All presidents rail against the press. It goes with the turf.
quote by Helen Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I've done it 30 years. I don't know what there is to gain by doing it 40. But I think there is something about doing it over that length of time that says something. That's seven U.S. presidents and five presidents of McDonald's.
quote by Don Novello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nowadays even presidents, vice-presidents, and heads of big agencies are opening their minds to accept psychic phenomena, because they know it works.
quote by Uri Geller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Key Holes!
Top secrets! !
The secret books of Presidents;
Classifying documents,
Key holes!
Bolt, jolt, colt, holt, volt;
From, form!
daylight and midnight;
Kind, kindled!
Along the way,
With their words,
Advice, advise!
Lineage,
Passage,
Voice, choice!
The secret books of Presidents,
Seeking,
Shyward,
Hoaxes,
Alleged,
Decades,
Bridge;
Classifying documents,
Sonorous!
Somnolent,
Look, took!
The secret books of Presidents;
But, the key holes are there as evidence.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Rail
Long hard days, long cold nights
I work on the rail driving rail road spikes
I work all day from dusk til dawn
We don't take a break til the beans are done
The boss man says, Pick up those spikes
Lay out those rails make them fit just right
Pick up the hammer and drive it in
What I'm paying you boys, I ain't your friend
They pay me boys to tell you what to do
There's another thousand rails to lay, we ain't through
I work all day and I bust my back
I make my money on a rail road track
I work long days and long cold nights
Lay out that rail and lay it right
Pick up a hammer and I drive it in
Then reach for another and do it all again
I'm working on a rail road
Taking care of my own
Carrying my own load
I'm working on a rail road.
poem by Bill Simmons
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Beyond highways and roads, we need more money for mass transit, intercity passenger rail and freight rail. We have a long way to go to bridge the funding gaps.
quote by Bill Lipinski
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There are some people that the press like to pick on and not just the gay press, but the press in general. And some people, the press just doesn't care about at all.
quote by Nathan Lane
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Hawk Revisited
Told of the hawk on the rail
friends wink.
'A hawk? In the Barrio'?
Not knowing what to think
they glance at each other, first, then at their knees,
stare at the vacant rail, then back at me
as if I'd claimed to see
an elf in Bermudas sipping a Sea-Breeze;
hasten to agree
concluding my mistake, if any, harmless-
the sort of thing that happens every day,
'Goodbye', say, and quickly slip away.
Till I conclude the raptor on the rail
the ruins of a burst balloon
snatched by the wind from some child's bouquet
caught, now, on the rail's disjointed finger;
or, drifting in place
an expirant shred of sooty plastic;
some out-the-window flung
sheer article of lingerie;
a wretched mistake-
an hallucination
a figment of imagination,
indigestion-
anything but the hawk it was.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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4 Southwest Chief/LA Central
(copyrighted material, Coffee House Press)
#4 Southwest Chief/LA Central
FOR DERYA AND HEID
The sheen of incandescent lamppost light travels this rail,
up ahead the Conductor
reminds us, if there’s anything
we can do to make your trip worthless just let us know
and no one cracks a smile.
This Amtrak car glides between
concrete pillars wrapped with steel for quake protection.
Projects plastered in graffiti by day now sink into 9: 00 p.m. comfortable-
this time of night you’d think they were condos
if you rode this rail for the first time.
What I see is concertina riding chain link fence tops-
as if there is an escape attempt due any moment.
Then, somehow, I see myself in the window. Not a reflection
but an actual replica looking back at me and at the glare,
over further than a bounce of light could flash, where
planes coming in to land look like falling stars,
and I’m taking my mother to the asylum in my memory.
I can still hear her saying, bad, bad girl and look
at the pretty stars and Christmas lights sometime late July.
L.A. River on my left, tonight there’s water more than trickle down.
Along the concrete banks where someone wrote out: RECKLESS
a concrete mixer is parked right by the river and rail,
and one single truck has its lights on bright.
By morning, jump-starts will cardiac it back to life.
My gut aches. The whole world’s in a window at Fullerton and
through arches, past electric globes, it spins
high over a Pepsi machine on the floor far below.
Bad, bad girl. Look at the pretty stars and Christmas lights.
