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Closing Arguments (Interlude/Skit)
In closing, ladies and gentlemen of the jury
I'm not gonna sit here and bore you with a long, drawn out story
or excuse, of why I think Wyclef is guilty
I'm gonna stand by the exhibits as well as the tapes
And songs such as Jeapordy, Til Novemeber, All the Girls,
and Bubblegoose, which stand side by side with my allegations
I rest my case
OK, uhh, ladiessss, and gentle-men, of the juwy
As you can see nuttin has been proven here today
DEEZ witnesses dey brought ere don't not have evidence
to incriminate my client eh?
If he's not guilty he's innocent
If he's not detrimental to the society therefore he positive!
As I say before, dis case is pure bishop
Your honor see, this, this is exactly what I'm talkin about
I mean I've been meaning to ask this the whole time
Who the hell is Bishop?
Eh?
And and why the hell hasn't he been brought on the stand?
Bishop, bishop, not true, false, bishop
Ohh, bullshit!
Oui
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Closing Arguments
In closing, ladies and gentlemen of the jury
I'm not gonna sit here and bore you with a long, drawn out story
Or excuse, of why i think wyclef is guilty
I'm gonna stand by the exhibits as well as the tapes
And songs such as jeapordy, til novemeber, all the girls,
And bubblegoose, which stand side by side with my allegations
I rest my case
Ok, uhh, ladiessss, and gentle-men, of the juwy
As you can see nuttin has been proven here today
Deez witnesses dey brought ere don't not have evidence
To incriminate my client eh?
If he's not guilty he's innocent
If he's not detrimental to the society therefore he positive!
As i say before, dis case is pure bishop
Your honor see, this, this is exactly what i'm talkin about
I mean i've been meaning to ask this the whole time
Who the hell is bishop?
Eh?
And and why the hell hasn't he been brought on the stand?
Bishop, bishop, not true, false, bishop
Ohh, bullshit!
Oui
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think a bishop who doesn't give offence to anyone is probably not a good bishop.
quote by James Thomson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bishop's Robes
Dressed in Bishop's robes
Terrifies me still
In Bishop's robes
Bastard headmaster
I'm not going back
I'm not going back
I'm not going back
Children taught to kill
To tear themselves to bits
On playing fields
Dressed in Bishop's robes
I'm not going back
I'm not going back
I'm not going back
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sandpiper (Cavatina)
(after Elizabeth Bishop)
The leaping spray that roar, the swishing fling
of surf and sand,
plays in and out as waves rush to and thro;
where it does stand
while searching for something on tiny legs;
it understands
the roaring toss, a world of surf and foam,
while rushing on the wet beach it does roam.
[Reference: 'Sandpiper' by Elizabeth Bishop.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf X. -- Raud The Strong
'All the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;
But the White Christ lives and reigns,
And throughout my wide domains
His Gospel shall be spread!'
On the Evangelists
Thus swore King Olaf.
But still in dreams of the night
Beheld he the crimson light,
And heard the voice that defied
Him who was crucified,
And challenged him to the fight.
To Sigurd the Bishop
King Olaf confessed it.
And Sigurd the Bishop said,
'The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes
The old witchcraft still is spread.'
Thus to King Olaf
Said Sigurd the Bishop.
'Far north in the Salten Fiord,
By rapine, fire, and sword,
Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong;
All the Godoe Isles belong
To him and his heathen horde.'
Thus went on speaking
Sigurd the Bishop.
'A warlock, a wizard is he,
And lord of the wind and the sea;
And whichever way he sails,
He has ever favoring gales,
By his craft in sorcery.'
Here the sign of the cross
Made devoutly King Olaf.
'With rites that we both abhor,
He worships Odin and Thor;
So it cannot yet be said,
That all the old gods are dead,
And the warlocks are no more,'
Flushing with anger
Said Sigurd the Bishop.
Then King Olaf cried aloud:
'I will talk with this mighty Raud,
And along the Salten Fiord
Preach the Gospel with my sword,
Or be brought back in my shroud!'
