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The Glass Cleaner

The Native who comes with a bottle of Windex,
Regular paper roll and a damp piece of cloth.
He cleans the outer glass of the shop well
And you could see the World brighter!
When he finished the cleaning
Boss gave him few dollars and a big thank you!
He bought a scratch lottery out of his payment.
When he leaves smiley I asked; 'Any luck Mr.*Red Hawk? '
'Yes I won five dollars and I can drink a bottle of King Cobra beer tonight
And have a sound sleep! ' He said very happily.
Through the shined glass I saw he's walking towards his home
Like in a bygone Cowboy movie but without a horse!

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Added by Poetry Lover
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Thats The Way I Wanna Rock N Roll

Party gonna happen at the union hall
Shaking to the rhythm til everybody fall
Picking up my woman in my chevrolet
Glory hallelujah gonna rock the night away
Im gonna roll roll roll
Im gonna roll roll roll
Im gonna take this town, turn it around
Im gonna roll roll roll
Now theres a blue suede bopping on a high heeled shoe
Balling round together like a wrecking crew
Oh be bopper lubba baby what I say
You gotta get a dose of rock and roll on each and every day
Were gonna roll roll roll
Were gonna roll roll roll
Were gonna take this town, turn it around
Were gonna roll roll roll
Im gonna blow up my video
Shut down my radio
Told boss man where to go
Turned off my brain control
Thats the way I want my rock and roll
Thats the way I want my rock and roll
Thats the way
Ooh thats the way I like my rock and roll
That the way I want my rock and roll
Thats the way
Thats the way
Thats the way I want my rock and roll
Thats the way
Thats the way
Thats the way I want my rock and roll
Thats the way
Thats the way
Oh!
To rock and roll!
Roll, roll, roll,
Im gonna roll, roll, roll
Im gonna take this town, turn it around,
Im gonna roll, roll, roll
Im gonna roll, roll, roll
Thats the way I want it
Roll, roll, roll
Gotta hear it loud
Gonna take this town, turn it round
Gonna roll, roll, roll
Blow up my video
Shut down my radio
Told boss man where to go
Turned off my brain control
Thats the way I want my rock and roll

[...] Read more

song performed by AC-DC
Added by Lucian Velea
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Roll On

(chorus)
Roll on highway, roll on along
Roll on daddy till you get back home
Roll on family, roll on crew
Roll on momma like I asked you to do
And roll on eighteen-wheeler roll on (roll on)
Its monday morning, hes kissin momma goodbye
Hes up and gone with the sun
Daddy drives an eighteen-wheeler
And hes off on a midwest run
As three sad faces gather round momma
They ask her when daddys comin home
Daddy drives an eighteen-wheeler
And they sure miss him when hes gone (yeah they do)
Ah, but he calls them everynight and he tells them that he loves them
And he taught them this song to sing
(chorus)
Roll on highway, roll on along
Roll on daddy till ya get back home
Roll on family, roll on crew
Roll on momma like I asked you to do
And roll on eighteen-wheeler roll on (roll on)
Its wednesday evening, mommas waitin by the phone
It rings but its not his voice
Seems the highway patrol has found a jacknifed rig
In a snow bank in illinois
But the driver was missin and the search had been abandoned
For the weather had everything strong
And they had checked all the houses and local motels
When they had somemore news theyd call
And she told them when they found him to tell him that she loved him
And she hung up the phone singin
(chorus)
Roll on highway, roll on along
Roll on daddy till ya get back home
Roll on family, roll on crew
Roll on momma like I asked you to do
And roll on eighteen-wheeler roll on
Momma and the children will be waiting up all night long
Thinkin nothing but the words just comin
With the ringin of the telephone
Oh, but the man upstairs was listening
When momma asked him to bring daddy home
And when the call came in it was daddy on the other end
Askin her if she had been singin the song, singin
(chorus)
Roll on highway, roll on along
Roll on daddy till ya get back home
Roll on family, roll on crew
Roll on momma like I asked you to do

[...] Read more

song performed by Alabama
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hard Currency

Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Take it, take it
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars in cash
One hundred thousand
Two hundred thousand
Three hundred thousand
Why? !?
One hundred thousand
Two hundred thousand
Three hundred thousand
Why? !?
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Take it, take it
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars in cash
One hundred thousand
Two hundred thousand
Three hundred thousand
Why? !?
One hundred thousand
Two hundred thousand
Three hundred thousand
Why? !?
A half, a million dollars
A million dollars
Fourteen million
Why?
Ten million
Fourteen million
Dont you ever think of money?
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Take it, take it
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars
Five thousand dollars in cash
One hundred thousand
Two hundred thousand
Three hundred thousand
Why? !?
One hundred thousand
Two hundred thousand

