It's a very, very fascinating story for me, cause it's about a man who's been doing bad; bad things. And he's a father of four children in parochial school, he's a lieutenant of detectives, but he's in conflict with himself and with trying to do what's right.
quote by Harvey Keitel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Watching The Detectives
Nice girls not one with a defect
Cellophane shrink-wrapped so correct
Red dogs under illegal legs
She looks so good that he gets down and begs
She is watching the detectives, oh hes so cute
She is watching the detectives
When they shoot shoot shoot shoot.
They beat him up until the teardrops start.
But he cant be wounded cos hes got no heart
Long shot of that jumping sign
Visible shivers running down my spine
Cut the baby taking off her clothes
Close-up of the sign that says we never close
You snatch a tune, you match a cigarrette.
She pulls the eyes out with a face like a magnet
I dont know how much more of this I can take
She filing her finger nails while theyre dragging the lake
(chorus)
Now you think youre alone until you realize youre in it
Now fear is here to stay love is here for a visit.
They call it instant justice when its past the legal limit.
Someones scratching at the window. I wonder who is it?
The detectives come to check if you belong to the parents
Who are ready to hear the worst about their daughters disappearance.
Though it nearly took a miracle to get you to stay
It only took my little fingers to blow you away
Just like watching the detectives. dont get cute
Its just like watching the detectives.
I get so angry when the tear-drops start
But he cant be wounded cause hes got no heart.
Watching the detectives.
Its just like watching the detectives.
Watching the detectives.
Watching the detectives.
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Honestly, I expected to get a cold reception because of my subject matter. But when editors took a look at the story I had to tell, and saw that this was not a parochial story at all, they really warmed to it.
quote by Laura Hillenbrand
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching The Detectives
Nice girls not one with a defect,
Cellophane shrink-wrapped, so correct.
Red dogs under illegal legs.
She looks so good that he gets down and begs.
She is watching the detectives.
"ooh, he's so cute!"
She is watching the detectives
When they shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot.
They beat him up until the teardrops start,
But he can't be wounded 'cause he's got no heart.
Long shot of that jumping sign,
Invisible shivers running down my spine.
Cut the baby taking off her clothes.
Close-up of the sign that says,"we never close"
You snatch tune, you a match a cigarette,
She pulls the eyes out with a face like a magnet.
I don't know how much more of this i can take.
She's filing her nails while they're dragging the lake.
Chorus
You think you're alone until you realize you're in it.
Now fear is here to stay. love is here for a visit.
They call it instant justice when it's past the legal limit.
Someone's scratching at the window. i wonder who is it?
The detectives come to check if you belong to the parents
Who are ready to hear the worst about their daughter's disappearance.
Though it nearly took a miracle to get you to stay,
It only took my little fingers to blow you away.
Just like watching the detectives.
Don't get cute!"
It's just like watching the detectives.
I get so angry when the teardrops start,
But he can't be wounded 'cause he's got no heart.
Watching the detectives.
It's just like watching the detectives.
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father, son, spirit
The father conceives his son
the son grows with his father
the spirit allows the heritage
Father, son, spirit. The father says sweet things to his son
the son is a rosebud to his father
the spirit remembers the instant of conception
Spirit, father, son. The father works, gladly
the son at school, learns much
the spirit, lovingly, joins them
Son, father, spirit The son makes his father, a good father
the union of father and son,
is the work of the spirit of love
Spirit, son, father.
poem by Teresa Gonzalez-Lee
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Chidren Of Abraham
Our Father is the father of all fathers.
Our Father is Abraham’s Father.
Our Father is John’s Father.
Our Father is Joseph’s Father.
Our Father is Jesus’ Father.
Our Father is Paul’s Father.
Jesus would thank our Father for placing the secrets of heaven inside children.
I can be 20 and you can be 105.
We all are nothing but children in Gods perfect eyes.
Children symbolizes no worries,
Matthew Ch 6 v.25-34.
Children symbolizes love,
Matthew Ch5 v.43-48.
Children becomes the salt of the world,
Matthew Ch 5 v.13.
The salt is what makes the world taste good.
The salt are us the children of Abraham,
John,
Joseph,
Paul,
Jesus,
And the children of the Father of all fathers.
Jesus loves the youth so much.
Matthew Ch 19 v.14 Jesus said “the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these”,
Meaning the children.
Matthew Ch 18 v.3” I tell you the truth,
Unless you change and become like children,
You will never enter the kingdom of heaven”.
Are we not children in the Fathers eyes?
Did the Father of all fathers not tell Jesus these things,
John Ch8 v.40?
Do we fall and make mistakes as little children?
Dose a good parent forgives their child after a child apologizes to them?
Dose a child builds in growth when the child cries and stops?
Dose discipline corrects the child when the child shows out?
Many would say “I pay the bills,
Therefore I am grown”,
But dose our Father God pay the bills still or is it the ones who claims their grown?
To the ones who claim their grown of course you put childish things away and you think as an adult,
But I ask you before the world dies and becomes consumed by the dark are you still a child at heart?
