on
So action man
Show us the truth
Communication disinformation
So entertaining
Blood money blood money
Theres a war out here
Theres a bomb on the floor
Gonna blow this place apart
Gonna take this show away

song performed by INXS
Added by Lucian Velea
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Angels Unaware

Words & music: michael w. smith & wayne kirkpatrick
Maybe there's a light in my soul
Maybe it flickers like a neon sign outside an abandoned hotel
Maybe there are things you just can't know
But can you say there are no mysteries in the house you choose to dwell
Maybe we are entertaining angels unaware
Maybe there's a place where we will fly
But some say god is dead like nietzsche said and faith has made me a fool
But maybe there is more than meets the eye
Who's that stranger there beside you? don't be smug and don't be cruel
Maybe we are entertaining angels unaware
Battles of the heart and of the mind
We stay caught in mental purgatory 'til our existence can be defined
Meanwhile on the shores of parallel
There may be a holy conference held somewhere discussing all mankind
Maybe we are entertaining angels unaware
I say maybe we are entertaining angels unaware
Angels unaware
Soaring, somewhere, longing, reaching
Searching, knowing, loving, caring
Let me take you by the hand
Lead you to the promised land
And trust him with your heart
He'll lead you home

song performed by Michael W. Smith
Added by Lucian Velea
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All We Got Left Is The Beat

[Intro]
Ey, ey, check it out homie
man, you need to get up out of this spot man
and get a job man before you get smoked man
(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah son...)
I know you don't wanna hear it man
but, ey, man, wait, hold up loc. you got company man
(where's my guns?)
[Gunshot]
[LL Cool J]
When I'm ridin' on the street I hear gunshots [rare shots]
(swear) crack niggas cause they moms missed flips
So black man really care about politics
In the ninety's, our governments so slick
I watch CNN sometimes and I realize
they're playin' tricks on my mind
They want a man to work with his hands
Too young to die, and they don't give a damn
Rare-momma got down on her knees
But not no more, god damn it, I make cheese
I'm on the move and I'ma show and prove
you might cry to my political groove
Rest in peace, Sauce Brothers underneath
I love you to death while my beats' like a reef
In the middle of the night on the city streets
The only thing we got left is the beat
[Chorus: LL Cool J]
All we got left is the beat, is the beat, yo
All we got left is the beat, huh, give it to me
All we got left is the beat, the beat, yo
All we got left is the beat, uh
[LL Cool J]
Who brings guns into the USA?
And then makes sure that they come around the way
Gain the points until the whole race traps
And teach up my woman that she should call up the cops
The projects are hell, wait a, minute
There's nothin' we do but ride on top of an elevator
Say the clubs, I can't get a job
Mouth to feed, somebody's gettin' robbed
I ain't worked, but I ain't workin' for crumbs
You ever seen a man-shelter?
Check out the bombs!!!
Brother of pain, their whole lives are over
They spent every dime tryin' not to be sober
And all the ladies got bags of clothes
They'll be your long lost momma, one never knows
The streets are like a nightmare
While the presidents secretary is chillin' in his leather chair
[Chorus: LL Cool J]

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
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Lara. A Tale

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord--
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.
The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;--that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!--
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.
And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
'Yet doth he live!' exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place;
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome to that Gothic pile.

IV.
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess;

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Pharsalia - Book III: Massilia

With canvas yielding to the western wind
The navy sailed the deep, and every eye
Gazed on Ionian billows. But the chief
Turned not his vision from his native shore
Now left for ever, while the morning mists
Drew down upon the mountains, and the cliffs
Faded in distance till his aching sight
No longer knew them. Then his wearied frame
Sank in the arms of sleep. But Julia's shape,
In mournful guise, dread horror on her brow,
Rose through the gaping earth, and from her tomb
Erect, in form as of a Fury spake:
'Driven from Elysian fields and from the plains
The blest inhabit, when the war began,
I dwell in Stygian darkness where abide
The souls of all the guilty. There I saw
Th' Eumenides with torches in their hands
Prepared against thy battles; and the fleets
Which by the ferryman of the flaming stream
Were made to bear thy dead: while Hell itself
Relaxed its punishments; the sisters three
With busy fingers all their needful task
Could scarce accomplish, and the threads of fate
Dropped from their weary hands. With me thy wife,
Thou, Magnus, leddest happy triumphs home:
New wedlock brings new luck. Thy concubine,
Whose star brings all her mighty husbands ill,
Cornelia, weds in thee a breathing tomb.
Through wars and oceans let her cling to thee
So long as I may break thy nightly rest:
No moment left thee for her love, but all
By night to me, by day to Caesar given.
Me not the oblivious banks of Lethe's stream
Have made forgetful; and the kings of death
Have suffered me to join thee; in mid fight
I will be with thee, and my haunting ghost
Remind thee Caesar's daughter was thy spouse.
Thy sword kills not our pledges; civil war
Shall make thee wholly mine.' She spake and fled.
But he, though heaven and hell thus bode defeat,
More bent on war, with mind assured of ill,
'Why dread vain phantoms of a dreaming brain?
Or nought of sense and feeling to the soul
Is left by death; or death itself is nought.'

