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Bolt

Cast: John Travolta, Miley Cyrus, Susie Essman, Mark Walton, Malcolm McDowell

trailer for Bolt, directed by Byron Howard, Chris Williams (2008)
Added by anonym
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Susie Cincinati

Well susie cincinnati
Got a groovy little motor car
She lives for the night
And her husbands a security guard
Her looks arent exactly a plus
But it doesnt matter to us
Because she knows where its at
And she gets you there in seconds flat
She knows all the honkies
And the kids are all home in bed
(ooo ride susie cincinnati)
Shed rather do this
Than anything else instead
(ooo ride susie cincinnati)
She got the nicotine fit
And before she discovered it
(ooo ride susie cincinnati)
Everybody in the back seat suffocated
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
Yeah
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Woah
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
Yeah
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
Woah yeah
Shell always pick you up
When the others go and leave you down
(to the ride to the ride susie cincinnati)
In her little red cab shes scootin all over town
(to the ride to the ride susie cincinnati)
Shes gotta mind the meter too
My pockets got some signs for you (? ? ? )
But its just one look
Because shell give the ride free to you
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lady of the Lake: Canto II. - The Island

I.
At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing,
'T is morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay,
All Nature's children feel the matin spring
Of life reviving, with reviving day;
And while yon little bark glides down the bay,
Wafting the stranger on his way again,
Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray,
And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain,
Mixed with the sounding harp, O white-haired Allan-bane!

II.
Song.

'Not faster yonder rowers' might
Flings from their oars the spray,
Not faster yonder rippling bright,
That tracks the shallop's course in light,
Melts in the lake away,
Than men from memory erase
The benefits of former days;
Then, stranger, go! good speed the while,
Nor think again of the lonely isle.

'High place to thee in royal court,
High place in battled line,
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport!
Where beauty sees the brave resort,
The honored meed be thine!
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere,
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear,
And lost in love's and friendship's smile
Be memory of the lonely isle!

III.
Song Continued.

'But if beneath yon southern sky
A plaided stranger roam,
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh,
And sunken cheek and heavy eye,
Pine for his Highland home;
Then, warrior, then be thine to show
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe;
Remember then thy hap erewhile,
A stranger in the lonely isle.

'Or if on life's uncertain main
Mishap shall mar thy sail;
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain,

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Susie Cincinnati

Susie cincinnati
Got a groovy little motor car
She lives for the night
And her husbands a security guard
Her looks arent exactly a plus
A-but it doesnt matter to us
Because she knows where its at
And she gets you there in seconds flat
She knows all the honkies
And the kids are all home in bed
(ooo ride susie cincinnati ride)
Shed rather do this
Than anything else instead
(ooo ride susie cincinnati)
She got the nicotine fit
And before she discovered it
Everybody in the back seat suffocated
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
Yeah
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Woah
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
(get yourself together)
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
Yeah
Susie cincinnati we thought you were a winner
Yeah
Susie cincinnati citys number one sinner
Woah yeah
Shell always pick you up
When the others go and let you down
(to the ride to the ride susie cincinnati)
In her little red cab shes scootin all over town
(to the ride to the ride susie cincinnati)
Shes gotta mind the meter too
All polished up it shines for you
But its just for looks
Because shell give the ride free to you
Yeah
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati
Susie cincinnati
Oh baby what you do
Susie cincinnati
S-s-susie cincinnati
S-s-susie cincinnati
Susie

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Susie- Q

Oh, susie q, oh, susie q,
Oh, susie q, baby I love you, susie q.
I like the way you walk, I like the way you talk;
I like the way you walk, I like the way you talk, susie q.
Well, say that youll be true, well, say that youll be true,
Well, say that youll be true, and never leave me blue, susie q.
Well, say that youll be mine, well, say that youll be mine,
Well, say that youll be mine, baby all the time, susie q.
Who do true two you blue who (*)
Oh susie q, oh susie q,
Oh susie q, baby I love you, susie q.
I like the way you walk, I like the way you talk,
I like the way you walk, I like the way you talk, susie q.
Oh susie q, oh susie q,
Oh susie q, baby I love you, susie q.

song performed by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Added by Lucian Velea
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Robin Hood and the Monk

In somer, when the shawes be sheyne,
And leves be large and long,
Hit is full mery in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song,

To se the dere draw to the dale,
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow hem in the leves grene,
Under the grene wode tre.

