En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Bedlam Town

Do you want to peep into Bedlam Town?
Then come with me, when the day swings down,
Into the cradle, whose rockers rim,
Some people call the horizon dim.

All the mischief of all the fates
Seems to center in four little pates,
Just one hour before we say,
'It is time for bed now, stop your play.'

O, the racket and noise, and roar
As they prance like a caravan over the floor,
With never a thought of the head that aches,
And never a heed to the 'mercy sakes.'
And 'Pity, save us,' and 'Oh! dear, dear,'
Which all but the culprits plainly hear.

A dog, a parrot, a guinea hen,
Warriors, elephants, Indian men,
A salvation army, a grizzly bear,
Are all at once in the nursery there.

And when the clock in the hall strikes seven
It sounds to us like a voice from heaven;
And each of the elves in a warm nightgown,
March away out of Bedlam Town.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Bedlam In Belgium

The blood in my veins
Was running right through my brain
There was a cop with a gun
Who was running around insane
Three fifty arrests
No bullet proof vests
Now aint that a shame
We wanted to play
Play for the crowd
no, said the wankers
youre on your way out
Bedlam in belgium
The place was a jumpin
And the booze was going down
Theres a cop doing time
Whos been working overtime
We dont play just for pay
So we left the stage
Stayed just the same
He gave me a crack
In the back with his gun
That aint so bad
But to feel the blood run
Bedlam in belgium
It was bedlam in belgium
Bedlam in belgium
Cant have a good time unless you dont run
Bedlam in belgium
Whos to blame, its a shame
Bedlam in belgium
It was bedlam
You gonna run out
Stage was saged
Cops enraged
Crying for more
It was a world war war
It was bedlam in belgium
Cant have a good time unless you dont run
Bedlam in belgium
And the law got the drop on me

song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Visits to St Elizabeths

This is the house of Bedlam.

This is the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the time
of the tragic man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a wristwatch
telling the time
of the talkative man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the honored man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the roadstead all of board
reached by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the old, brave man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

These are the years and the walls of the ward,
the winds and clouds of the sea of board
sailed by the sailor
wearing the watch
that tells the time
of the cranky man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
beyond the sailor
winding his watch
that tells the time
of the cruel man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a world of books gone flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
over the creaking sea of board
of the batty sailor
that winds his watch
that tells the time
of the busy man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is there, is flat,
for the widowed Jew in the newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
waltzing the length of a weaving board
by the silent sailor
that hears his watch
that ticks the time
of the tedious man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to feel if the world is there and flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances joyfully down the ward
into the parting seas of board
past the staring sailor
that shakes his watch
that tells the time
of the poet, the man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

This is the soldier home from the war.
These are the years and the walls and the door
that shut on a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is round or flat.
This is a Jew in a newspaper hat
that dances carefully down the ward,
walking the plank of a coffin board
with the crazy sailor
that shows his watch
that tells the time
of the wretched man
that lies in the house of Bedlam.

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Wish You Were Here

I sent you a postcard
Thought it would be funny
Would have sent a souvenir
But they took all my money
It's pretty warm down here but it ain't sunny
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I tried to call you
I tried to call you
Long distance operators that only stall you
Besides the damn rates are so high
They just appall you
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
It started out a nice vacation
Left the station right on time
Can't get a ticket to get me home, dear
They just don't have too many flights from twilight zone, dear
So don't forget to feed my cats
Spot and Jerome, dear
And I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
Having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
Having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
Seeing all the sights here
I'm getting lonely
I'd show you all the film I took if they would only
Let me go home
Dear, sincerely
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here
I'm having a hell of a time, my dear
Wish you were here

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Donneen

When first you came to London Town, Donneen,
Just five years old,
I said—'He'll ask for marble halls, and streets
All paved with gold!'
I thought—'He'll weep, so stricken with amaze,
To hear the roar
Of trampling hoofs, of rushing feet that go
Our way before.'
I said—'He'll fear the throbbing engine's shriek,
The shaking path,
The pushing crowd, the city's comrade cries
Of joy, of wrath.'
And when we stood to hear the mighty heart
Of London Town,
I saw your angry cheek and knew a tear
Had threatened down.

'Why weep,' I whispered by your red gold head,
'Dearest of boys?'
'I cannot hear my new shoes creak,' you said,
'There is such noise.'

