Tristan and Isolde were lucky to die when they did. They'd have been sick of all that rubbish in a year.
quote by Robertson Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The prelude to Tristan and Isolde sounded as if a bomb had fallen into a large music factory and had thrown all the notes into confusion.
A January Fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
My class is all here
Down to each little sneer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Those cute little creatures
Have nothing to fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Still knowing that teacher's
not entirely all here
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Each little tear
Makes it perfectly clear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
A day off is coming
And hopefully near
a sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
It's harder and harder
Maintaining my leer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps my behavior's
becoming quite queer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps in the morning
I'll call in and cheer
A SICK DAY A SICK DAY
I GOT A PAIN IN MY EAR
Alas...I can hear my principle sneer
With a resigning smirk easy to hear
NO SICK DAY NO SICK DAY
SORRY MY DEAR
NO SICK DAYS NO SICK DAYS
REMAINING THIS YEAR
poem by Robert John Meehan
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The prelude to Tristan and Isolde reminds me of the Italian painting of the martyr whose intestines are slowly being unwound from his body on a reel.
quote by Eduard Hanslick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rubbish Sad Salary Somber N
rubbish sad salary somber n'
exquisite
influenced by everything.
rubbish sad salary somber n'
intricate a
Rubiks Cube, Waldo was found
in an outhouse by the summit of an epoch
the 1920s washed out into depressive oblivion. Simon included
this in his autobiography, written in the 3rd person.
rubbish sad salary somber n'
infinite.
rubbish sad salary
rubbish sad salary
a sombering quintet.
As I Enjoy the Joy of Knowing You
AS I ENJOY THE JOY OF KNOWING YOU
Nestor endured two hundred years despair
Awaiting joy, anticipating you.
Tristan Isolde took within his care
As compensation for not knowing you.
Sweet Capulet with Montagu did share,
Hero Lysander loved, - both ill did fare,
As neither knew the joy of knowing you.
Nature rests its case, perfection fair,
As now I know the joy of knowing you.
To be! - a miracle beyond compare,
As I enjoy the the joy of knowing you.
Soul sends to soul, serenity to share
Here on this earth as shed is every care,
All through true joy of knowing you for YOU!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Im sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Malorie Genoff
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So Sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Ricky Baker
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Sick of Being Sick
I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !
poem by Shelby Brockway
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Pieces Of You In A Pair Of Dreams (chapter two)
'So, I've decided to write in this language, instead of my own,
not to madden you, but to make it less personal.
It was silly of me to think that in your eyes I'm more than the hero that killed your butterflies.
I can't even write.
Look at my poems.
They're ridiculously ugly, just like me.'
That night,
I saw the giant white moon reflected on your lips,
and I kissed It.
It tasted more like you, than like her.
It had your parfume too,
and the whole world was jelous,
on me and on you, for we were happy
like Romeo and Juliet, like Adam and Eve, like Tristan and Isolde, and like Dante and his Beatrice,
one meant for the other.
Wearing the black dress of night
you were like the queen of the giants,
a flower that huged the sun without the fear that has you now.
And now, well is different,
but I still write of your stories from the land of my dreams.
And as like before, when I write
I'm not brave, I'm just scared of calling you.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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Wagner (Life Poem)
Running rings around thirteen hours of opera
I sit spell-bound absorbing the angry music
Suppressing an urge to re-conquer Poland
Music a direct expression of world’s essence
Nazi passion means Israel is Wagner-free
Tristan and Isolde unplayed before Ludwig
Love and death and passion for Mathlde
Eros and Thanathos that predate Freud
Arthurian love story interrupted by Minna
Overwhelming influence frustrates his peers
Worried that his brilliance is simply anger
That guarantees you feel undead tonight.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Definition of Creative Art
With shirt wide open at the collar,
Maned as Beethoven's bust, it stands;
Our conscience, dreams, the night and love,
Are as chessmen covered by its hands.
And one black king upon the board:
In sadness and in rage, forthright
It brings the day of doom.-Against
The pawn it brings the mounted knight.
In gardens where from icy spheres
The stars lean tender, linger near,
Tristan still sings, like a nightingale
On Isolde's vine, with trembling fear.
The gardens, ponds, and fences, made pure
By burning tears, and the whole great span,
Creation-are only burst of passion
Hoarded in the hearts of men.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Lucky For You
Lucky I call you cus thats the way you make me feel.
Love in the air and the wind in my hair is makin me real.
Look out lucky theres a mountain in front of you.
And with a little luck well see it thru.
Whats lucky for me is lucky for you.