Hit befel on Whitson
Erly in a May mornyng,
The son up feyre can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.

'This is a mery mornyng,' seid Litull John,
'Be Hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man then I am one
Lyves not in Cristianté.

'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'
Litull John can sey,
'And thynk hit is a full fayre tyme
In a mornyng of May.'

'Ye, on thyng greves me,' seid Robyn,
'And does my hert mych woo:
That I may not no solem day
To mas nor matyns goo.

'Hit is a fourtnet and more,' seid he,
'Syn I my Savyour see;
To day wil I to Notyngham,' seid Robyn,
'With the myght of mylde Marye.'

Than spake Moche, the mylner sun,
Ever more wel hym betyde!
'Take twelve of thi wyght yemen,
Well weppynd, be thi side.
Such on wolde thi selfe slon,
That twelve dar not abyde.'

'Of all my mery men,' seid Robyn,
'Be my feith I wil non have,
But Litull John shall beyre my bow,
Til that me list to drawe.'

'Thou shall beyre thin own,' seid Litull Jon,
'Maister, and I wyl beyre myne,
And we well shete a peny,' seid Litull Jon,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Wake Up Little Susie

Wake up little susie, wake up. wake up little susie, wake up.
The movie wasnt so hot, it didnt have much of a plot
We fell asleep, out goose is cooked, our reputation is shot
Wake up little susie, wake up little susie
What are you gonna tell your mama, what you gonna tell your pa
What are you gonna tell your friend when they say ooo la la
Wake up little susie, wake up little susie
Well I told your mama that youd be back by ten
Now susie, baby looks like we goofed again
Wake up little susie, wake up little susie, we gotta go home
Wake up little susie, wake up. wake up little susie, wake up.
The bullfrogs sound asleep, wake up little susie and weep
Its four oclock and were in trouble deep
Wake up little susie, wake up little susie

song performed by Grateful Dead
Added by Lucian Velea
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Blood On The Dancefloor

She got your number
She know your game
She put you under
It's so insane

Since you seduced her
How does it feel
To know that woman
Is out to kill

Every night stance is like takin' a chance
It's not about love and romance
And now you're gonna get it

Every hot man is out takin' a chance
It's not about love and romance
And now you do regret it

To escape the world I've got to enjoy that simple dance
And it seemed that everything was on my side
(Blood on my side)

She seemed sincere like it was love and true romance
And now she's out to get me
And I just can't take it
Just can't break it

Susie got your number
And Susie ain't your friend
Look who took you under
With seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susie's got your number
And Susie says its right

She got your number
How does it feel
To know this stranger
Is out to kill

She got your baby
It happened fast
If you could only
Erase the past

Every night stance is like takin a chances
It's not about love and romance
And now you're gonna get it

[...] Read more

song performed by Michael Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wat Tyler - Act III

ACT III.

SCENE—SMITHFIELD.

PIERS (meeting JOHN BALL.)

You look disturb'd, my father?

JOHN BALL.

Piers, I am so.
Jack Straw has forced the Tower: seized the Archbishop,
And beheaded him.

PIERS.

The curse of insurrection!

JOHN BALL.

Aye, Piers! our nobles level down their vassals—
Keep them at endless labour like their brutes,
Degrading every faculty by servitude:
Repressing all the energy of the mind.
We must not wonder then, that like wild beasts,
When they have burst their chains, with brutal rage
They revenge them on their tyrants.

PIERS.

This Archbishop!
He was oppressive to his humble vassals:
Proud, haughty, avaricious.—

JOHN BALL.

A true high-priest!
Preaching humility with his mitre on!
Praising up alms and Christian charity
Even whilst his unforgiving hand distress'd
His honest tenants.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
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Sir Peter Harpdon's End

In an English Castle in Poictou. Sir Peter Harpdon, a Gascon knight in the English service, and John Curzon, his lieutenant.