Oh, creak, dear shoes, above the city's roar;
Be heard, be seen,
So hearts grow glad, hands clap, and voices cry,
'Here comes Donneen!'

poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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Ba Boom

I Hear The Trumpet Out,
See The Klaxon Jet Screech By,
Outcry's From Family's And My Own,
Whistle Buzzer Alarm,
Wolf Howls At The Moon,
Horn Blows Phone Rings,
Cannon Cacophony Explosion,
Doorbell Sounds Like Static,
Caterwaul Was A Name Of A Hero,
Siren Of Thunder, Noise Racket Rattle,
I Hear Screams And Roars,
The Wind Blows The Chime,
Ballyhoo Drums In The Distance,
Jet Crash Sonic Boom,
Bedlam The World Splits,
Like The World Ba Boom,
Bark Off A Tree Blast Off,
Fanfare Of The Government To Late,
For The Time Of God Is Near,
Just Be Pack Up-Prayed,
And Ready.

poem by Tommy Laster
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Ghost Town

This town is becoming like a ghost town;
Many of our local shops are closing down.
Once upon a time, this town was really hopping,
But now people go elsewhere for their shopping.

The life from our town has been sucked out,
And nowadays there is hardly anyone about.
Local people go to other towns and cities:
That it has ended up this way, is a real pity.

The town's population is rapidly growing,
But trade in our shops is rapidly slowing.
Many units stand empty for years and years:
Owners found the rents were just way too dear.

We need some life breathed back into town;
We need to turn this situation back around.
Of help for new businesses, we need much more,
So that our town can be the place it was before.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Grizzly Bear

Yeah they call me Grizzly Bear got long black grizzly hair
Walk down the street and everybody stop and stare
Ohohoh well I'm wild and wooly and free
And so you'd better not mess with me
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl growl like a grizzly bear

They say there go Grizzly Bear got no clothes to wear
They say I'm all hung up bein' nowhere
Yeah but the girls they love my clows and my great big chompin' jaws
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl and growl like a grizzly bear

Well now I can't be chained and I can't be tamed and they can't kill my desire
So baby gimme a hug I'll be your bearskin rug
And I'll lie in front of your fire on winter
Baby if you dare why don't you come on down to my lair
And if you got some money to share I'll be waitin' for you there
Hey you know I'm gonna on strong and we can hug'n mate the whole week long
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl a growl like a grizzly bear
[ piano ]
(Yeah watch out baby here I come again)
They call me Grizzly Bear they say I'm kooky and square
They can say anything they want about me I don't care I don't care
Because I'm takin' it day by day and I'm livin' my own sweet way
Lemme tell you that I howl yowl a growl like a grizzly bear
Like grizzly bear yeah I really rip and tear I really get my share

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Recollections Of Love

I

How warm this woodland wild Recess !
Love surely hath been breathing here ;
And this sweet bed of heath, my dear !
Swells up, then sinks with faint caress,
As if to have you yet more near.

II

Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills,
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float hear and there, like things astray,
And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.

III

No voice as yet had made the air
Be music with your name ; yet why
That asking look ? that yearning sigh ?
That sense of promise every where ?
Belovéd ! flew your spirit by ?

IV

As when a mother doth explore
The rose-mark on her long-lost child,
I met, I loved you, maiden mild !
As whom I long had loved before--
So deeply had I been beguiled.

V

You stood before me like a thought,
A dream remembered in a dream.
But when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought--
O Greta, dear domestic stream !

VI

Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Has not Love's whisper evermore
Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar ?
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear under-song in clamor's hour.

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Bedlam of Morons

This World!
Bedlam of Morons
And among those all that dwell
I am the greatest of all…
They say…
Every experience is an education
Provided we learn something from it
And that education is worthwhile only if
We make sense of what we learnt
Maturity comes from the experiences we face
Life kicks sense into us
But, if a man refuses to learn anything
He’s surely a King at the Bedlam of Morons…
Yeah! I am Undefeated! !
The undefeated king of Bedlam of Morons! ! !

poem by Soumya Dash
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Bedlam Bridge

In this city with no footpath theres a building with no people
There is crime and gun decisions
Theres a street of heat and hawkers, theres a house of hope drifters
Theres a gang that shoots then listens
Theres a place that knows no poverty, a town without pollution
Theres a soul with good intentions
There are canyons full of movie stars, churches made of metal
There are mountains made of muscle
We have leaders who are anxious, we have captains not courageous
Captains tumbling into madness
But theres a main who makes no enemies, a body never breathless
No ambition ever hopeless
Up on bedlam bridge somebody is waiting
Up on bedlam bridge Im shot to heaven
Oh, up on bedalm bridge, waiting
In these locked and shackled neighbourhoods, bridge and tunnel diplomats
See the golden ghettos creeper
Crazy flags from history, songs for the white house gangsters
Guns for hellgate railway sleepers
But theres a main who makes no enemies, a body never breathless
No ambition ever hopeless
So how stands the city on this winters night?
The city on the hill or so they said
The snow is falling down around the armoury
The citys closing in around my head
Up on bedlam bridge...
Drive, wont you drive the engines harder, drive
Drive, wont you turn the engines over, drive
(hirst)

song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come Home, Father!