Matthew Ch18 v.3,
Children of Abraham please take heed.
Before Jesus returns and awaken all who are sleep.
Pleases realize and see that we all are children.
I may pay bills and work 24/7 with a complete high school education,
But still I teach those who are younger then me about the mercy of Jesus.
By playing video games and watching wrestling and cartoons on television with them.
The children by me already loves our Father Gods poetry.
Me being by their side talking and listing to them makes them smile.
I teach them what I know and I let them know that there’s nothing they can’t ask me about.
I enjoy laughing with them the kids as well,
Because I too am nothing but a child.
poem by Raff Rafael
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In School
in school,
when i saw you
i intuited i have found
my lost world in you
i wish i could act
to be appreciated
by you in school.
in school,
it would be too sad
to narrate the ordeal
i have been through
i wonder if its best
i had met you
in the school.
in school,
though i had not said it
there has been so many ways
that i have shown it
my actions had done
whatever i wanted to say
at school.
in school,
i never thought
being in love
could take me to madness
well, it is better than
leaving me in sadness
in the school.
in school,
when i approached you
i knew i was silly
it was because
suddenly,
i forgot who i was
in school
in school,
why do you sneer
when i am near
it really breaks me
just tell me what to do
to get a room from you
in and out of school.
in school,
sometimes though it is hard
i guess i must let go
some things i wish to have
though good things also
could be found elsewhere
as it has been in school.
poem by Elorm Dogbo
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Today, the notion of progress in a single line without goal or limit seems perhaps the most parochial notion of a very parochial century.
quote by Lewis Mumford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death In My Hands
Hellow, i took a pen to write a story,
the story that seemed scary,
but liked by those bully,
Now they want another story,
The story that gave them money,
money that brought them honey,
the honey that made them hurray,
Now am a wanted as i refused,
the story came from my brain,
which accereleted to my hand,
decorated with my pen,
through my fascinating fingers,
poem by Dickson Mseti
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What'll We Do For Christmas?
What'll we do for Christmas? A child said to her Mother,
Shall we have a christmas party, cake and ice cream too;
With lots of balloons and streamers, and a star as well,
But; the mother said, give to an orphan, a Christmas bell,
Then tell them to come for tea, tell them the Christmas story;
This is what God wants us to do, to share with our family
What'll we do for Christmas, said a boy to His father,
Can we have a holiday, and take our things I'd rather;
Buy some good things to eat, and help my grandmother,
But the father said lets invite, a poor man or lady to tea,
Shower them with kindness, as we have plenty;
This is what God wants us to do, show love from you and me.
What'll we do for Christmas said children to their teacher,
Shall we have a Christmas concert, and ask the preacher;
And invite our family, and all our friends as well too,
The teacher said 'twas a great idea, the Christmas story true;
About Mary and Joseph, and Jesus born in a stable,
But remember the story is so true, it isn't just a fable.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Weird At My School
1-2-3-4
My father lives in arabia
And I live right here at my school
I took his plane to columbia
So I could sail at my school(? ) *
Its weird at my school
Weird at my school(3x)
My mothers glad that I am here
So she can visit my school
I cant believe shes so pretty
Im a son of a bitch at my school
Weird at my school(4x)
And my best friend, my cousin eleanor
She lives far away from the doors of my school
And often times, you know I fantasize
That I have sex with the nuns at my school
Its weird at my school
Weird at my school(7x)
(transcribed by moses boole)
* : or so I could sell at my school (according to rhys henry mason)
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Same As Here
I got home from school one day
with a dark spot on my eye
Masiter Kumedzro always say:
fighting was against the rules
so when Grandma got home I told her a story
just like I'd rehearsed some hours before
and there I stood on my trembling knees
waiting for the worst
interestingly, she did not say a word
when she got into the kitchen she called
she said son 'Let me tell you a secret
about a Grandma's love”
a secret she said was just between us
she said, “Grandma’s don't just love their children
every now and then, it's a love without an end, amen'
when I became a father
there was no doubt my son was a stubborn boy
he was not like me but as just like my father's son
one day when I thought my patience
had been tested to the end too long
I took my Grandma's secret
and I passed it on to him
he hugged me and cried on my shoulders
last night I dreamed I'd died
and stood outside those pearly gates of Salem
suddenly, I realized, there must be some mistake
supposing St. Peter knows half the things I've done
he would never open the gate to let me in
there a deep voice spoke from the other side of the dome
and I heard those words again
it said, “Son Grandpa’s don't just love their children
every now and then, it's a love without an end, amen'
poem by Padmore Enyonam Agbemabiese
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Father’s Day
A father loves his children,
More than words can say;
Dad’s the head of family –
This was so till today!
A father toils for children,
From morn, throughout day;
So that all can eat good food,
He gives his hard-earned pay!
A father teaches children
And tells what life is;
A good dad chides and canes you,
If studies, you do miss.
A father tells his children
About love of God;
He reads the Bible verses,
And warns about God’s rod.
