When my daughter, Clare, was 4, she told me that a school friend had told her what I did for a living. Clare asked me, 'Is it true you play Jack Rabbit?'
quote by Peter Bergman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Told Myself
I told myself
You do love me
Is it really true?
She asked me
I told myself
You care for me
Are you really sure?
She asked me
I told myself
You do miss me
As often as you?
She asked me
I told myself
You need me too
Are you guessing?
She asked me
I told myself
You never tell me
Why on Earth?
She asked me
I told myself
You hide a lot…
Is that friendship?
She asked me
I told myself
You think too much
Does he not feel?
She asked me
Tell me, my love
What shall I say?
To all those queries
That she asked me...
How should I answer?
What should I ponder?
Tell me the truth
For she still asks me...
You For Me
And Me For You
Is it the Future?
One last Question
She did ask me.
I don’t have the answers
Yet she keeps asking me…
May be, she knows,
One day, one moment
You’ll let her know
How you feel for me...
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Lady Clare
IT was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
I trow they did not part in scorn-
Lovers long-betroth'd were they:
They too will wed the morrow morn:
God's blessing on the day !
'He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,' said Lady Clare.
In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, 'Who was this that went from thee?'
'It was my cousin,' said Lady Clare,
'To-morrow he weds vith me.'
'O God be thank'd!' said Alice the nurse,
' That all comes round so just and fair:
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.'
'Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?'
Said Lady Clare, 'that ye speak so wild?'
'As God's above,' said Alice the nurse,
' I speak the truth: you are my child.
'The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.'
'Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother,' she said, ' if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife.'
' If I'm a beggar born,' she said,
'I will speak out, for I dare not lie.
Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret all ye can.'
She said, ' Not so: but I will know
If there be any faith in man.'
'Nay now, what faith ?' said Alice the nurse,
'The man will cleave unto his right.'
'And he shall have it,' the lady replied,
'Tho' I should die to-night.'
'Yet give one kiss to your mother dear !
Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee.'
'O mother, mother, mother,' she said,
'So strange it seems to me.
'Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go.'
She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.
The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
And follow'd her all the way.
Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:
'O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you drest like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?'
'If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born,' she said,
'And not the Lady Clare.'
'Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'For I am yours in word and in deed.
Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'Your riddle is hard to read.'
O and proudly stood she up !
Her heart within her did not fail:
She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes,
And told him all her nurse's tale.
He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn:
He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood:
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, 'the next in blood--
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, ' the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare.'
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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She Told Me...
She told me that
you’ve fallen for me
I blushed and asked you
“is it true? ”
She told me that
you would not tell me
I still did ask you
“is it true? ”
She told me that
you’ve always loved me
couldn’t help but ask you
“is it true? ”
I told her that
you couldn’t acknowledge
I kept on asking
“is it true? ”
She is my other self
she knows it all…
she told me again
you’ll take your time
Tell me, my love
how long do I wait...
to hear from you
if it really is true?
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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And if you remember the other part of the context is we were then all deceived about the French position and told the French had said they'd veto any second resolution - which wasn't true, we now know.
quote by Clare Short
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mystic And The Realist
in his poem 'To the Cuckoo' Wordsworth described the bird as a mysterious thing
As if a bird's voice without a bird out of nowhere did sing
As he told he searched for the bird on bush and sky and tree
And yet that voice to him remained as a great mystery.
John Clare the poet from Helpston where he lived when he was young
Once got so close to the cuckoo that he even see her tongue
A leading student of Nature's ways Nature he did not mystify
He never told of searching for a mysterious bird in bush and tree and sky.
Poor John Clare had a mental illness by life he was given a raw deal
But he did see Nature for what she is he see Nature as real
The birds and animals that lived around him he intimately knew
And to the reality of Nature till death he remained true.
The Mystic and the Realist they see things differently
What was a real bird to one to the other was a mystery
What makes us all interesting is that we are more different even than we realize
And we see the World around us through very different eyes.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There was a Young Lady of Clare,
Who was sadly pursued by a bear;
When she found she was tired,
She abruptly expired,
That unfortunate Lady of Clare.
