Up in the morning,
Out on the job,
Work like the devil for my pay,
While that lucky old Sun
Has nothing to do
But roll around heaven all day!
Work for woman,
Toil for my kids,
Sweat till I’m wrinkled and grey,
While that lucky old Sun
Has nothing to do
But roll around heaven all day!
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “Mother,”
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my
A City in Sin Burns
Las Vegas, bastion of lust; A-Day
.
Cars cruise down the glowing strip,
Bells, pings and whistles fill the air.
False idols croon ballads of luck and love
A facade to mask loneliness and despair.
.
The desert breeze wafts the drunken stench
Of those defeated; those full of greed.
Impetuous souls lacking will, nor
O God! who by Thy prophet’s hand
Didst smite the rocky brake,
Whence water came, at Thy command,
Thy people’s thirst to slake;
Strike, now, upon this granite wall,
Stern, obdurate, and high;
And let some drops of pity fall
For us who starve and die!
“As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete
Was unto me, but why that I ne might
Rest I ne wist, for there n’as erthly wight
[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese
Than I, for I n’ad sickness nor disese.” – Chaucer
What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty
When the ‘arf-made recruity goes out to the East
‘E acts like a babe an’ ‘e drinks like a beast,
An’ ‘e wonders because ‘e is frequent deceased
Ere ‘e’s fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
O children, run, the Cunjah Man,
Him mouth as big as frying-pan,
Him ears am small, him eyes am red,
Him have no tooth in him old head,
Him have him roots, him work him trick,
Him roll him eye, him make you sick–
The Cunjah Man, the Cunjah Man,
O children, run, the Cunjah Man!
Him have a ball of
When I said nothing happened
I lied to you.
It happens, it happens every day,
on bridges, in open spaces.
Because I yielded to love
I walk, for some an object of shame,
for others a mirror. Whoever looks at me
is turned to stone,
frozen.
If every woman is a concubine of pain
My mother is that everyone –
A shepherdess flocks of pain.
Barely each day gone by without her back
Become animal skin that pastes on a mahogany tree
And beat every day with maestro-stroke of shame.
When you ask who can dance most in public places
Set a cause of rev for her
Our sails are spread before the wind,
And onward, onward swift we fly;
We’ve left our country far behind,
No prospect now invites the eye,
Save the blue sea, and cloudless sky.
Oh! when I wav’d my last good-bye,
To parents, friends, and Mary dear,
It was not fear that dimm’d mine eye,
This heart ne’er felt a thrill of fear
I went into a public-‘ouse to get a pint o’ beer,
The publican ‘e up an’ sez, “We serve no red-coats here.”
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, go away”;
But it’s “Thank you,
Tell them about an unflappable warrior
A warrior both at home and on the battlefield
The bird’s offspring on Ìrókò tree
Akalamagbo’s child with magical sight
One who walks ahead and notices people approaching from behind
Oníkòyí, who used a thread to bind the rock
With the witchery lines of Ayajo
Oníkòyí, who is undeterred by gunshots
Death’s son, disease’s
When that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,
Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one
(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless
It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,
And by deeds praise it? He who doth not this,
May lodge an inmate soul, but ’tis not his)
When that queen ended here her
Ukraine’s sovereignty
is
a
right
not
a
privilege
trespassers
will
be
Please your Grace, from out your store
Give an alms to one that’s poor,
That your mickle may have more.
Black I’m grown for want of meat,
Give me then an ant to eat,
Or the cleft ear of a mouse
Over-sour’d in drink of souce;
Or, sweet lady, reach to me
The abdomen of a bee;
Or commend a
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion,
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago)
Be nobody’s darling;
Be an outcast.
Take the contradictions
Of your life
And wrap around
You like a shawl,
To parry stones
To keep you warm.
Watch the people succumb
To madness
With ample cheer;
Away from the bustling life.
A joy grows in a jar.
Chaos mind, disturbed life.
Hope grows in a Jar.
Many big ideas, big dreams insight.
A dream grows in a Jar.
Where others are planning to soar high in the sky.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a
Has there ever been
since Stephen the Great
a time of peace and stability
when forest and soil thrived
and people lived and danced
in their traditional ways.
Rival powers of the day
have continually fought to possess
your rich dark earth,
your resources of forest and river,
of a populace to be taxed –
ammunition for future wars.
