En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Fleet Street

BENEATH this narrow jostling street,
Unruffled by the noise of feet,
Like a slow organ-note I hear
The pulses of the great world beat.

Unseen beneath the city’s show
Through this aorta ever flow
The currents of the universe—
A thousand pulses throbbing low!

Unheard beneath the pavement’s din
Unknown magicians sit within
Dim caves, and weave life into words
On patient looms that spin and spin.

There, uninspired, yet with the dower
Of mightier mechanic power,
Some bent, obscure Euripides
Builds the loud drama of the hour!

There, from the gaping presses hurled,
A thousand voices, passion-whirled,
With throats of steel vociferate
The incessant story of the world!

So through this artery from age
To age the tides of passion rage,
The swift historians of each day
Flinging a world upon a page!

And then I pause and gaze my fill
Where cataracts of traffic spill
Their foam into the Circus. Lo!
Look up, the crown on Ludgate Hill!

Remote from all the city’s moods,
In high, untroubled solitudes,
Like an old Buddha swathed in dream,
St. Paul’s above the city broods!

poem by Arthur Henry Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spin, Spin, Spin

Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
The harlequin dances in a costume of green
Spin around
But under his makeup his age can't be seen
Spin around
But where are you spinnin'
When will you know
That life is for livin'
That it isn't a show?
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
You look out on the city from your penthouse so high
Spin around
But your pedestal's your prison and so is your high
Spin around
But where are you spinnin'
When will you know
That life is for livin'
That it isn't a show?
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
Your pills are you conscience
They make ev'rything seem all right
Spin around
Take a white one go to sleep
Take a red one to stay up all night
To spin around
But where are you spinnin'
When will you know
That life is for livin'
That it isn't a show?
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around
Spin, spin, spin
Spin away, spin away
Spin, spin, spin
Spin around, spin around

song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Streets

The gaudy glow of neon lights
dispels the darkness of the nights
on city streets.

They pop and fizzle noisily
creating a cacophony
on city streets.

The sober folks walk warily
and drunks stagger uncaringly
on city streets.

The ladies of the night parade
for there is money to be made
on city streets.

Drug dealers ready to retreat
if they should hear a coppers feet
on city streets.

The night shift workers wend their way
towards their work to start their day
on city streets.

The noisy revellers thin out
as one by one the signs go out
on city streets.

The gradually noises abate
and ghostly shadow congregate
on city streets.

For some few hours peace will reign
before the noise will start again
on city streets.

The early morning traffic sounds
start with the milkmen on their rounds
on city streets.

This builds up to an angry roar
as cars and lorries inward pour
on city streets

then when at last rush hour has passed
noise levels will subside at last
on city streets

I thank the lord that I am free
to leave this noise far behind me
on city streets.

I walked my beat the whole night
through exactly as I’m paid to do
on city streets.

I choose to live outside the town
where constant noise won’t get me down
on city streets.

My village is a quiet place
A haven where I need not face
the noisy streets.

8-Jun-07
poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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City Under A Thousand Lies

Tragedy is the front page story
A city drowned under a thousand lies
And everyday we waste stalling
Is another day we loose a thousand lives
No one really seems to care
Everyone seems to want to leave them there
The city is going down in despair
And no one really seems to care
As long as it doesn’t happen to you
It’s just another front page story
Can’t really explain just how wrong that is to me
The agenda is stuck in the dirt across the sea
When the disaster is in our own backyard we aren’t ready
Quicker to act
On a battle attack
Across the world
Than thousands dying
Right here at home
Way too late to save anything
Obviously it’s too far gone
Tragedy is the front page story
Sell every fucking copy you can
The city is drowning under a thousand lies
And everyday we waste stalling
Claims another thousand lives
Caught on camera the deepest misery
Anarchy and despair everywhere
And yet even though it’s the front page story
No one really seems to care

poem by Jake Warren
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High In The City

I got the time, I got my feet
Lets go hit the street
High in the city
High in the city
I got my mace and you got your knife
You gotta protect your own life
High in the city
High in the city
I wanna get high in the city
I wanna stay alive here in the city
I wanna stay high in the city
High in the city
High in the city
Lets not walk down sutton place
You know everybody there got an akitas
High in the city
High in the city
Dont wanna talk politics today
I feel too good let me have my way
High in the city
High in the city
Watch out for that guy on your right
Seen him on the news last saturday night
He was high in the city
High in the city
Hey, look theyre setting fire to that jeep
Theres not much you can keep
High in the city
High in the city
I wanna get high in the city
I wanna stay alive in the city
I wanna stay high in the city
High in the city
High in the city
So many people feeling low
And theres only one way to go to
Get high in the city
High in the city
Lets grap a pie, lets hit the park
Ill kiss and hug you till it gets dark
Here in the city
Getting high in the city
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Barrel-Organ

There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street
In the City as the sun sinks low;
And the music's not immortal; but the world has made it sweet
And fulfilled it with the sunset glow;
And it pulses through the pleasures of the City and the pain
That surround the singing organ like a large eternal light;
And they've given it a glory and a part to play again
In the Symphony that rules the day and night.