[...] Read more

song performed by Information Society
Added by Lucian Velea
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Smiley

============================
Smashing Pumpkins - Smiley
============================
Smiley, where have you been?
Smiley, it's such a sin to say
You'll dream your life away
No one met him, couldn't make it on a bended knee
All his friends were simple prophets only if he please
And he'll wait on his knee
Smiley, where have you been?
Smiley, it's such a sin to say
You'll dream your life away
Your love won't change
Come back to stay
Smiley Smiley Smiley Smiley
Smiley Smiley Smiley Smiley
And you- if I'm smilin'
Then I'm tryin'
'cause I'm smilin'

song performed by Smashing Pumpkins
Added by Lucian Velea
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Da Bo$$ Would Like To See You

typed by: sonydogg@wanadoo.fr
Dizzle fizzle! Da bizzle! (Boss!)
Tha bling! Tha bling! (Ah ah ah!) [echoes]
Yeah... Uh uh
It's 2002 [echoes]... And whatchu gon' do? (whatchu gon' do?)
I'ma boss up... Ironically speakin' (uh), or it is generally speakin'...
I'm the ambassador, better yet, the PROFESSOR, of G-OLOGY (of G-ology...)
Just bossin' up right now...
Uh uh... Tha Boss would like to see ya (yeah... yeah)
Tha Boss would like to see ya
Bugsy! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Gotti! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Capone! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Soprano! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
DOGGY! First Black with a casino! (Ah ah)
Tha Boss would like to see ya (who me?)
Yeah, I ain't takin' orders no more (Huh-uh!)
Boss Boss... [echoes]
Uh.. I'm tha Boss (ahh!)
It's my house (my house), and I (and I) leave here (yeah, I'm tha Boss)
It's my house (my house), and I (and I) leave here...
Tha Boss would like to see ya (who?)
Bugsy! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Gotti! Tha Boss would like to see ya... (who? who?)
Capone! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
Soprano! Tha Boss would like to see ya...
DOGGY! Fist Black with a casino (ah ah!)
Boss, boss, boss, boss, boss, boss... [echoes til end]

song performed by Snoop Dogg
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Boss Of Me

Yes, no, maybe
I don't know
Can you repeat the question?
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
Life is unfair, so I just stare at the stain on the wall where
The TV'd been, but ever since we've moved in it's been empty
Why I, why I'm in this room
There is no point explaining
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
Life is a test, but I confess
I like this mess I've made so far
Grade on a curve and you'll observe
I'm right below the horizon
Yes, no, maybe, I don't know
Can you repeat the question?
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now
You're not the boss of me now, and you're not so big
Life is unfair

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Lovers Box

My lovers charms
Are in a box
Beneath my bed
And piece by piece
Ill cherish them
Until the end
Send me an angel to love
I need to feel a little piece of heaven
Send me an angel to love
Im afraid Ill never get to heaven
They burn my hands
Scar my face
And blind my eyes
Ill steal your breath
And throw away
What I despise
Send me an angel to love
I need to feel a little piece of heaven
Send me an angel to love
Im afraid Ill never get to heaven
Between these walls
And darkened halls
Ive done my time
If I should die
Before I wake
Then youll know why
Send me an angel to love
I need to feel a little piece of heaven
Send me an angel to love
Im afraid Ill never get to heaven, piece by piece
Send me an angel to love, piece by piece
I need to feel a little piece of heaven, piece by piece
Send me an angel to love, piece by piece
Im afraid Ill never get to heaven, piece by piece
Piece by piece
Piece by piece, send me an angel
Piece by piece, send me an angel
Piece by piece, send me an angel
Piece by piece, send me an angel
Piece by piece, send me an angel
Piece by piece, send me an angel
Piece by piece, send me an angel
Piece by piece, send me an angel

song performed by Garbage
Added by Lucian Velea
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Come On And Get A Big Piece

Come on and get a big piece of love,
My love...
You had thought had gone.

Come on and get a big piece of love.
Come on and get a big piece of love.

Come on and get a big piece of love,
My love...
You thought had gone wrong.

Come on and get a big piece of love.
Come on and get a big piece of love.

I can no longer make excuses for me.
I can no longer be that,
Tragedy!
Hey...

Come on and get a big piece of love,
My love...
You had thought had gone.

Come on and get a big piece of love.
Come on and get a big piece of love.

Come on and get a big piece of love,
My love...
You thought had gone wrong.

Come on and get a big piece of love.
Come on and get a big piece of love.

I can't,
Stay safe...
Knowing without you,
I'm all alone.

I stay,
Awake...
Wondering,
Who's now in your home...
Playing 'Daddy'.

Come on and get a big piece of love,
My love...
You had thought had gone.

