When In Rome
When in Rome,
One should adjust to do...
Those activities that Romans choose.
It is not one's place,
To advocate...
What IS or IS NOT acceptable.
Or in poor taste.
When 'not' in Rome...
And that visit of condoning,
Has been left behind and alone...
There is no obligated need,
To continue to feed those traditions.
And 'when' one finds it comforting,
To do what one wishes in one's own home...
That's when it is best to profess and address one's beliefs.
With a feeling,
If one so desires...
To dismiss what is not suitable or fits.
In one's 'own' environment.
With no debate or argument to invite about this.
When 'not' in Rome.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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North Atlantic Drift
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Its a cultural shift its the North Atlantic Drift
Americana and a rule Britannia
And the moon yes we own that to
And where the Euphrates meets the other rivers
Is now the home of the devil and the liar
And the pyre we plan to make
Is just the drift leaving its wake, home
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
And the films you want to watch
And the films you want to make
And the kids like lost angels
Dressed in black sensations
And the shift won? shake
And the drift won? brake
With billions of Diamonds growing like olives
And the drift holds the coffers
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
Meanwhile Rome burns
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rome
O thou newcomer who seek’st Rome in Rome
And find’st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman;
Arches worn old and palaces made common
Rome’s name alone within these walls keeps home.
Behold how pride and ruin can befall
One who hath set the whole world ’neath her laws,
All-conquering, now conquered, because
She is Time’s prey, and Time conquereth all.
Rome that art Rome’s one sole last monument,
Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town,
Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent,
Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime!
That which stands firm in thee Time batters down,
And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift Time.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Home Sweet Home
There is no other place like Home
The saying goes true in India, America or Rome,
Home is one of the sweetest place
Where one finds peace and solace,
Home is a place where we dwell
A place as sacred as the temple bell,
Just as a bird returns to its nest
We return home to get a little rest,
Wherever we roam in search of enjoyment
We never fail back to come to our pavement,
Its not possible to find a home away from home
The saying goes true in India, America or Rome.
poem by Kavita Iyer
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Epitaph To Rome
If midst Rome you wish to see Rome, pilgrim,
Tho in Rome naught of Rome might you see,
Behold the walls' ring, the theatres, temples
And ruptured pillars, to rubble all turned,
Rome be these! Mark how the corpse of a city
So strong still past fortune's pomp exudes;
Subduing a world, herself the city subdued
Lest yet more to subdue might there be.
Today in broken Rome, Rome unbroken
(A substance in its shadow) lies entombed.
Within all's changed; alone past change
Tiber remains, that to sea runs mixed with sand.
See what Fortune plays: 'tis wasted away,
What was unmoving; what moved, yet remains.
poem by Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
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Back To Rome
One day its the morning
Another day its the afternoon light
On day, baby, without warning
Well, I tend to think were going back to rome
Back to rome
We had a dream it was behemoth
Im so sorry that I didnt work out
And Im sorry about the visigoths
Well, I think its time that we go back to rome
Back to rome
Dont you wish that we could stay?
Were going back to rome
Life is so fine
Then it goes wrong
Wrong
You think its going to miss you but that sun bitch gon get you
Yeah, it goes wrong
Wrong
Sun bitch gon get you
I believed in the cupid
I thought Id kiss you for all my life
I guess Im just a little stupid
Now Im going back to rome
Back to rome
Now I just cant wait
Im going back to rome
Love is so high
Then it goes wrong
Wrong
You think its going to miss you but that sun bitch gon get you
Yeah, it goes wrong
Wrong
Sun bitch gon get you
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We cannot afford more of this modern day Rome
Being positive, transcendent while neglecting your emotional pain, being blind to it while unconsciously projecting your hurts into others, will still cause you to succeed materially, you will still obtain your abundance, your vast wealth, Rome, The Roman Empire is a good example, you will have your desires, but at a dehumanizing cost.
We cannot afford more of this modern day Rome. Now Rome can not only destroy itself but all life. Then what, will we get a free ride on another planet. We are just going to be so welcome and simply fit in after our self-destruction. Are we that arrogant where we think we will not have to start over from dust?
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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AAAC) Rome
In old Rome everybody did his own work.
There were the slaves all over the world,
Unluckily the world has not changed,
Luckily those slaves could become freedmen.
The ten ases coin valued more than the Greek dram,
The Romans did not devalue their denarius.
As a kid one read about old Rome hoping to grow up.
Machiavelli dreamt he came back to old Rome changing his clothes in the evening.
We held our suits and have our homework.
A Lady gave her daughter a copper jewel box as a dowry.
We know she's a great catch that girl with her cista Ficoroni.
poem by Paolo Giuseppe Mazzarello
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When In Rome
Well, you must be from the city
'Cause you sure ain't from round here
There ain't no smoke free section
We don't sell no import beer.
You been throwin' round that attitude
Since you walked in that door
I don't know where you come from
But you ain't there anymore
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But, when your down home
You better do like us.