So northward from Drontheim
Sailed King Olaf!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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They
The Bishop tells us: 'When the boys come back
'They will not be the same; for they'll have fought
'In a just cause: they lead the last attack
'On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has bought
'New right to breed an honourable race,
'They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.'
'We're none of us the same!' the boys reply.
'For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind;
'Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die;
'And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find
'A chap who's served that hasn't found some change.
' And the Bishop said: 'The ways of God are strange!'
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Golden bishop, wooden crosier; wooden bishop, golden crosier.
The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo
From east and south the holy clan
Of Bishops gathered to a man;
To Synod, called Pan-Anglican,
In flocking crowds they came.
Among them was a Bishop, who
Had lately been appointed to
The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo,
And PETER was his name.
His people - twenty-three in sum -
They played the eloquent tum-tum,
And lived on scalps served up, in rum -
The only sauce they knew.
When first good BISHOP PETER came
(For PETER was that Bishop's name),
To humour them, he did the same
As they of Rum-ti-Foo.
His flock, I've often heard him tell,
(His name was PETER) loved him well,
And, summoned by the sound of bell,
In crowds together came.
"Oh, massa, why you go away?
Oh, MASSA PETER, please to stay."
(They called him PETER, people say,
Because it was his name.)
He told them all good boys to be,
And sailed away across the sea,
At London Bridge that Bishop he
Arrived one Tuesday night;
And as that night he homeward strode
To his Pan-Anglican abode,
He passed along the Borough Road,
And saw a gruesome sight.
He saw a crowd assembled round
A person dancing on the ground,
Who straight began to leap and bound
With all his might and main.
To see that dancing man he stopped,
Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped,
Then down incontinently dropped,
And then sprang up again.
The Bishop chuckled at the sight.
"This style of dancing would delight
A simple Rum-ti-Foozleite.
I'll learn it if I can,
To please the tribe when I get back."
He begged the man to teach his knack.
"Right Reverend Sir, in half a crack!
Replied that dancing man.
The dancing man he worked away,
And taught the Bishop every day -
The dancer skipped like any fay -
Good PETER did the same.
The Bishop buckled to his task,
With BATTEMENTS, and PAS DE BASQUE.
(I'll tell you, if you care to ask,
That PETER was his name.)
"Come, walk like this," the dancer said,
"Stick out your toes - stick in your head,
Stalk on with quick, galvanic tread -
Your fingers thus extend;
The attitude's considered quaint."
The weary Bishop, feeling faint,
Replied, "I do not say it ain't,
But 'Time!' my Christian friend!"
"We now proceed to something new -
Dance as the PAYNES and LAURIS do,
Like this - one, two - one, two - one, two."
The Bishop, never proud,
But in an overwhelming heat
(His name was PETER, I repeat)
Performed the PAYNE and LAURI feat,
And puffed his thanks aloud.
Another game the dancer planned -
"Just take your ankle in your hand,
And try, my lord, if you can stand -
Your body stiff and stark.
If, when revisiting your see,
You learnt to hop on shore - like me -
The novelty would striking be,
And must attract remark."
"No," said the worthy Bishop, "no;
That is a length to which, I trow,
Colonial Bishops cannot go.
You may express surprise
At finding Bishops deal in pride -
But if that trick I ever tried,
I should appear undignified
In Rum-ti-Foozle's eyes.
"The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo
Are well-conducted persons, who
Approve a joke as much as you,
And laugh at it as such;
But if they saw their Bishop land,
His leg supported in his hand,
The joke they wouldn't understand -
'T would pain them very much!"
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Shaky Are the Checkers
Shaky are the checkers,
Opponents...
In a game of chess!
How can a rook,
Be mistaken for a bishop?
A strategy 'appearing' to be weak...
As the knight leaps,
To retrieve the pawn.
And put the queen in check!
Yet,
The king of the game...
Has not fallen to sleep.
His eyes are wide open...
Knowing wherever he goes,
Not protecting the queen's steps...
Would certainly meet with defeat!
'Checkmate!
That's game.
While you were looking at my bishop...
You placed your queen in my rook's lane! '
~That's 'not' a checkmate!