John Curzon

Of those three prisoners, that before you came
We took down at St. John's hard by the mill,
Two are good masons; we have tools enough,
And you have skill to set them working.

Sir Peter

So-
What are their names?

John Curzon

Why, Jacques Aquadent,
And Peter Plombiere, but-

Sir Peter

What colour'd hair
Has Peter now? has Jacques got bow legs?

John Curzon

Why, sir, you jest: what matters Jacques' hair,
Or Peter's legs to us?

Sir Peter

O! John, John, John!
Throw all your mason's tools down the deep well,
Hang Peter up and Jacques; they're no good,
We shall not build, man.

John Curzon

going.

Shall I call the guard
To hang them, sir? and yet, sir, for the tools,
We'd better keep them still; sir, fare you well.

[...] Read more

poem by William Morris
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John Daniel

(Dolly Parton)
John Daniel came to town one summer afternoon
Wearin' dirty work clothes so everyone presumed
He was just another logger from the loggin' camp nearby
And he was, but there was somethin' different in John Daniel's eyes
John Daniel was a young man, not more than twenty-four
And there was an air about him that one could not ignore
And in spite of callused hands & dirty clothes, his face was kind
And I wanted so to know what was in John Daniel's mind
John Daniel, tell me where did you come from; tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's somethin' about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
I rented him a room; he went upstairs like all the rest
It was Saturday and he'd be goin' in to town, I guessed
But he left in a robe and sandals, with a Bible in his hand;
And I thought to myself, John Daniel, I don't understand
Now I'd planned to meet some friends of mine when I got off at three,
In the park we often gather to talk of love and peace
When I got there I found that a crowd had gathered 'round;
And there I saw John Daniel a sittin' on the ground
John Daniel, tell me where did you come from; tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's somethin' about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
So, "You want to be free," he said, "Well, this is how you can."
As he read from the Bible he held in his hand
We were searchin' for the truth not knowin' where to look,
Not knowin' that the answers all were in John Daniel's book
John Daniel told us all how we could be free
John Daniel taught us all a better way for you and me
He came to us in our own way so we'd be sure to see
He had the light and essence of the man from Galilee
John Daniel, tell me where did you come from; tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's something about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
John Daniel, John Daniel, John Daniel
John Daniel do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
John Daniel came to town one summer afternoon
Wearin' dirty work clothes so everyone presumed
He was just another logger from the loggin' camp nearby
And he was, but there was somethin' different in John Daniel's eyes
Ooh, John Daniel, tell me where did you come from
Tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's something about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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Blood On The Dance Floor

Written and composed by michael jackson and teddy riley
She got your number
She know your game
She put you under
Its so insane
Since you seduced her
How does it feel
To know that woman
Is out to kill
Every night stance is like takin a chance
Its not about love and romance
And now youre gonna get it
Every hot man is out takin a chance
Its not about love and romance
And now you do regret it
To escape the world Ive got to enjoy that simple dance
And it seemed that everything was on my side
(blood on my side)
She seemed sincere like it was love and true romance
And now shes out to get me
And I just cant take it
Just cant break it
Susie got your number
And susie aint your friend
Look who took you under
With seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susies got your number
And susie says its right
She got your number
How does it feel
To know this stranger
Is out to kill
She got your baby
It happened fast
If you could only
Erase the past
Every night stance is like takin a chances
Its not about love and romance
And now youre gonna get it
Every hot man is out takin a chance
Its not about love and romance
And now you do regret it
To escape the world I got to enjoy this simple dance
And it seemed that everything was on my side
(blood on my side)
It seemed sincere like it was love and true romance
And now shes out to get me
And I just cant take it

[...] Read more

song performed by Michael Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Tale XIX

THE CONVERT.