I used to think that luck was just another four letter word.
But now that I found you its the finest one Ive ever heard.
Do you see the stars now do you lucky?
Theyre not all that far, now are they lucky?
Whats lucky for you, is lucky for me,
And whats lucky for me, is lucky for you.
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Sick....
I am sick …. The pain I feel.
I am sick…. This must be surreal.
I am sick…. I will not die.
I am sick…. But I must live on with this lie.
I am sick…. It’s not like cancer it’s not that bad.
I am sick… but the say depression goes with this pain I have.
I am sick…. It will never disappear.
I am sick…. My days will go on with the same o’l tear.
I am sick…. That I have thought of taking my pain away.
I am sick…. For that I cannot for the pain must stay.
I am sick… and no one can fix me.
I am sick…. That no one can see.
I am sick…. They believe nothing is wrong with me.
I am sick…. Because of this disease.
I am sick…. Because I beg god please.
poem by Winifred Harkness
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Sick I Am...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick...please don`t tell anyone...
i am sick...please forgive me if i hurt you...
i am sick...going so faraway from here...
i am sick...saying this only for you...
i am sick...maybe will never come back...
i am sick...remember me and never forget me...
i am sick...pray for me and wish me all best what you can...
i am sick...all wounds i have inside my heart...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick... and you will never see me..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Hey Lucky Lady
Hey lucky lady lucky lady I was once the lucky lady
I was happy with my baby I was such a lucky lady
Hey lucky lady lucky lady you are now the lucky lady
Are you happy with my baby you know you're a lucky lady you lucky lady
Lucky lady that's what I was I was happy to have his love
All a woman could wish for he was that and so much more
He was mine and how I loved him before your hands ever touched him
Long before your temptin' eyes lured my baby from my life
Hey lucky lady lucky lady...
Is it love or is it pleasure do you know you've found a treasure
Are you only having fun do you know the prize you've won
If you don't want something lasting if it's just the time you're passing
Lucky lady give him up cause I do love him very much
Hey lucky lady lucky lady...
Hey lucky lady lucky lady...
song performed by by Dolly Parton, music by Dolly Parton (1975)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Tristan was mending his girlfriend's jewelry, would he use an Isolde-ring Iron?
I wondered, if the hero had been overweight or baldy
would women weep, perhaps lose sleep, o'er Tristan and Isolde?
And then I pushed derision from my vision of the plot
and asked my heart to seek the part, wherein the story got
its hook and held my interest. The part where it took hold.
The crux of what draws in the masses, since the days of old.
How can we find a modern link, a crude analogy
compared to such medieval ink which peppered History.
I thought then of a trinket. A desk-top toy per chance,
those cradles of ball bearings swinging in hypnotic trance.
For love to last eternally, would mirror this toy's mission
and live within the pleasing din that chimes with each collision.
And just as in enchanted forests, mystic wood or copse...
The forces great will separate them, till at last,
the cradle stops.
poem by Hola Mentirosa
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Sicckk
sick of it..
im so sick of it
im sick of waking up in the morning.
im sick of you saying im nothing,
im sick of you calling me down.
im sick of you drinking all the time. |
im sick of you blaming everything on meh.
im sick of you
im sick of this
im sick of everything..
but must of all your the one im sick of..
i relise your the reson for my pain...
sorry mom..
its time for me to goo..
poem by Cheylayna Bear
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A dealer in rubbish sounds the praises of rubbish.
Lucky (In My Life)
Music:lobina/randone, lyrics: lobina/gabutti
Mixed by:angelica villella
Ive been lucky in my life
Ive been lucky
Ive been lucky in my life I know
Ive been lucky in my life
Ive been lucky and I thank you for this light
Oh good lord
Got my family
And Ive got all my friends
Ive been lucky in my life
And I got no money but
Theres no need to give up
Ive been lucky in my life
As I live my life
With a smile on my face
Will I be lucky in my life?
Even when Im feeling down
Its ok cause I know
I could be lucky in my life
Oh good lord
song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lucky
Music:lobina/randone, lyrics: lobina/gabutti
Mixed by:angelica villella
Ive been lucky in my life
Ive been lucky
Ive been lucky in my life I know
Ive been lucky in my life
Ive been lucky and I thank you for this light
Oh good lord
Got my family
And Ive got all my friends
Ive been lucky in my life
And I got no money but
Theres no need to give up
Ive been lucky in my life
As I live my life
With a smile on my face
Will I be lucky in my life?
Even when Im feeling down
Its ok cause I know
I could be lucky in my life
Oh good lord
song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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