You been lookin' down your nose
At our water tower town
Ain't no one getting rich
But, there's enough to go around.
If ya don't like tracy's cookin'
Well, ya best still leave a tip
She's back there in that kitchen
With a baby on her hip.
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But, when your down home
You better do like us.
You put your best foot forward
When you go to meet a man
Look him in the eye
And put a good grip on his hand.
Don't cuss around the ladies
Tell us how to raise our kids
We like doing business
Like our daddys, daddys did.
When you drive off in your beamer
If ya don't do 35
Don't give no lip to Beuford
Or he might just dot your eye.
And when your at the courthouse
Before Ole judge McCall
You best not say a word
About them comandments on his wall.
Naw!
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But when your down home
You better do like us.
Yeah, Yeah Yeah
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But when your down home
You better do like us.
Mmmm Hmmmm
Better do like us boy
Don't you come in here talking all that trash
Ya just might get your nose smashed.
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's...
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roman Elegies I
Tell me you stones, O speak, you towering palaces!
Streets, say a word! Spirit of this place, are you dumb?
All things are alive in your sacred walls
eternal Rome, only for me all’s still.
Who will whisper to me, at what window
will I see the sweet thing who will kindle me, and quicken?
Already I guess the ways, walking to her and from her,
ever and always I’ll go, while sweet time slips by.
I’m gazing at church and palace, ruin and column,
like a serious man making sensible use of a journey,
but soon it will happen, and all will be one vast temple,
Love’s temple, receiving its new initiate.
Though you are a whole world, Rome, still, without Love,
the world’s not the world, Rome cannot be Rome.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Displeasure of Selefkidis
Dimitrios Selefkidis was displeased
to learn that a Ptolemy
had reached Italy in such a squalid state:
poorly dressed and on foot,
only three or four slaves. This way
their dynasty will become a joke,
the laughter of Rome.
Selefkidis of course knows
that basically even now they've become something like
servants
to the Romans; he also knows
that the Romans give and take away
their thrones arbitrarily, as they please.
But they should maintain a certain dignity
at least in their appearance;
they shouldn't forget that they are still kings,
are still (alas) called kings.
This is why Dimitrios Selefkidis was displeased;
and right away he offered Ptolemy
purple robes, a magnificent diadem,
precious jewels, numerous servants and retainers,
his most expensive horses,
so that he might present himself at Rome as he should,
as an Alexandrian Greek monarch.
But Ptolemy, who'd come to beg,
knew his business and refused it all:
he didn't have the slightest need for these luxuries.
Shabbily dressed, humble, he entered Rome,
put himself up in the house of a minor artisan,
and then presented himself
as a poor, ill-fated creature to the Senate
in order to make his begging more effective.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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The Roman Gravemounds
By Rome's dim relics there walks a man,
Eyes bent; and he carries a basket and spade;
I guess what impels him to scrape and scan;
Yea, his dreams of that Empire long decayed.
'Vast was Rome,' he must muse, 'in the worlds regard,
Vast it looms there still, Vast it ever will be;'
And he stoops as to dig and unmine some shard
Left by those who are held in such memory.
But no; in his basket, see, he has brought
A little white furred thing, stiff of limb,
Whose life never won from the world a thought;
It is this, and not Rome, that is moving him.
And to make it a grave he has come to the spot,
And he delves in the ancient dead's long home;
Their fames, their achievements, the man knows not;
The furred thing is all to him - nothing Rome!
'Here say you that Caesar's warriors lie? -
But my little white cat was my only friend!
Could she but live, might the record die
Of Caesar, his legions, his aims, his end!'
Well, Rome's long rule here is oft and again
A theme for the sages of history,
And the small furred life was worth no one's pen;
Yet its mourner's mood has a charm for me.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXVI
The majesty of Rome to me is nought;
The imperial story of her conquering car
Touches me only with compassionate thought
For the doomed nations faded by her star.
Her palaces of Caesars tombstones are
For a whole world of freedoms vainly caught
In her high fortune. Throned was she in war;
By war she perished. So is justice wrought.
A nobler Rome is here, which shall not die.
She rose from the dead ashes of men's lust,
And robed herself anew in chastity,
And half redeemed man's heritage of dust.
This Rome I fain would love, though darkly hid
In mists of passion and desires scarce dead.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Ideals
Better than land or gold or trade
Are a high ideal and a purpose true;
Better than all of the wealth we've made
Is the work for others that now we do.
For Rome grew rich and she turned to song
And danced to music and drank her wine,
But she sapped the strength of her fibres strong
And a gilded shroud was her splendor fine.
The Rome of old with its wealth and wine
Was the handiwork of a sturdy race;
They builded well and they made it fine
And they dreamed of it as their children's place.
They thought the joys they had won to give,
And which seemed so certain and fixed and sure,
To the end of time in the world would live
And the Rome they'd fashioned would long endure.
They passed to their children the hoarded gold,
Their marble halls and their fertile fields!
But not the spirit of Rome of old,
Nor the Roman courage that never yields.