'Tis The
SONG OF LITTLE MARY,
Standing at the bar-room door
While the shameful midnight revel
Rages wildly as before.

Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes one;
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done.
Our fire has gone out our house is all dark
And mother's been watching since tea, --
With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
And no one to help her but me. --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --

Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."

Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes two;
The night has grown colder, and Benny is worse
But he has been calling for you.
Indeed he is worse Ma says he will die,
Perhaps before morning shall dawn; --
And this is the message she sent me to bring
"Come quickly, or he will be gone." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --

Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."

Father, dear father, come home with me now!
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
The house is so lonely the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me.
Yes, we are alone poor Benny is dead,
And gone with the angels of light; --
And these were the very last words that he said
"I want to kiss Papa good night." --
Come home! come home! come home! --
Please, father, dear father, come home. --

Hear the sweet voice of the child
Which the night winds repeat as they roam!
Oh who could resist this most plaintive of prayers?
"Please, father, dear father, come home."

poem by Henry Clay Work
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Old News

Old News

As the clock struck seven, a summer evening, outside
the town hall, a horse pulling a cart bolted. The driver
fell off and broke a leg, a policeman on duty was able
to stop the horse and calm it down. In our small inland
town this was a big event and many people took their
evening walk down to the town hall and stood in groups
listening to what the witnesses, two elderly men who
spent their time there sometimes doing odd jobs but
mostly hung around doing nothing; now for once they
had an audience and were treated as equals. News get
old and little is as stale as yesterdays´ the driver’s leg
mended, the horse was made into glue and tasty salami,
no one was interested in what a pair of layabouts had
to say, not now that a circus was coming to town.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Her Town Too

Shes been afraid to go out
Shes afraid of the knock on her door
Theres always a shade of a doubt
She can never be sure
Who comes to call
Maybe the friend of a friend of a friend
Anyone at all
Anything but nothing again
It used to be her town
It used to be her town, too
It used to be her town
It used to be her town, too
Seems like even her old girlfriends
Might be talking her down
Shes got her name on the grapevine
Running up and down
The telephone line
Talking bout
Someone said, someone said
Something bout, something else
Someone might have said about her
She always figured that they were her friends
But maybe they can live without her
It used to be her town
It used to be her town, too
It used to be her town
It used to be her town, too
Well, people got used to seeing them both together
But now hes gone and life goes on
Nothing lasts forever, oh no
She gets the house and the garden
He gets the boys in the band
Some of them his friends
Some of them her friends
Some of them understand
Lord knows that this is just a small town city
Yes, and everyone can see you fall
Its got nothing to do with pity
I just wanted to give you a call
It used to be your town
It used to be my town, too
You never know till it all falls down
Somebody loves you
Somebody loves you
Darling, somebody still loves you
I can still remember
When it used to be her town, too
It used to be your town
It used to be my town, too

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Folk Song

I came to your town, my love,
   And you were away, away!
I said "She is with the Queen's maidens:
   They tarry long at their play.
They are stringing her words like pearls
To throw to the dukes and earls."
   But O, the pity!
I had but a morn of windy red
To come to the town where you were bred,
   And you were away, away!

I came to your town, my love,
   And you were away, away!
I said, "She is with the mountain elves
   And misty and fair as they.
They are spinning a diamond net
To cover her curls of jet."
   But O, the pity!
I had but a noon of searing heat
To come to your town, my love, my sweet,
   And you were away, away!

I came to your town, my love,
   And you were away, away!
I said, "She is with the pale white saints,
   And they tarry long to pray.
They give her a white lily-crown,
And I fear she will never come down."
   But O, the pity!
I had but an even grey and wan
To come to your town and plead as man,
   And you were away, away!

poem by Jessie Mackay
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The Nurse's Watch

From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'

The moon it shines,
My darling whines;
The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer
The sick both far and near.
God knoweth all;
Mousy nibbles in the wall;
The clock strikes one:--like day,
Dreams o'er thy pillow play.
The matin-bell
Wakes the nun in convent cell;
The clock strikes two:--they go
To choir in a row.
The wind it blows,
The cock he crows;
The clock strikes three:--the wagoner
In his straw bed begins to stir.
The steed he paws the floor,
Creaks the stable door;
The clock strikes four:--'tis plain
The coachman sifts his grain.
The swallow's laugh the still air shakes,
The sun awakes;
The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone,
He puts his stockings on.
The hen is clacking,
The ducks are quacking;
The clock strikes six:--awake, arise,
Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.
Quick to the baker's run;
The rolls are done;
The clock strikes seven:--
'Tis time the milk were in the oven.
Put in some butter, do,
And some fine sugar, too;
The clock strikes eight:--
Now bring my baby's porridge straight.