And now it's marching onward through the realms of old romance,
And trolling out a fond familiar tune,
And now it's roaring cannon down to fight the King of France,
And now it's prattling softly to the moon.
And all around the organ there's a sea without a shore
Of human joys and wonders and regrets;
To remember and to recompense the music evermore
For what the cold machinery forgets...

Yes; as the music changes,
Like a prismatic glass,
It takes the light and ranges
Through all the moods that pass;
Dissects the common carnival
Of passions and regrets,
And gives the world a glimpse of all
The colours it forgets.

And there La Traviata sighs
Another sadder song;
And there Il Trovatore cries
A tale of deeper wrong;
And bolder knights to battle go
With sword and shield and lance,
Than ever here on earth below
Have whirled into--a dance!--

Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time;
Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)
And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland;
Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)

The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and soft perfume and sweet perfume,
The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and oh, so near to London!)
And there they say, when dawn is high and all the world's a blaze of sky
The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will sing a song for London.

The nightingale is rather rare and yet they say you'll hear him there
At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!)
The linnet and the throstle, too, and after dark the long halloo
And golden-eyed tu-whit, tu-whoo of owls that ogle London.

For Noah hardly knew a bird of any kind that isn't heard
At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!)
And when the rose begins to pout and all the chestnut spires are out
You'll hear the rest without a doubt, all chorusing for London:--

Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time;
Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)
And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland;
Come down to Kew in lilac-time (is isn't far from London!)

And then the troubadour begins to thrill the golden street,
In the city as the sun sinks low;
And in all the gaudy busses there are scores of weary feet
Marking time, sweet time, with a dull mechanic beat,
And a thousand hearts are plunging to a love they'll never meet,
Through the meadows of the sunset, through the poppies and the wheat,
In the land where the dead dreams go.

Verdi, Verdi, when you wrote Il Trovatore did you dream
Of the City when the sun sinks low,
Of the organ and the monkey and the many-coloured stream
On the Piccadilly pavement, of the myriad eyes that seem
To be litten for a moment with a wild Italian gleam
As A che la morte parodies the world's eternal theme
And pulses with the sunset-glow?

There's a thief, perhaps, that listens with a face of frozen stone
In the City as the sun sinks low;
There's a portly man of business with a balance of his own,
There's a clerk and there's a butcher of a soft reposeful tone,
And they're all of them returning to the heavens they have known:
They are crammed and jammed in busses and--they're each of them alone
In the land where the dead dreams go.

There's a labourer that listens to the voices of the dead
In the City as the sun sinks low;
And his hand begins to tremble and his face is rather red
As he sees a loafer watching him and--there he turns his head
And stares into the sunset where his April love is fled,
For he hears her softly singing and his lonely soul is led
Through the land where the dead dreams go...

There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street
In the City as the sun sinks low;
Though the music's only Verdi there's a world to make it sweet
Just as yonder yellow sunset where the earth and heaven meet
Mellows all the sooty City! Hark, a hundred thousand feet
Are marching on to glory through the poppies and the wheat
In the land where the dead dreams go.

So it's Jeremiah, Jeremiah,
What have you to say
When you meet the garland girls
Tripping on their way?
All around my gala hat
I wear a wreath of roses
(A long and lonely year it is
I've waited for the May!)
If any one should ask you,
The reason why I wear it is--
My own love, my true love is coming home to-day.

And it's buy a bunch of violets for the lady
(It's lilac-time in London; it's lilac-time in London!)
Buy a bunch of violets for the lady;
While the sky burns blue above:

On the other side the street you'll find it shady
(It's lilac-time in London; it's lilac-time in London!)
But buy a bunch of violets for the lady,
And tell her she's your own true love.