You just outplayed me,
By using a strategy that was lame.~
'But 'who' won?
That's all that was needed to be done.
You ready for another lesson?
This time I'll use an easier plan,
That wont leave you humiliated or keep you guessing.
Set 'em up! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Bishop and the Busman
It was a Bishop bold,
And London was his see,
He was short and stout and round about
And zealous as could be.
It also was a Jew,
Who drove a Putney 'bus -
For flesh of swine however fine
He did not care a cuss.
His name was HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON -
This 'bus-directing Jew.
The Bishop said, said he,
"I'll see what I can do
To Christianise and make you wise,
You poor benighted Jew."
So every blessed day
That 'bus he rode outside,
From Fulham town, both up and down,
And loudly thus he cried:
"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON -
This 'bus-directing Jew."
At first the 'busman smiled,
And rather liked the fun -
He merely smiled, that Hebrew child,
And said, "Eccentric one!"
And gay young dogs would wait
To see the 'bus go by
(These gay young dogs, in striking togs),
To hear the Bishop cry:
"Observe his grisly beard,
His race it clearly shows,
He sticks no fork in ham or pork -
Observe, my friends, his nose.
"His name is HASH BAZ BEN,
And JEDEDIAH too,
And SOLOMON and ZABULON -
This 'bus-directing Jew."
But though at first amused,
Yet after seven years,
This Hebrew child got rather riled,
And melted into tears.
He really almost feared
To leave his poor abode,
His nose, and name, and beard became
A byword on that road.
At length he swore an oath,
The reason he would know -
"I'll call and see why ever he
Does persecute me so!"
The good old Bishop sat
On his ancestral chair,
The 'busman came, sent up his name,
And laid his grievance bare.
"Benighted Jew," he said
(The good old Bishop did),
"Be Christian, you, instead of Jew -
Become a Christian kid!
"I'll ne'er annoy you more."
"Indeed?" replied the Jew;
"Shall I be freed?" "You will, indeed!"
Then "Done!" said he, "with you!"
The organ which, in man,
Between the eyebrows grows,
Fell from his face, and in its place
He found a Christian nose.
His tangled Hebrew beard,
Which to his waist came down,
Was now a pair of whiskers fair -
His name ADOLPHUS BROWN!
He wedded in a year
That prelate's daughter JANE,
He's grown quite fair - has auburn hair -
His wife is far from plain.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Nothing is as far away as one minute ago.
quote by Jim Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
quote by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At 19, everything is possible and tomorrow looks friendly.
quote by Jim Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Dream Of A Soul
the convict roams the earth
searching for a place to call home
each door that he knocks
shuts him out
the world does not have any space
for him to be
at least
this man for another chance
in change
for the better
we tell him
he has a soul
we tell him
he must rise
from his body
so one day he dreams he has one
he believes what we had been saying
he has a soul
he has a spirit to embolden his body
one that rises above his curse his adversity
did we not deceive him?
leaving him in such a dream
redemption, resurrection, those fit for gods
and the chosen ones?
look at him
wandering again, knocking from door to door
moving from one place to another
looking for that bishop who must adopt him
jean valjean, in your misery and the coming miseries
where can this bishop be?
this century, where beliefs are given
where nothing that satisfies your belly is still hidden.
we dream of a soul
we negate this body, this flesh, this daily dying
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Transportation spending is a win-win proposition.
quote by Tim Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forward ever, backward never.