A father trains his children
Moulds their character;
He helps them know, right from wrong,
And live a life better.
A father guides his children,
Walk on sinless roads;
To live a life of fortitude,
And righteousness, he goads!
Let children wish their father,
‘Happy Father’s Day! ’
Thank God for giving this nice man –
A blessing till this day!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-15-2008
poem by John Celes
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A Little Story
- once there was this little boy who asked his father,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once there was this little boy who asked his father,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once there was this little boy and he went to...
- mummy...you should remember this more because dyou know why?
- why?
- I learnt it from my daddy, you know.
- umm-umm.
- hah-hah.
- once there was this little boy who asked his father
To tell him that old, old, old, old, old, old story.
Once upon a time there was this little boy who said,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once upon...
- you could see...it can end anywhere!
It can end...its just a little story.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Little Story
- once there was this little boy who asked his father,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once there was this little boy who asked his father,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once there was this little boy and he went to...
- mummy...you should remember this more because dyou know why?
- why?
- I learnt it from my daddy, you know.
- umm-umm.
- hah-hah.
- once there was this little boy who asked his father
To tell him that old, old, old, old, old, old story.
Once upon a time there was this little boy who said,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once upon...
- you could see...it can end anywhere!
It can end...its just a little story.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butter in her mouth
Butter in her mouth
School time is just too over, waking up and ready for the school otherwise I will beat you bitterly.
He put off the bed sheet from my body, stretched my hand,
In addition, put me on my foot.
Tears came in my eyes then I went slowly and slowly to my mother in the kitchen,
I put my finger towards my father
And complained about the rude behavior of my father,
Who was asking him to go to the school?
She embraced me; kiss my fore head, and politely asking me to become ready to school because I have to be an officer by studying in the school.
Orders were the same.
Father orders me to wake up and to go to the school while he was having a stick in his hand.
Mother also orders him to go to the school having butter in her mouth.
(From the diary of an Indian)
poem by Vijay Gupta
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The Lesson Left Untaught
School teaches us that 2+2=4
School teaches us that an essay has an intro, body, and conclusion
School teaches us that history is his story
We learn alot in school but not enough
School doesnt teach us how to deal when a love one dies
School doesnt teach us how many lies are truth
Or how many truths are lies
School doesnt teach us what to do when your heart has been broken into so many pieces, you find it difficult to trust anyone
To open up to anyone
......to love anyone
No
Because these things cant be taught
They can only be experienced through the course of life..
poem by Prince Tiwari
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The lesson left untaught
School teaches us that 2+2=4
School teaches us that an essay has an intro, body, and conclusion
School teaches us that history is his story
We learn alot in school but not enough
School doesnt teach us how to deal when a love one dies
School doesnt teach us how many lies are truth
Or how many truths are lies
School doesnt teach us what to do when your heart has been broken into so many pieces, you find it difficult to trust anyone
To open up to anyone
......to love anyone
No
Because these things cant be taught
They can only be experienced through the course of life
poem by Dashon Coleman
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Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day
Calmly we walk through this April's day,
Metropolitan poetry here and there,
In the park sit pauper and rentier,
The screaming children, the motor-car
Fugitive about us, running away,
Between the worker and the millionaire
Number provides all distances,
It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now,
Many great dears are taken away,
What will become of you and me
(This is the school in which we learn...)
Besides the photo and the memory?
(...that time is the fire in which we burn.)
(This is the school in which we learn...)
What is the self amid this blaze?
What am I now that I was then
Which I shall suffer and act again,
The theodicy I wrote in my high school days
Restored all life from infancy,
The children shouting are bright as they run
(This is the school in which they learn . . .)
Ravished entirely in their passing play!
(...that time is the fire in which they burn.)
Avid its rush, that reeling blaze!
Where is my father and Eleanor?
Not where are they now, dead seven years,
But what they were then?
No more? No more?
From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day,
Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume
Not where they are now (where are they now?)
But what they were then, both beautiful;
Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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The good father
This is the one who can not eat if his children do not eat
This is the who wear unexpensive clothes while his children wear expensive ones
This the one who sacrifice his problems for his children
This is the one who works every day for his children
This the one who can sleep outside the house while his children are inside
Are the children showing the appreciation to his efforts?
Are the children showing sense of appreciation about his love to them?
They show appreciation by writing poems for him
They show love by consoling him when he is in trouble
A good father should be innocent
A good father should act as a head of the family
A good father should give support to the family
The location known as Silityiwa has got such father
This father is known as Sonwabisile Lateta and he is “my” father
poem by Franklin Spetuxolo Lateta
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The Yellow School Bus
The yellow school bus with the black wheels took sick children to school each day.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was driven whether or not the sky was gray.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels went pass three streets and up a hill.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was driven whether sunny or chilled.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels always brought a smile to little kids face.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was filled with love and filled with grace.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels kept breathing until that final breath.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels was painted red with blood and death.
The yellow school bus with the black wheels and the little sick children were all of friends.
But the now dead children will never take a ride in the yellow school bus again.
poem by RaShawn Ince
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