Come on and get a big piece of love.
Come on and get a big piece of love.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Gareth And Lynette

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Video Shop

The local factorys been pulled down
By an overseas corporation
Now all of my brothers are looking around
For alternative occupation
I was sitting by the telly with my brother, kenny
When suddenly the penny dropped
While all of my brothers are sitting at home
Ive got a bank loan and Ive opened up my very own
Video shop
Video shop
At the video shop
I can fly, fly you away
Comedy and tragedy are all sitting on my shelf
And if youve got a fantasy
For a small rental fee
You can set yourself free
At my video shop
At my video shop
At the video shop
I can fly, fly you away
At the video shop
Let me fly, fly you away
From all of the depression in you head
Caused by all the living in the red
Ive got a bootleg version of citizen kane
A second hand copy of psycho
Ive taped them off the telly so you shouldnt complain
And theres no guarantee youll get your money back again
From my video shop
My video shop
If you want to escape, I can rent you a tape
To relieve your situation
If you feel a bit low, I got a good peep show
cos everybody knows almost anything goes
At my video shop
At my video shop
One fifty a day and Ill fly, fly you away
Its nothing to pay to fly far, far away
I can help you through that lonely night
Ive got technicolour, black and white
I can guide you through those empty days
Make you smile and take your blues away
O let me fly you away
At my video shop
Fly, fly you away
Another factorys been knocked down
But nobody ever complains
And all of my brothers are customers now
We all play video games
I can see it in the eyes of all the lonely wives

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Shop, she shops!

Once she constantly smiled
Bought cloths and jewelry that gave her style

Shop, shop, shop
She shopped till she dropped
Shop, shop, shop
She just could not seem to stop

Her credit was on top
Her spending way rocket up
She paid with cash or credit card
This Lady was absolutely shopping mad
Shoping malls!
Markets stalls!
Shoes, clothing, and handbags she bought all year long
Spend, spend and spend daily was her beloved song

Shop, shop, shop
She now shops like a flop
Shop, shop, shop
This lady has now put a stop

Today is different shopping expedition
This time spending with supervision
No more that crazy spending addiction

Her credit card is cut
Her goods seized, the whole lot
Today she spends, her pockets hurt!

She has become street wise
Haggling with each price
She has become precise
About what she needs and not what is nice

Shop, shop, shop
She shops like a flop
Shop, shop, shop
Her spending has taken a big drop!
This lady has now put a stop to shop!

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Brother Trucker

Breaker number nine big buddy
Put your ears on me now
This trucker got to have a big lie tonight
Come on sucker
Come back brother trucker
I keep seeing double
Unless I close one eye
And Ive got to roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Sure enough a shame bout the shape Im in
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Im back on my wheels again
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Someone to love the truck driving man
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Im back on my wheels again
Im a driving fool
I make my own rules
One part man and one part mule
One part fossil fuel
I got the heart of steel
I pull eighteen wheels
Mister nine to five in his coup de ville
No, never know how it feels
To really roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Holding my own just the best as I can
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Im back on my wheels again
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Outward bound from south bend
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Im back on my wheels again
Moon over new jersey
Big state police
Well, Im in a hurry
Could you let me go in peace
Im an independent
I dont make no teamster dough
cause the a.f.l. and the c.i.o.
Still dont own the road
And the only man telling me where to go
Is the man who owns my load
And he says roll, roll, roll brother trucker
I say where and you say when
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Get back on your wheels again
Turn the goddamn thing around and do it again
Roll, roll, roll brother trucker
Im back on my wheels again
Fat bucket, Im back on my wheels again

song performed by James Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Down By the Carib Sea

I

Sunrise in the Tropics

Sol, Sol, mighty lord of the tropic zone,
Here I wait with the trembling stars
To see thee once more take thy throne.

There the patient palm tree watching
Waits to say, 'Good morn' to thee,
And a throb of expectation
Pulses through the earth and me.

Now, o'er nature falls a hush,
Look! the East is all a-blush;
And a growing crimson crest
Dims the late stars in the west;
Now, a flood of golden light
Sweeps acress the silver night,
Swift the pale moon fades away
Before the light-girt King of Day,
See! the miracle is done!
Once more behold! The Sun!

II

Los Cigarillos

This is the land of the dark-eyed
gente,

Of the
dolce far niente,

Where we dream away
Both the night and day,
At night-time in sleep our dreams we invoke,
Our dreams come by day through the redolent smoke,
As it lazily curls,
And slowly unfurls
From our lips,
And the tips
Of our fragrant cigarillos.
For life in the tropics is only a joke,
So we pass it in dreams, and we pass it in smoke,
Smoke — smoke — smoke.

Tropical constitutions

[...] Read more

poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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