Some to our Hero have a hero's name
Denied, because no father's he could claim;
Nor could his mother with precision state
A full fair claim to her certificate;
On her own word the marriage must depend -
A point she was not eager to defend:
But who, without a father's name, can raise
His own so high, deserves the greater praise;
The less advantage to the strife he brought,
The greater wonders has his prowess wrought;
He who depends upon his wind and limbs,
Needs neither cork nor bladder when he swims;
Nor will by empty breath be puff'd along,
As not himself--but in his helpers--strong.
Suffice it then, our Hero's name was clear,
For call John Dighton, and he answer'd 'Here!'
But who that name in early life assign'd
He never found, he never tried to find:
Whether his kindred were to John disgrace,
Or John to them, is a disputed case;
His infant state owed nothing to their care -
His mind neglected, and his body bare;
All his success must on himself depend,
He had no money, counsel, guide, or friend;
But in a market-town an active boy
Appear'd, and sought in various ways employ;
Who soon, thus cast upon the world, began
To show the talents of a thriving man.
With spirit high John learn'd the world to

brave,
And in both senses was a ready knave;
Knave as of old obedient, keen, and quick,
Knave as of present, skill'd to shift and trick;
Some humble part of many trades he caught,
He for the builder and the painter wrought;
For serving-maids on secret errands ran,
The waiter's helper, and the ostler's man;
And when he chanced (oft chanced he) place to lose,
His varying genius shone in blacking shoes:
A midnight fisher by the pond he stood,
Assistant poacher, he o'erlook'd the wood;
At an election John's impartial mind
Was to no cause nor candidate confined;
To all in turn he full allegiance swore,
And in his hat the various badges bore:
His liberal soul with every sect agreed,
Unheard their reasons, he received their creed:

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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John, John

John, oh, john,
John,
Let's hope for peace.
Oh, john, let's hope for peace.
John, oh, john,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Peace, peace, peace.
Oh, john, oh, john, john, john,
Oh, john,
John,
Oh, oh, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john, john,
Let's hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope for peace.
Peace -
John.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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John, John

John, oh, john,
John,
Let's hope for peace.
Oh, john, let's hope for peace.
John, oh, john,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Peace, peace, peace.
Oh, john, oh, john, john, john,
Oh, john,
John,
Oh, oh, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john, john,
Let's hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope for peace.
Peace -
John.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prejudice, Paranoia And Narcissism

PREJUDICE, PARANOIA AND NARCISSIM

If paranoia can be rationalized
by means of prejudice, if follows narc-
issism has to be an idealized
agenda for a person who's an arse.

Rachel Shukert ("Greased, Frightening, " Tablet,5/11/12) writes about John Travolta:

Well, folks, it's been a big week in gay news. On the good side, President Barack Obama came out in support of same-sex marriage and Anjelica Huston sang on Smash. On the other, the press has been all abuzz over the lawsuit recently slapped on John Travolta by a masseur claiming the star attempted to coerce him into unwanted sexual acts during a session at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Two steps forward, one step back. That's progress, I guess.

Of all the tabloid press coverage on Massage-gate, there are two details that, er, popped up at me. One is the employment of positively J.K. Rowling-esque adjectives regarding the area in question: "solid eight inches … springy" making it sound like Hollywood's second-most famous Scientologist purchased his, ahem, wand straight from Mr. Ollivander's. (It chooses the wizard, you know.) The second is the still-unnamed masseur's assertion of how Travolta explained how he learned to Stop Worrying and Love Transactional Same-Sex Liaisons: By accepting that Hollywood is controlled by "homosexual Jewish men" who expect sexual favors in return for career-related ones….
But back to Travolta: Seen through this lens, it makes perfect sense why the Staying Alive star might articulate what he did the way he (allegedly) did: He posits a homosexual conspiracy to try to convince himself that he's not one (manipulated, sure, but that's what they do) and then tacks on the Jewish part to prove how it's extra sneaky—and impossible to resist.