There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street
In the City as the sun sinks glittering and slow;
And the music's not immortal; but the world has made it sweet
And enriched it with the harmonies that make a song complete
In the deeper heavens of music where the night and morning meet,
As it dies into the sunset glow;

And it pulses through the pleasures of the City and the pain
That surround the singing organ like a large eternal light,
And they've given it a glory and a part to play again
In the Symphony that rules the day and night.

And there, as the music changes,
The song runs round again;
Once more it turns and ranges
Through all its joy and pain:
Dissects the common carnival
Of passions and regrets;
And the wheeling world remembers all
The wheeling song forgets.

Once more La Traviata sighs
Another sadder song:
Once more Il Trovatore cries
A tale of deeper wrong;
Once more the knights to battle go
With sword and shield and lance
Till once, once more, the shattered foe
Has whirled into--a dance!

Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time;
Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)
And you shall wander hand in hand with Love in summer's wonderland,
Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!)

poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Collins Street

I stood in the heart of the city street,
I felt the throb of her pulses beat,
The thunder of life on the sunny air,
The waves of the people everywhere,
Like the stirring lilt of a mighty song
Ran the fever of life in the moving throng,
With the hope and joy and the want and woe
Of a million souls in its ebb and flow.
Like a floating straw in an eddy caught
My soul was whirled in the city’s thought—
The purse-born pride and the scheming brain,
The grinding need and the grasping gain;
The silent strength that is born to rule,
And the shallow laugh of the feckless fool,
The fresh young face where no shadow lies,
And the quenchless pain in the harlot’s eyes.

I stood in the heart of the city street,
And I heard not the tread of the passing feet,
For the days were grey and the nights were long,
And my soul was vexed with a wild sad song,
And the world like a stream flowed thro’ my brain,
And I saw her lands in a dream of pain,
And her power enthroned on the people’s needs,
And her heroes dead for a hundred creeds.

And I saw thro’ the pageant moving on
The same dark horrors of ages gone,
The dumb despair and the dire distress,
And man still mad in his littleness.
Who cares tho’ Earth be a masterpiece,
If pain and sorrow shall never cease?
Does God endure in His vaulted skies
The hopeless pain in His creatures’ eyes?

Then I saw, like a glory shining thro’,
What man had conquered and yet shall do.
I saw the depths where he lay of old,
And the heights of a splendour yet untold.
And I knew, in a flash, since the world began
What man had suffered and done for man,
And I felt like a note that is borne along
On the upward swell of a battle song.

poem by George Essex Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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City Of Ships

CITY of ships!
(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!
O the beautiful, sharp-bow'd steam-ships and sail-ships!)
City of the world! (for all races are here;
All the lands of the earth make contributions here;)
City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides!
City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and
out, with eddies and foam!
City of wharves and stores! city of tall façades of marble and iron!
Proud and passionate city! mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!
Spring up, O city! not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself,
warlike! 10
Fear not! submit to no models but your own, O city!
Behold me! incarnate me, as I have incarnated you!
I have rejected nothing you offer'd me--whom you adopted, I have
adopted;
Good or bad, I never question you--I love all--I do not condemn
anything;
I chant and celebrate all that is yours--yet peace no more;
In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine;
War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city!

poem by Walt Whitman
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Heartache City

Hit the city, hit the night
Hit the club, sip the wine
Just remember to leave on time
Hit the red lights, check the girls
Youre steppin into another world
See the man, hell spin you alive
But just remember to leave on time
Heartache, city of heartache city
City of heartbreak pity
Heartache city
Crazy people in heartache city
City of heartache city
City of heartbreak pity
Heartache city, its a city of sin
Check the star club, see the stars
See the action
In the back street bars
Lookin for love
Youre in the wrong place
Tricks for kicks
Can you stand the pace
Heartache, city of heartache city
City of heartbreak pity
Heartache city
Crazy people in heartache city
City of heartache city
City of heartbreak pity
Heartache city
Hit the city, hit the night
Crazy people, neon light
You pay your money
Its no real crime
But just remember to leave on time

song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Of Beggars

The sky is always blue in the city of beggars
There is not much green in the city of beggars
There are buildings being built so fast in the city of beggars
In every corner that you encounter
The city of beggars are growing so fast
And in the city of beggars lives 30 million people
The air is not that good in the city of beggars
Because of the factories and the cars
The city of beggars never sleep
The noise goes on 24 hours a day
It is not safe to walk in the street of beggars
Because you can get robbed and killed at any time of the night or day
The traffic is chaotic in the city of beggars
Thanks God there is no snow in the city of beggars