poem by Clemens Maria Brentano
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Hot Town

Written by dewey bunnell, 1998
Found on human nature.
Down in this hot town
At some old cafe tonight
You hear the dogs bay
At the green neon light
Its one hundred degrees
But the heat is free
In this hot town
This hot town tonight
And that there candle
Only adds to the heat
As you sit in your t-shirt
Trying to eat
You watch the waitress, you watch the clock on the wall
And the flies in the window climb up just to fall
In this hot town (hot town, hot town)
This hot town tonight (hot town, hot, hot)
Down in this hot town
Dont know no person to call
And this here cafe
Dont serve no beer at all
Out on the sidewalk
Its cooling down for your feet (cooling down, cooling down for your feet)
But the women are still sweaty and sweet (still sweaty, sweaty and sweet)
So you watch the waitress, you watch the clock on the wall
And the flies in the window climb up just to fall
In this hot town (hot town, hot town)
This hot town tonight (hot town, hot, hot)
Its one hundred degrees
But the heat is free
In this hot town (hot town, hot town)
This hot town tonight (hot town, hot, hot)
Its one hundred degrees (oh yeah)
In this hot town (hot town, hot town)
This hot town tonight (hot town, hot, hot)
(hot town, hot town)
(hot town, hot, hot)... (fade)

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Town By The Sea

Here only the air that you breathe it is free
All else you pay for in the Town by the sea
The sea air is cleaner you do hear some say
Yet few happy faces for to brighten one's day.

For people from the suburbs a weekend get away
From the noise and pollution they live with every day
Two days by the sea does cost them two days pay
Sea-side towns not cheap to stay in such is life some might say.

The old town by the sea is a bright and breezy place
Though few people here with a smile on their face
Mid sunday afternoon their drive back to the suburbs is about to begin
Their two day break went so fast in life 'tis hard to win.

Even in the Winter a quiet time of year
Accomodation in the town by the sea seems quite dear
So few smiling faces around me I do see
And only the air that you breathe does seem free.

poem by Francis Duggan
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With Trumpet and Drum

With big tin trumpet and little red drum,
Marching like soldiers, the children come!
It 's this way and that way they circle and file---
My! but that music of theirs is fine!
This way and that way, and after a while
They march straight into this heart of mine!
A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb
To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum!
Come on, little people, from cot and from hall---
This heart it hath welcome and room for you all!
It will sing you its songs and warm you with love,
As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine;
It will rock you away to the dreamland above---
Oh, a jolly old heart is this old heart of mine,
And jollier still is it bound to become
When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum!
So come; though I see not his dear little face
And hear not his voice in this jubilant place,
I know he were happy to bid me enshrine
His memory deep in my heart with your play---
Ah me! but a love that is sweeter than mine
Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day!
And my heart it is lonely---so, little folk, come,
March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!

poem by Eugene Field
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Orleans

My sister was named Orleans
After the town where she was born,
Dear Orleans, my best friend,
A little girl with hazel eyes,
Dear Orleans, please don’t cry,
Hold my hand and stay with me,
And never say good bye.

My sister grew up beautiful
Like so many little girls do,
My sister Orleans, late one night,
Danced with a man named Lou.
Dear Orleans, please come home,
Mama and daddy and I
Are waiting here for you.

My sister never came home that night,
And daddy called the law,
Mama paced the floor till dawn
And wrung her hands till they were raw,
Dear Orleans, we waited till
The police came to our house
And told us what they saw.

My sister had been ravished bad
And left to die alone.
The man called Lou had fled the town
And by morning he was gone.
Dear Orleans, thank God you lived,
Though you’ll never be the same,
At least you’re safe at home.

My sister Orleans grew a life
Conceived through hate and fear;
We tried to hide it from the town
But soon it became clear.
Dear Orleans, hid her shame
As day by day she swelled
And the baby’s birth drew near.

My sister thrashed and cried in bed
On the day the sun was high;
She begged for mercy and release
Till we heard the infant cry
Dear Orleans, reached out for him
I wrapped him in a towel
And watched her baby die.

poem by Caroline Misner
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Too Late for Haste (Time will stop for You)

Too late for haste,
Hear from me the truth
For time will stop for you
And my voice you shall hear again
But then it will too late.

Too late for haste
For you are heading for doom
Doom will be your destiny
Is this also your priority?
Hear from me the truth
For gloom will be your eternity
Endless decades in Tartarus
Kingdom of Hades.

Too late for haste
Hear from me the truth
They are cming for your soul
I hear them these days in my sleep
They call for souls of dead
Death is innevitable my dear.
Only divine mercy can save us from hell.

poem by Efe Benjamin
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