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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Francesco and Clare
It was there, in that little town On top of the mountain, they walked, Francesco and Chiara, That's who they were, that's what They told themselves--a joke, their joke About two saints, failed lovers held apart From the world of flesh, Francis and Clare, Out walking the old city, two saints, Sainted ones, holy, held close to the life... Poverty, the pure life, the one Life for Franziskus and Klara, Stalwarts given To the joys of God in heaven And on earth, Mother, praising Brother Sun And sister Moon; twin saints, unified In their beauty as one, Francisco and Clara, A beauty said of God's will and word, bestowed And polished by poverty, François With Claire, the chosen poverty, the true Poverty that would not be their lives... And they took their favorite names, Clare and Francesco, Walking the streets of stone the true saints Walked, watching as the larks swirled Above the serene towers, the larks Francesco once described as the color Of goodness, that is, of the earth, of the dead... Larks who'd not seek for themselves any extravagant Plumage, humble and simple, God's birds Twirling and twisting up the pillowing air... And Francesco said to Clare, Oh little plant I love,
My eyes are almost blind with Brother Sun...tell me,
Who hides inside God's time...? And Clare, rock of all Poor Clares, stood In the warm piazza overlooking the valley, weary, Her shoulder bag sagging from the weight Of her maps and books, and said across the rain-slick Asphalt of the parking lot, to the poor bird climbing The wheel of sky it always had loved best, Dear lark, dear saint, all my kisses on your nest!
poem by David St. John
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I Sent My Child To School Today
I sent my child to school today
With his little lunch box
When he came home he said his friend
Had gotten the chickenpox,
I sent my child to school today
And asked him what he learned
He told me about firemen
They taught him how not to get burned,
I sent my child to school today
He said, 'Do you know what they taught me? '
He told me they taught him numbers
As well as his ABC’s,
I sent my child to school today
A smile on his face
I gave him a kiss and a hug
And said, 'See ya funny face! ',
I sent my child to school today
His smile bright and wide
But an older child brought in a gun
How did he get it inside? ,
I sent my child to school today
As in every day
But the child with the gun started shooting
The reason? No one could say,
I buried my child after school today
All I can do is cry
I lost my child at school today
And nobody can tell me why.
poem by Doug Hollywood Davis
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Clare's Dragoons
When, on Ramillies' bloody field,
The baffled French were forced to yield,
The victor Saxon backward reeled
Before the charge of Clare's Dragoons.
The Flags we conquered in that fray
Look lone in Ypres' choir, they say,
We'll win them company to-day,
Or bravely die like Clare's Dragoons.
CHORUS.
Viva la, for Ireland's wrong!
Viva la, for Ireland's right!
Viva la, in battle throng,
For a Spanish steed, and sabre bright!
The brave old lord died near the fight,
But, for each dropp he lost that night,
A Saxon cavalier shall bite
The dust before Lord Clare's Dragoons.
For never, when our spurs were set,
And never, when our sabres met,
Could we the Saxon soldiers get
To stand the shock of Clare's Dragoons.
CHORUS.
Viva la, the New Brigade!
Viva la, the Old one, too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade,
And the shamrock shine for ever new!
Another Clare is here to lead,
The worthy son of such a breed;
The French expect some famous deed,
When Clare leads on his bold Dragoons.
Our Colonel comes from Brian's race,
His wounds are in his breast and face,
The bearna baoghail[81] is still his place,
The foremost of his bold Dragoons.
CHORUS.
Viva la, the New Brigade!
Viva la, the Old one, too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade,
And the shamrock shine for ever new!
There's not a man in squadron here
Was ever known to flinch or fear;
Though first in charge and last in rere,
Have ever been Lord Clare's Dragoons;
But see! we'll soon have work to do,
To shame our boasts, or prove them true,
For hither comes the English crew,
To sweep away Lord Clare's Dragoons.
CHORUS.
Viva la, for Ireland's wrong!
Viva la, for Ireland's right!
Viva la, in battle throng,
For a Spanish steed and sabre bright!
Oh! comrades! think how Ireland pines,
Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines,
Her dearest hope, the ordered lines,
And bursting charge of Clare's Dragoons.
Then fling your Green Flag to the sky.
Be 'Limerick' your battle-cry,
And charge, till blood floats fetlock-high,
Around the track of Clare's Dragoons!
CHORUS.
Viva la, the New Brigade!
Viva la, the Old one, too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade,
And the shamrock shine for ever new!
song, lyrics by Thomas Davis
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Who is the Best..?
Once there was this Rishi
Living under a banyan tree
Meditating on Him, all his life
Alone, without worries or wife..