Now fiery Titan in declining path
Dipped to the waves, his bright circumference
So much diminished as a growing moon
Not yet full circled, or when past the full;
When to the fleet a hospitable coast

[...] Read more

poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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Everyday Faces

Everyday faces that say hello
Everyday faces that come and go
Everyday faces that stay the same
Everyday day after day
There was a day
When all everything changed
People all came
Stood in the rain
They ain't got a cent (they not the same)
Policeman walked in
The statues all waiting (???)
They wanted a change
Everyday face
Was a time all we could do was try
Was a time when we could say goodbye
Now you find you never do a thing (the same)
Does today feel the same way
Cos there was a day
When all had been changed
People all came
Danced in the rain
They ain't got a cent
And a policeman walked in
The statues all wait (??)
All the same
Everyday face
There was a day
When everything changed
The people all came
Danced in the rain
They're in pain
A policeman walked in
All the statues are waiting
They wanted a change
From an everyday face
Now you're looking at me
Like I'm so passe
I'm a disgrace
Just an everyday face

song performed by Travis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Billy's Policeman

I knew a policeman once
And this is true as it ever could be
Who made me feel an awful dunce;
'Cos I lost my dad, and it frightened me.
He came and took me by the hand
'Well, now,' said he; 'young fella-me-lad,
No need to cry, I understand.
You'll soon be back with mummy and dad.'

I knew the big policeman well
Before he'd talked the teeniest while.
Such a lot of things he had to tell;
And he had the cheeriest, merriest smile.
I've got a nipper at home like you
So high, young fella-me-lad,' he said.
And all at once - as true as true
I forgot to cry, and I laughed instead.

And then the big policeman said:
'Ho, that's the stuff for the troops, old son!'
The funniest things came into his head;
And I laughed and laughed at every one.
And when they found my mummy and dad,
And he patted my head and said good-bye.
Somehow or other I felt quite sad;
But I knew he'd be sorry to see me cry.

I know that all policemen now
Are just like that, and it's silly to think
They frown and bully and make a row,
Why, you ought to have seen my merry one wink!
And when I pass where he has his beat,
When I'm out for a walk with mummy and dad,
I wave to my big friend in the street,
'What Ho,' says he, 'young fella-me-lad.'

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Everything between us is black

A black sleep near to death
surrounds me and everything between you and me,
while police patrol cars
with flashing lights and sirens
are parking outside the yard
and you are at your lover’s house.

They are here to lock handcuffs around my wrists,
send by the lies that you trumpet forth
and when I only allow one policeman
to come into the yard
while your white policeman lover with the others
have to wait outside the yard
the lot of them are raging mad
as I threaten
to take legal action against them

and that one black policeman
finds your drugged out child
where he is sleeping,
learn from him
that they have come in vain
and that you are making arses of them and me,
he searches through the house
and I send the whole lot of them to hell
where they can go and crawl back in

and there’s death
like a deep dark grave,
where at a time
I had love for you

and my memory fades, about our gloomy story
of which now nothing remains
but for the realization
that your departure was my actual salvation
and between us everything is black,
all meaning has been wiped out eternally.

[Reference: Un grand sommeil noir… by Paul Verlaine.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The City of Sleep

Over the edge of the purple down,
Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town
That is hard by the Sea of Dreams--
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away,
And the sick may forget to weep?
But we--pity us! Oh, pity us!
We wakeful; ah, pity us! --
We must go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!