quote by Maurice Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nha Trang, Viet Nam Catholic Bishop’s Family
I do not love you with any of my heart
I see you & your family are part of the devil’s cart
Bishop Pierre I trusted & believed he taught you all
Honestly, Truth, God & not lying, stealing and abusing a human that causes him/her to fall
In time I learned when Bishop Pierre died the devil took 100% control
You and your family stole my money, my life, my love, my heart and my soul
Medically disabled does not matter to Nguyen Thi Dieu Tran, Pham Chi Tai, your family is true
Both of you and Nguyen Elizabeth & others in your family know it is wrong to do
Losing my life would have been easier with Ho Chi Minh
Now I identify the Catholic Bishop Pierre’s family in the USA and Viet Nam as VC who find it easy to sin
Live & die in peace is hard to find
Due to medical and financial pain caused by the Bishop’s family members who have the Devil’s mind
The stress from the expenses to take care of the house, the car and my life causes my heart to cry
Due Tai Chi Pham the Trustee of my Irrevocable Trust Fund illegally caused it be dry
With the Catholic Vietnamese family I learned what you can feel and see
Even with Bishop Pierre Nguyen Van Nho in the family can still act like the VC
I ask all of you who read this poem to give your response about this zone
It would help me understand if I am all alone
You can see a public copy of the signed and stamped TEMPORARY ORDER OF PROHIBITION against Tai Chi Pham by the State of Illinois Secretary of State Securities Department in July 2009 at: http: //www.cyberdriveillinois.com/departments/securiti es/administrative_actions/2009/july/taipham_top.p df
And you can see a public copy of the signed and stamped FINAL ORDER OF PROHIBITION against Mr. Tai Chi Pham at the State of Illinois Secretary of State Securities Department Internet Site August 2009 at:
http: //www.cyberdriveillinois.com/departments/securiti es/administrative_actions/2009/august/taipham_op. pdf
poem by Michael Appleman
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The Bishop of Rum-Ti-Foo Again
I often wonder whether you
Think sometimes of that Bishop, who
From black but balmy Rum-ti-Foo
Last summer twelvemonth came.
Unto your mind I p'r'aps may bring
Remembrance of the man I sing
To-day, by simply mentioning
That PETER was his name.
Remember how that holy man
Came with the great Colonial clan
To Synod, called Pan-Anglican;
And kindly recollect
How, having crossed the ocean wide,
To please his flock all means he tried
Consistent with a proper pride
And manly self-respect.
He only, of the reverend pack
Who minister to Christians black,
Brought any useful knowledge back
To his Colonial fold.
In consequence a place I claim
For "PETER" on the scroll of Fame
(For PETER was that Bishop's name,
As I've already told).
He carried Art, he often said,
To places where that timid maid
(Save by Colonial Bishops' aid)
Could never hope to roam.
The Payne-cum-Lauri feat he taught
As he had learnt it; for he thought
The choicest fruits of Progress ought
To bless the Negro's home.
And he had other work to do,
For, while he tossed upon the Blue,
The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo
Forgot their kindly friend.
Their decent clothes they learnt to tear -
They learnt to say, "I do not care,"
Though they, of course, were well aware
How folks, who say so, end.
Some sailors, whom he did not know,
Had landed there not long ago,
And taught them "Bother!" also, "Blow!"
(Of wickedness the germs).
No need to use a casuist's pen
To prove that they were merchantmen;
No sailor of the Royal N.
Would use such awful terms.
And so, when BISHOP PETER came
(That was the kindly Bishop's name),
He heard these dreadful oaths with shame,
And chid their want of dress.
(Except a shell - a bangle rare -
A feather here - a feather there
The South Pacific Negroes wear
Their native nothingness.)
He taught them that a Bishop loathes
To listen to disgraceful oaths,
He gave them all his left-off clothes -
They bent them to his will.
The Bishop's gift spreads quickly round;
In PETER'S left-off clothes they bound
(His three-and-twenty suits they found
In fair condition still).
The Bishop's eyes with water fill,
Quite overjoyed to find them still
Obedient to his sovereign will,
And said, "Good Rum-ti-Foo!
Half-way I'll meet you, I declare:
I'll dress myself in cowries rare,
And fasten feathers in my hair,
And dance the 'Cutch-chi-boo!'" (13)
And to conciliate his See
He married PICCADILLILLEE,
The youngest of his twenty-three,
Tall - neither fat nor thin.
(And though the dress he made her don
Looks awkwardly a girl upon,
It was a great improvement on
The one he found her in.)
The Bishop in his gay canoe
(His wife, of course, went with him too)
To some adjacent island flew,
To spend his honeymoon.
Some day in sunny Rum-ti-Foo
A little PETER'll be on view;
And that (if people tell me true)
Is like to happen soon.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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