It was a sunny day, bit hazy
Rishi was relaxed and lazy
A mouse came running and fell at his feet
A cat came chasing to eat
The mouse prayed 'Gimme shelter or u sin'
The cat said 'Protecting my food is no less a thing'
Rishi had to decide one way or other
Rishi blessed the mouse to be his daughter
The daughter grew into a beautiful woman
Time came for Rishi to think of her man.
He asked the daughter for any criteria or test
She said she wanted only the Best
Best of a man is a Rishi, said the father
Not really so, said the daughter
When Rishi said, better than a Rishi is the only Sun
No, said the daughter, not the burning hot one!
Rishi asked the Sun, if he knows anyone better
The Sun said, try the Cloud, it hides my power
When Rishi told her of the Cloud's valor
No, said the daughter, I hate the dark color
Rishi asked the Cloud, who betters it
The Cloud said, surely the Wind, it blows me out
Rishi asked the daughter, if Wind is her choice
No, said the daughter, It just makes noise.
Rishi asked the Wind, for a better person
The Wind said, It is the immovable Mountain
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mountain passes her test
No, said the daughter, full of trough and crest
Rishi asked the Mountain for the best in the land
The Mountain said, It is the Mouse that crushes it to sand
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mouse is her groom
Yes, said the daughter, I love his eyes that zoom..
Rishi made his daughter back into a mouse
They married and lived in a hole as their house
The Best for a mouse is mouse, for Rishi a Rishi, for crook a crook
It depends on what you look out for; your outlook!
poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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Maude Clare
Out of the church she followed them
With a lofty step and mien:
His bride was like a village maid,
Maude Clare was like a queen.
“Son Thomas, ” his lady mother said,
With smiles, almost with tears:
“May Nell and you but live as true
As we have done for years;
“Your father thirty years ago
Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,
Nor I so pale as Nell.”
My lord was pale with inward strife,
And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare
Or ever he kissed the bride.
“Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,
Have brought my gift, ” she said:
To bless the hearth, to bless the board,
To bless the marriage-bed.
“Here’s my half of the golden chain
You wore about your neck,
That day we waded ankle-deep
For lilies in the beck:
“Here’s my half of the faded leaves
We plucked from the budding bough,
With feet amongst the lily leaves, -
The lilies are budding now.”
He strove to match her scorn with scorn,
He faltered in his place:
“Lady, ” he said, - “Maude Clare, ” he said, -
“Maude Clare, ” – and hid his face.
She turn’d to Nell: “My Lady Nell,
I have a gift for you;
Though, were it fruit, the blooms were gone,
Or, were it flowers, the dew.
“Take my share of a fickle heart,
Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,
I wash my hands thereof.”
“And what you leave, ” said Nell, “I’ll take,
And what you spurn, I’ll wear;
For he’s my lord for better and worse,
And him I love Maude Clare.
“Yea, though you’re taller by the head,
More wise and much more fair:
I’ll love him till he loves me best,
Me best of all Maude Clare.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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I was a schooled musician. When I made 'Blue Velvet', I told everyone what to do. I was an arranger. I learned music in school I told the band to play this. I told the guitar to do that.
quote by Bobby Vinton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turnaboout
As large as life she stood there
Kissed my cheek and called my old nickname
And though several years had passed
Both of us still looked quite the same
I said hi relaxed a bit
Then asked her how she'd been all these years
She told me she was feeling fine
Came to see a friend who lived up here
Told me she had finished school
And then went on to college for a year
I asked if she had married
Slowly down her cheek there came a tear
She said just an itchy eye
It must be the weather way up here
Told her I can't stand the cold
It freezes me and I can't feel my ears
We talked a bit about Mobile
And thought about how it has never changed
I told her I was a comin' home
To spend some time and hoped it wouldn't rain
She asked if she could see me then
And we could spend some time now and then
Because I lived so far away
Was still no chance why we could not be friends
I drove her to the waiting plane
Watched that big jet streaking through the sky
Thought about the sad young girl
And the time that I just saw her cry
That flame must still be burning bright
I think I'll catch a later flight today
It's time for me to go on home
And spend a day or two down by the bay
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's a sick day off
It's Monday,
I said, ' I can't go to school today.'
Mom asked, ' Why can't you go son? '
' Well I have the flu and chicken pox. I need a warm cinnamon bun.'
'Eat a cinnamon bun, rest, and be ready for school tomorrow while rising with the sun.'
It's Tuesday,
I said, ' I can't go to school like yesterday.'
Mom asked, ' Why not Nate? '
' I have the mumps and measles and I think it is because of what I ate.'
' Well you're going to miss you school debate.'