Weary they turn from the scroll and crown,
Fetter and prayer and plough--
They that go up to the Merciful Town,
For her gates are closing now.
It is their right in the Baths of Night
Body and soul to steep,
But we--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!--
We must go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!

Over the edge of the purple down,
Ere the tender dreams begin,
Look--we may look--at the Merciful Town,
But we may not enter in!
Outcasts all, from her guarded wall
Back to our watch we creep:
We--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!--
We that go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Lara

LARA. [1]

CANTO THE FIRST.

I.

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, [2]
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord —
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.

The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself; — that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest! —
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.

And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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My Parties

Well this is my back yard
My back gate
I hate to start my parties late
Heres the party cart
Aint that great ?
That aint the best part baby
Just wait
Thats a genuine weathervane
It moves with the breeze
Portable hammock honey
Who needs trees
Its casual entertaining
We aim to please
At my parties
Check out the shingles
Its brand new
Excuse me while I mingle
Hi, how are you
Hey everybody
Let me give you a toast
This ones for me
The host with the most
Its getting a trifle colder
Step inside my home
Thats a brass toilet tissue holder with its own telephone
Thats musical doorbell
It dont ring, I aint kiddin
It plays america the beautiful and tie a yellow ribbon
Boy, this punch is a trip
Its o.k. in my book
Here, take a sip
Maybe little heaven on the fruit
Ah, here comes the dip
You may kiss the cook
Let me show you honey
Its easy - look
You take a fork and spire em
Say, did you try these ?
So glad you like em
The secrets in the cheese
Its casual entertaining
We aim to please
At my parties
Now dont talk to me about the polar bear
Dont talk to me about ozone layer
Aint so much of anything these days, even the air
Theyre running out of rhinos
What do I care ?
Lets hear it for the dolphin
Lets hear it for the trees

[...] Read more

song performed by Dire Straits
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Entertaining the Absence of Logic

There are still those who are amply baited,
Who remain over medicated...
With hallucinations they satiate.
And prescribed just the right mix,
Of delusions to keep them fixed.
With a bombardment of mental distractions...
To ensure denial and truth is resisted.

There are still those who are amply baited,
Who remain over medicated...
With hallucinations they satiate.
The time to awaken their minds has passed.
Addicted to fantasize and this will last.
As they have been treated to dismiss,
All elements of reality in their consciousness.

Confirming with validation the admittance of conflict.
Entertaining the absence of logic and common sense.
Numbed and insisting this existence persists.
Entertaining the absence of logic and common sense.
Numbed and insisting this existence persists.
Entertaining the absence of logic and common sense.
Confirming with validation the admittance of conflict.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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With That Moan On

Long lost in the game and schemes.
And far from entertaining,
Is your...
Toxic mind that never stops.
And your...
Willingness to be on top.
And your...
Way of unchanging.
And your...
Thinking that you're everything.

Doing anything to be seen on top,
Is an ego you have that should be dropped.

Long lost in the game and schemes.
And far from entertaining,
Is your...
Toxic mind that never stops.
And your...
Willingness to be on top.
And your...
Way of unchanging.
And your...
Thinking that you're everything.

Nothing that you do is of a benefit,
To anyone that listens to your selfishness.
With that moan on...
When you don't get your way.
With that moan on...
Heard every single day.
And that moan on...
Drives everybody away,
Because that ego is on display.
With that moan on...
When you don't get your way.
With that moan on...
Heard every single day.
And that moan on...
Drives everybody away,
Because that ego is on display.

Long lost in the game and schemes.
And far from entertaining,
Is your...
Toxic mind that never stops.
And your...
Willingness to be on top.
And your...
Way of unchanging.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Then You Left Me

I never ask for any time from you baby.
I never ask for any lies.
You only hurt the one you love the most baby.
You only had to make me cry.

'Cause you left me (you left me) all alone (you left me)
You left me(you left me) to stand alone.

And ev'ry night I sit beside my bed baby.
And I keep thinking of your love.
The things we dreamed about.
How much I love you baby.
We had the world and the stars above.

But then you left me (you left me) all alone.(you left me)
You left me . You left me (you left me) to stand alone.
You left me to stand alone.
You left me to stand alone.
You left me. You left me. You left me. You left me.

song performed by Bee Gees from Cucumber Castle
Added by Lucian Velea
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