And yet, I can't help feeling sorry for him in a way I never do for the Gibsons and Gallianos and Rick Sanchezes of the world. If true, it makes for a pretty sad picture to think of one of the biggest, most universally loved movie stars on the planet lying all alone in a hotel suite (and given his well-documented weight fluctuations, the empty chocolate cake wrappers lying on the floor make a particularly poignant touch—I mean, who hasn't been there?) lunging at a masseur's white-jeaned crotch (yes, in my head, he's wearing white jeans) and then blaming a David Geffen-led cabal for his actions when he gets shut down. If every prejudice is the rationalization of paranoia, paranoia is the rationalization of insecurity, and as the prophet(ess) RuPaul (for whom I definitely intend to leave out a custom Absolut vodka cocktail at my next Seder) likes to say: If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else? Internalized homophobia and internalized anti-Semitism are just two sides of the same highly polished and wisely invested coin.
With a single (for the third time, alleged) prejudicial statement, John Travolta has neatly subverted the old maxim about paranoia, and in doing so, the essential emptiness behind prejudice itself. It's not that they aren't out to get you. It's just that "they" is usually "you."

Marc (Tracy?) adds that the fact that Travolta belongs to the conspiratorial Church of Scientology may be relevant:
So the nuts maybe don't fall so far from the tree?

5/11/12 #10169

poem by Gershon Hepner
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M'Fingal - Canto IV

Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.

On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.

"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!

"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;

[...] Read more

poem by John Trumbull
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Rupeat The Riley

Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Im the bravest driver, sit by my side
Ill drive you so wild if you sit by my side
See how far we travel, take ov the wheel,
Shell drive us to hell if you take ov the wheel
Whoa oh oh whoa, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Like to take a ride, that riley of mine
Shes shakey on her legs that riley of mine
Im the bravest driver, sit by my side
Ill drive you so wild if you sit by my side
Whoa oh oh whoa, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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The White Cliffs

I
I have loved England, dearly and deeply,
Since that first morning, shining and pure,
The white cliffs of Dover I saw rising steeply
Out of the sea that once made her secure.
I had no thought then of husband or lover,
I was a traveller, the guest of a week;
Yet when they pointed 'the white cliffs of Dover',
Startled I found there were tears on my cheek.
I have loved England, and still as a stranger,
Here is my home and I still am alone.
Now in her hour of trial and danger,
Only the English are really her own.

II
It happened the first evening I was there.
Some one was giving a ball in Belgrave Square.
At Belgrave Square, that most Victorian spot.—
Lives there a novel-reader who has not
At some time wept for those delightful girls,
Daughters of dukes, prime ministers and earls,
In bonnets, berthas, bustles, buttoned basques,
Hiding behind their pure Victorian masks
Hearts just as hot - hotter perhaps than those
Whose owners now abandon hats and hose?
Who has not wept for Lady Joan or Jill
Loving against her noble parent's will
A handsome guardsman, who to her alarm
Feels her hand kissed behind a potted palm
At Lady Ivry's ball the dreadful night
Before his regiment goes off to fight;
And see him the next morning, in the park,
Complete in busbee, marching to embark.
I had read freely, even as a child,
Not only Meredith and Oscar Wilde
But many novels of an earlier day—
Ravenshoe, Can You Forgive Her?, Vivien Grey,
Ouida, The Duchess, Broughton's Red As a Rose,
Guy Livingstone, Whyte-Melville— Heaven knows
What others. Now, I thought, I was to see
Their habitat, though like the Miller of Dee,
I cared for none and no one cared for me.

III
A light blue carpet on the stair
And tall young footmen everywhere,
Tall young men with English faces
Standing rigidly in their places,
Rows and rows of them stiff and staid

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
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Susie Q

Susie Q
Would you like to do a few,
Night caps?
I've been refused...
And I'm a cat that isn't like that!
I think you're sweet...
Butterfinger licking.
I think you'll find my conversation,
'Not-that-bad'!

Susie Q
What do you do...
When you say you don't do it?
I'm so amused
That you believe I am a 'fooler'.
I may have a glass of wine or two with you.
I may even ask you what you'd like to do...
Susie Q,
Eat your oysters...
Let's be movin'!

Susie Q
Would you like to do a few,
Night caps?
I've been refused...
And I'm a cat that isn't like that!
I think you're sweet...
Butterfinger licking.
I think you'll find my conversation,
'Not-that-bad'!
Susie Q...
When you're through,
We can get groovin'!
Susie Q...
When you're through,
We can get groovin'!
Susie Q...
I think you know,
Just what you're doin'.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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