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Rhythm Of The City

The news is out, its hot on the street
Its down to the wire, its back to the beat
As the sun goes west theres change in the wind
Hear the rhythm of hearts as the night rushes in
Feel the temperature rise to a fever pitch
And the city will hold back its power
Then the rhythm explodes as the hour strikes
*midnight, my love is alive
Cant you feel the heat
Of emotions taking over
Midnight, my love will survive
Cant you feel the rhythm
I can feel the rhythm of the city*
The night draws near, the street lights reveal
A whole world beyond this concrete and steel
Let me feel your touch in the midnight wind
In the traffic of hearts as the night rushes in
Feel the temperature rise to a fever pitch
And the city will hold back its power
Then the rhythm explodes as the hour strikes
(* repeat)
Come on baby turn out the lights
Let me move you to the rhythm tonight
Feel it building to my every beat
Keep me comin til Im back on the street and its
(* repeat)

song performed by by Survivor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Noise

Dads stuck in the factory, machines are banging all around.
Mommas in the kitchen, she got the radio on all the time.
My little sisters screaming, and stamping on the ground.
And the radio keeps pumping out the same old boring sound.
All I hear is noise.
Cant get away from the noise.
Can you hear me above the noise?
Can you, can you, can you, can you, can you, can you hear me?
Can you hear the noise? (noise)
Cant get away from the noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
Can you, can you, can you, can you, can you, can you hear me?
Banging in my ears, in every direction.
Listen to the roar, hear that city[? ], poundin, poundin.
There oughta be a law, hey buddy, turn that radio down.
Sometimes I get used to it and I forget that its around.
But all I hear is noise. (noise)
Cant get away from noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
All of this confusion is ruining my day.
Let the noise be like the sunset, and slowly fade away.
Fading, fade.
Girl, I want to build a better world for me and you.
I wanna pull out all the plugs before I finally blow my fuse.
Wish all the confusion would slowly fade away.
Id tell you that I love you, but you dont hear what I way.
All you hear is noise. (noise)
Cant get away from noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
Can you, can you, can you, can you, can you, can you hear me?
Noise in the street, theyre digging up the pavement.
Noise in the air, those traffic jams are everywhere.
Noise on noise, to cover up the noise.
The pressures building up because theres no way to avoid,
All the noise. (noise)
Cant get away from noise. (noise)
Can you hear me above the noise? (noise)
All of this confusion is ruining my day.
Let the noise be like the sunset, and slowly fade away.
Fading, fading.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Of Worcester

Worcester, the city of noise,
Walking along these city streets,
Seeing people busy,
pacing,
Cracked city walks,
Aged city houses,
Beautiful city air, '
Never seems to be a minute to spare,
As cars stream along,
Cops and fire trucks pass down my street.
Loud children playing in the streets.

As I walk down the street of mine,
I hear parents yelling at their children.
Dogs barking as you walk by,
Houses that are old and crusty,
Men and women fighting.
This right here is the city I was born in.
The City Of Worcester!

poem by Cassandra Prew
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After A Thousand Years Back

thousand years back,
when i was in love.
i had a great passion on my world.
my world was me, she and
our wings like that of butterflies...

now in each moments..
passes centuries and centuries..

life is too bigger and too smaller
than a life..
i still have a great passion on my world.
a world newer than thousand years..

poem by Firoz Khan
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Spin In The Black Circle

See this needle...a see my hand...
Drop, drop, dropping it down...oh, so gently...
Well here it comes...i touch the plane...
Turn me up...wont turn you away...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...spin the black, spin the black...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...whoa...
Pull it out...a paper sleeve...
Oh, my joy...only you deserve conceit...
Im so big...a-my whole world...
Id rather you...rather you...than her...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...spin the black, spin the black...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...whoa...oh...
Youre so warm...oh, the ritual...when I lay down your crooked arm...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...spin the black, spin the black...
Spin, spin...spin the black circle
Spin, spin...
Spin the black (5x)circle
Spin the black circle... (4x)
Spin, spin... (6x)

song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Sydney

CITY, I never told you yet—
O little City, let me tell—
A secret woven of your wiles,
Dear City with the angel face,
And you will hear with frowning grace,
Or will you break in summer smiles?

This is the secret, little town,
Lying so lightly towards the sea;
City, my secret has no art,
Dear City with the golden door;
But oh, the whispers I would pour
Into your ears—into your heart!