FROM OFF-SEASON CITY PIPE, COFFE HOUSE PRESS,2005.
poem by Allison Hedge Coke
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Uncle Alvarez
Theres a portrait of uncle alvarez
Hangin in the hall
Nobody wants to look at it
But uncle alvarez sees us all
Oh, oh, oh, imaginary accomplishments
Hey, hey, hey, you visionary guy
You might even shake the hands of presidents
Better send a postcard and keep the family quiet
Hes not really a part cherokee indian
He didnt fight in the civil war
Hes just eugene isaac alvarez
We feel sorry for the wall
Oh, oh, oh, imaginary accomplishments
Hey, hey, hey, you visionary guy
You might even shake the hands of presidents
Youre gonna make em sorry when you die
And its a long way down
Youre hoping for a heart attack
Runnin around
Investing in this and that
And your beautiful wife keeps your life on a shelf for you
Safe in the bedroom
Where theres no dust or mildew
And its hard to believe you were once a beautiful dancer
Better just to shake it off
As you write your resume
Dont think of uncle alvarez
And the price he had to pay
Oh, oh, oh, imaginary accomplishments
Hey, hey, hey, you visionary guy
You might even shake the hands of presidents
Youre gonna make em sorry when you die
Oh, oh, oh, imaginary accomplishments
Hey, hey, hey, you visionary guy
You might even shake the hands of presidents
Better send some money to the alma mater
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freestyle
Money to blow
Money to throw
F@*K that Money
Lost my soul had to much dead presidents
It could fill ur bed with
Benjamins
Georges
Jacksons
Money
the drug that once got me to high
Writing for the money!
NO HOMO
BUT LIfe is like that B@TCH
THAT HAS BEEN F@#k
TO MUCH
BURNING these dead Presidents
JUST Flowing on the top of My head
MONEY TO BLOW
F@#K that money
poem by Grayson Givens
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Nixon, who spent much of his career attacking the press and saying he was a victim of the press, was in fact created by the press, in this case the L.A. Times.
quote by David Halberstam
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Song Of The Rail
Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail,
Black, with its face to the dust.
But it carries a message where winged things fail;
It crosses the mountains, and catches the trail,
While the winds and the sea make sport of a sail;
Oh, a rail is a friend to trust.
The iron rail, with its face to the sod,
Is only a bar of ore;
Yet it speeds where never a foot has trod;
And the narrow path where it leads, grows broad;
And it speaks to the world in the voice of God;
That echoes from shore to shore.
Though the iron rail, on the earth down flung,
Seems kin to the loam and the soil,
Wherever its high shrill note is sung,
Out of the jungle fair homes have sprung,
And the voices of babel find one tongue,
In the common language of toil.
Of priest, and warrior, and conquering king,
Of Knights of the Holy Grail,
Of wonders of winter, and glories of spring,
Always and ever the poets sing;
But the great God-Force, in a lowly thing,
I sing, in my song of the rail.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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T Baggin' Skit
[Dial Tone]
[Numbers being pressed]
Hello, Thank you for calling Disturbing Tha Peace.
To help expodate your call, please listen carefully to the following options.
If you're calling to solicit to a demo tape, press 1.
If you're calling regarding a job, press 2.
If you're calling to borrow money, press 3.
If you're calling to find the nearest weed spot in your area, press 4.
If you're out of alcohol on Sunday, press 5.
If you need a ho for the evening, press 6.
If you woke up with a hang over, and a pair of hairy balls on your forehead, press 7
7.
[Number gets pressed]
You've just pressed 7.
You've been victimized and introduced to a moral crime known as t baggin'.
We suggest you probably hang up the phone,
Beat the ass of any white guys you hung out with last night
and find and destroy all photos before they appear on the internet.
Thank you for calling.
Good luck.
Goodbye
[Dial Tone]
song performed by by Ludacris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Brass Rail
Foot on the rail in the olden days,
For all the world to see,
A jolly old lot, they took their pot
All unashamed and free,
Passing their jest from lip to lip,
Puffing away the foam,
Till a small voice cried from the path outside:
'Ma says, you're to come on home.'
Foot on the rail they faced the world
And cared not who should know;
And many they went, thro' a life mis-spent
As man a man must go
Straight to the dogs from the old brass rail,
Lost and ruined and wrecked:
But he went to his fate with the game played straight:
And he went with his head erect.
Then came the camel, with his lip adroop,
Calling an end to fun.
Tho' his cause was strong, his way was wrong,
And his task was most ill done.
Turning a man to a furtive sneak,
Stealing by ways obscure,
Bad if you will was the old, old ill;
But worse by far was the cure.
Oh, man will sin as his fathers sinned
Since ever this world was made;
But, if he must sin, then let him sin
In the open, unafraid;
Foot on the old brass rail again
For all the world to see.