Mom said back, ' Go to rest and hopefully you can go to school tomorrow with your sister Kate.'
It's Wednesday,
I said to Mom, ' I can't go to school like Tuesday.'
Mom asked, ' Why not my sweet boy? '
' I'm coughing and I got a headache also say I can't play today to my best friend Roy.'
' Go to bed dear child so you can go to school tomorrow with joy.'
It's Thursday,
I said, ' I can't go to school like Wednesday, Tuesday, and Monday.'
Mom asked, ' Why not lad.'
' I'm giddy, dizzy, and feeling pretty bad.'
' You must be feeling bad that's why I feel so sad.'
Mom said back, ' Rest now and it won't be so bad.'
It's Friday,
I said, ' I can't go to school again today.'
Mom said, ' Don't worry there is no school today.'
' No school! I'm going out to play now.'
poem by Saimun Shahee
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Turnabout
By: jimmy buffett
1970
As large as life she stood there
Kissed my cheek and called my old nickname
And though several years had passed
Both of us still looked quite the same
I said hi relaxed a bit
Then asked her how shed been all these years
She told me she was feeling fine
Came to see a friend who lived up here
Told me she had finished school
And then went on to college for a year
I asked if she had married
Slowly down her cheek there came a tear
She said just an itchy eye
It must be the weather way up here
Told her I cant stand the cold
It freezes me and I cant feel my ears
We talked a bit about mobile
And thought about how it has never changed
I told her I was a comin home
To spend some time and hoped it wouldnt rain
She asked if she could see me then
And we could spend some time now and then
Because I lived so far away
Was still no chance why we could not be friends
I drove her to the waiting plane
Watched that big jet streaking through the sky
Thought about the sad young girl
And the time that I just saw her cry
That flame must still be burning bright
I think Ill catch a later flight today
Its time for me to go on home
And spend a day or two down by the bay
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Anit All Ways The Answer
Roses are dead vilets are to.
Imlove but not with you .
You thought you hurt me and maid me cry but know I have felling for another guy.
(chorus)2xs
I thoaught I loved you but I guess I was wrong.
You told me you would be my husband but that wasent true.so I guess
Our love is through.
2(verse)
You tried to be sling and play
Your littel game but being my self I felt
No shame. you told your friends you had a
New bitch I told my friend you had littel dick.
Your told me you loved me but that wasent true.
Guess what babby anll that time Ive ben playing you!!!!!!!!
(chorus) till song fade out
song performed by by Xscape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Anit All Ways The Answer
Roses are dead vilets are to.
Imlove but not with you .
You thought you hurt me and maid me cry but know I have felling for another guy.
(chorus)2xs
I thoaught I loved you but I guess I was wrong.
You told me you would be my husband but that wasent true.so I guess
Our love is through.
2(verse)
You tried to be sling and play
Your littel game but being my self I felt
No shame. you told your friends you had a
New bitch I told my friend you had littel dick.
Your told me you loved me but that wasent true.
Guess what babby anll that time Ive ben playing you!!!!!!!!
(chorus) till song fade out
song performed by by Xscape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My friend told me later he got the chicken pox. I told him I caught politics and never got over it.
quote by Jack Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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tribute to John clare
Tribute to John Clare.
Love lies beyond.
The tomb, the earth which fade like dew.
I love the fond
the faithful and the true.
John Clare 1793 = 1867
A glosa
Love lies beyond
all of our dreams old and new.
The silken bond
which binds me to you.
Fair Rosamonde
The tomb, the earth which fade like dew.
No magic wand
can make me forget you.
I must respond.
There’s nothing else that I can do.
I love the fond memories
that I cling to.
I have donned
sackcloth garments and ashes too.
For you have gone.
The faithful and the true
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Parker Clare
To a forgotten culture perhaps he now belongs
The man who could sing over a thousand songs
The father of the famous poet John Clare
Even in his own time people like him were rare.
The ballad singer of the Helpston countryside
Hundreds of the old songs he sung with him died
So little of the oral tradition now remain
Forever lost not to be found again.
Two hundred years ago one of a dying breed
Poor Parker Clare he could not write nor read
Yet through his son his name lives on today
A memory lost but yet to fade away.
He came from an oral tradition that is forever gone
Yet memories of what was still living on
And at a time when great change was happening in his English countryside
Most of the songs he sung with Parker died.
A fading memory that won't fade away
And through his son his name still lives today
Still a genius in his own right the thresher Parker Clare
And even in his time his type were quite rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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