You are my lover, little place,
Lying so sweetly all alone.
And yet I cannot, cannot tell
My secret, for the voice will break
That tries to tell of all the ache
Of this poor heart beneath your spell.

Dreaming, I tell you all my tale;
Tell how the tides that wash your feet
Sink through my heart and cut its cords.
Dreaming, I hold my arms, and drag
All, all into my heart—the flag
On the low hill turned harbourwards,

And all the curving little bays,
The hot, dust-ridden, narrow streets,
The languid turquoise of the sky,
The gardens flowing to the wave,
I drag them in. O City, save
The grave for me where I must lie.

Yet humbly I would try to build
Stone upon stone for this town’s sake;
Humbly would try for you to aid
Those whose wise love for you will rear
White monuments far off and near,
White, but unsoiled, undesecrate.

poem by Louise Mack
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Volcano Of Passion

As the passion builds inside, my heart beats faster
My mouth goes dry
My hands become clammy
My eyes widen in anticipation
Out comes a flow of words, a flow of meanings
A flow of thought and feelings

I can feel it growing inside me, waiting to burst out
I really just want to shout as the words flow out onto the page
Without any rage, just a desire, a passion
For my words to have their own stage

The volcano has erupted, the words flow
Yet when the dust settles, nobody but me knows whats happened
It's my very own volcano of passion

poem by Craig Piercy
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Salaam Bombay

Tell me of a city not built by its own,
Tell me of a city, which can stand alone.
Talk of a place where the land is scarce
Where people will share more than their own fare.

The common man is the strength of this city
He is a man of steel, gutsy and gritty.
The Spirit of people is the fuel of existence.
No man, No child, No Woman shy of assistance

On a normal day, no one will bother you,
Come crisis, and not one will desert you.
No where in the world are people so selfless,
Call it the rudest city in the world, but not helpless.

What it lacks in Space, It makes up in Spirit
Rain may flood and blasts can rock the city.
Here the lifeline is not blood, or a heartbeat,
The life line is a rack on track.

No city in the World like this,
Not Rome, not London, nor Paris,
Hats off to the Land of Dreams,
Salaam Bombay, I hear myself scream.

poem by Ashish Ram
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Tale of Three Cities

New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.

Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .

V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.

Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.

Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

city city city city city city
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city city city city city city

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Echo

Of A Ballad Sung By H. Plunket Greene To His Old School

Twice three hundred boys were we,
Long ago, long ago,
Where the Downs look out to the Severn Sea.
Clifton for aye!
We held by the game and hailed the team,
For many could play where few could dream.
City of Song shall stand alway.

Some were for profit and some for pride,
Long ago, long ago,
Some for the flag they lived and died.
Clifton for aye!
The work of the world must still be done,
And minds are many though truth be one.
City of Song shall stand alway.

But a lad there was to his fellows sang,
Long ago, long ago,
And soon the world to his music rang.
Clifton for aye!
Follow your Captains, crown your Kings,
But what will ye give to the lad that sings?
City of Song shall stand alway.

For the voice ye hear is the voice of home,
Long ago, long ago,
And the voice of Youth with the world to roam.
Clifton for aye!
The voice of passion and human tears,
And the voice of the vision that lights the years.
City of Song shall stand alway.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Main Street

(For S.M.L.)

I like to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea,
But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used to be
When it all was covered over with a couple of feet of snow,
And over the crisp and radiant road the ringing sleighs would go.

Now, Main Street bordered with autumn leaves, it was a pleasant thing,
And its gutters were gay with dandelions early in the Spring;
I like to think of it white with frost or dusty in the heat,
Because I think it is humaner than any other street.

A city street that is busy and wide is ground by a thousand wheels,
And a burden of traffic on its breast is all it ever feels:
It is dully conscious of weight and speed and of work that never ends,
But it cannot be human like Main Street, and recognise its friends.

There were only about a hundred teams on Main Street in a day,
And twenty or thirty people, I guess, and some children out to play.
And there wasn't a wagon or buggy, or a man or a girl or a boy
That Main Street didn't remember, and somehow seem to enjoy.

The truck and the motor and trolley car and the elevated train
They make the weary city street reverberate with pain:
But there is yet an echo left deep down within my heart
Of the music the Main Street cobblestones made beneath a butcher's cart.

God be thanked for the Milky Way that runs across the sky,
That's the path that my feet would tread whenever I have to die.
Some folks call it a Silver Sword, and some a Pearly Crown,
But the only thing I think it is, is Main Street, Heaventown.

poem by Joyce Kilmer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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