A jolly old lot who takes his tot
All unashamed and free.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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To You I Am Just A Voice
to you i am just a voice
there are no hands to rejoice
no lips to press
yours to mine
on such a distance
yet even if distance dissolves
and what you see is this empty glass
still your hand cannot hold it
to a mere touch
the glass breaks
i will just a voice in distance
i will still be a voice in your head in this presence
for i am a slave of air
and to the iron rail i am but a train that is passing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Some of the press who speak loudly about the freedom of the press are themselves the enemies of freedom. Countless people dare not say a thing because they know it will be picked up and made a song of by the press. That limits freedom.
quote by Geoffrey Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Steel Rail Blues
Well I got my mail late last night
A letter from a girl who found the time to write
To her lonesome boy somewhere in the night
She sent me a railroad ticket too
To take me to her loving arms
And the big steel rail
Gonna carry me home to the one I love
Well I been out here many a long days
I haven't found a place that I could call my own
Not a two bit bed to lay my body on
I been stood up I been shook down
I bin dragged into the sand
And the big steel rail gonna carry me home to the one I love
Well I been up tight most every night
Walking along the streets of this old town
Not a friend to tell my troubles to
My good old car she done broke down
'Cause I drove it into the ground
And the big steel rail gonna carry me home to the one I love
Well look over yonder across the plain
The big drive wheels a-pounding along the ground
Gonna get on board and I'll be homeward bound
Now I ain't had a home cooked meal
And Lord I need one now
And the big steel rail gonna carry me home to the one I love
Now here I am with my head in the sand
Standing on the broad highway will you give a ride
To a lonesome boy who missed the train last night
I went in town for one last round
And I gambled my ticket away
And the big steel rail won't carry me home to the one I love
song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Train To The Coast
Why don't we jump the rail
ride the last train to the coast
watch the sea rise and fall
escape if only for a little while
to feel that fresh sea air again
maybe we could stay for a bit
make up a weekend perhaps
lets not make any plans
aside from boarding the last train
steel wheels powering along
to another place, away from here
it sounds so simple, maybe it is
why don't we jump the rail
rise the last train to the coast
make love on the beach
or just sit and talk about love
lets drink by a fire and toast
our future rolling out ahead of us
were on track you and me
why don't we just jump the rail
catch the last train to the coast
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Steel Rail Blues
Well I got my mail late last night
A letter from a girl who found the time
To write
To her lonesome boy somewheres in the
Night
She sent me a railroad ticket too
To take me to her lovin arms
And the big steel rail gonna carry me
Home to the one I love
Well I bin out here many long days
I havent found a place that I could call
My own
Not a two bit bed to lay my body on
I bin stood up I bin shook down
I bin dragged into the sand
And the big steel rail gonna carry me
Home to the one I love
Ooooh oooo oo whu hu hoo
Ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo oo
Well I bin up tight most every night
Walkin along the streets of this old town
Not a friend around to tell my troubles to
My good old car she done broke down
cause I drove it into the ground
And the big steel rail gonna carry me
Home to the one I love
Well I look over yonder across the plain
The big drive wheels are poundin along
The ground
Gonna get on board and Ill be homeward
Bound
Now I aint had a home cooked meal
And lord I need one now
And the big steel rail gonna carry me
Home to the one I love
Now here I am with my hat in hand
Standin on the broad highway will you
Give a ride
To a lonesome boy who missed the train
Last night
I went in town for one last round
And I gambled my ticket away
And the big steel rail wont carry me
Home to the one I love
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Foe Shall Gather Our Harvest
Sons of the mountains of Scotland,
Welshmen of coomb and defile,
Breed of the moors of England,
Children of Erin's green isle,
We stand four square to the tempest,
Whatever the battering hail-
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
Our women shall walk in honour,
Our children shall know no chain,
This land, that is ours forever,
The invader shall strike at in vain.
Anzac!...Tobruk!...and Kokoda!...
Could ever the old blood fail?
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
So hail-fellow-met we muster,
And hail-fellow-met fall in,
Wherever the guns may thunder,
Or the rocketing air-mail spin!
Born of the soil and the whirlwind,
Though death itself be the gale-
No foe shall gather our harvest
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
We are the sons of Australia,
of the men who fashioned the land;
We are the sons of the women
Who walked with them hand in hand;
And we swear by the dead who bore us,
By the heroes who blazed the trail,
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.
poem by Dame Mary Gilmore
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