They left them the wealth that their hands had won,
But they failed to leave them a purpose true.
They left them thinking life's work all done,
And Rome went down and was lost to view.
We must guard ourselves lest we follow Rome.
We must leave our children the finer things.
We must teach them love of the spot called home
And the lasting joy that a purpose brings.
For vain are our Flag and our battles won,
And vain are our lands and our stores of gold,
If our children feel that life's work is done.
We must give them a high ideal to hold.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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My Sister Left Home...part I
My sister is leaving home
Leaving ever for Rome
Her return is to be history
Enchanted by an untold mystery
I hated her, oh-so much
Her and her stupid lot of friends
Bossy, screaming, arrogant girls
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
No more knocking before entering
No more kicking and screaming
I don’t have to listen to her muttering
And a big room, I’ll get to myself at last
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
No more tears, no more cry
No more fear or dark red eyes
I can chat so long, no one to bother
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
No more busy phones
No more messy rooms
No more itchy-bichy screaming tones
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home
Poor gnomes of poor Rome
Feel pity for their near future
To listen to her, to resist her
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
(written for SAFAH HARRIS, when she left home)
poem by Sania Harris
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Marlena My First Cousin Born
Marlena who is my first cousin born on Jenek side,
traveled with her family worldwide.
Marlena was born in Rome as an infant
her Dad worked for the government,
Yes, Marlena was born in Rome,
far away from her first Virginia home.
Marlena celebrated her 40th birthday in this Italian city,
Rome was very sheik, elegant and pretty.
Marlena lives in L.A. now on the other coast,
she's had an interesting life, she never boasts.
She works in the entertainment industry,
she works for a casting company.
Her name has been in the credits on the screen,
she has met and seen, famous actors and those in between.
Marlena has a daughter who one day will be cast,
in maybe a musical which will be a blast.
Best wishes for Marlena's and her family,
they are all very talented I do agree.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 10,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Marlena My First Cousin Born
Marlena who is my first cousin born on Jenek side,
traveled with her family worldwide.
Marlena was born in Rome as an infant
her Dad worked for the government,
Yes, Marlena was born in Rome,
far away from her first Virginia home.
Marlena celebrated her 40th birthday in this Italian city,
Rome was very sheik, elegant and pretty.
Marlena lives in L.A. now on the other coast,
she's had an interesting life, she never boasts.
She works in the entertainment industry,
she works for a casting company.
Her name has been in the credits on the screen,
she has met and seen, famous actors and those in between.
Marlena has a daughter who one day will be cast,
in maybe a musical which will be a blast.
Best wishes for Marlena's and her family,
they are all very talented I do agree.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 10,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Roman Girl's Song
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
Thou satst a queen.
Thou hadst thy triumphs then
Purpling the street,
Leaders and sceptred men
Bow'd at thy feet.
They that thy mantle wore,
As gods were seen–
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
Rome! thine imperial brow
Never shall rise:
What hast thou left thee now?
Thou hast thy skies!
Blue, deeply blue, they are,
Gloriously bright!
Veiling thy wastes afar
With colour'd light.
Thou hast the sunset's glow,
Rome, for thy dower,
Flushing tall cypress-bough,
Temple and tower!
And all sweet sounds are thine,
Lovely to hear,
While night, o'er tomb and shrine,
Rests darkly clear.
Many a solemn hymn,
By starlight sung,
Sweeps thro' the arches dim,
Thy wrecks among.
Many a flute's low swell,
On thy soft air
Lingers, and loves to dwell
With summer there.
Thou hast the South's rich gift
Of sudden song,
A charmed fountain, swift,
Joyous, and strong.
Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Rimini
Marching Song of a Roman Legion of the Later Empire
When I left Rome for Lalage's sake,
By the Legions' Road to Rimini,
She vowed her heart was mine to take
With me and my shield to Rimini--
(Till the Eagles flew from Rimini--)
And I've tramped Britain, and I've tramped Gaul
And the Pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall
As white as the neck of Lalage--
(As cold as the heart of Lalage!)
And I've lost Britain, and I've lost Gaul,
And I've lost Rome and, worst of all,
I've lost Lalage!
When you go by the Via Aurelia
As thousands have traveled before
Remember the Luck of the Soldier
Who never saw Rome any more!
Oh, dear was the sweetheart that kissed him,
And dear was the mother that bore;
But his shield was picked up in the heather,
And he never saw Rome any more!
And he left Rome, etc.
When you go by the Via Aurelia
That runs from the City to Gaul,
Remember the Luck of the Soldier
Who rose to be master of all!
He carried the sword and the buckler,
He mounted his guard on the Wall,
Till the Legions elected him Caesar,
And he rose to be master of all!
And he left Rome, etc.
It's twenty-five marches to Narbo,
It's forty-five more up the Rhone,
And the end may be death in the heather
Or life on an Emperor's throne.
But whether the Eagles obey us,
Or we go to the Ravens--alone,
I'd sooner be Lalage's lover
Than sit on an Emperor's throne!
We've all left Rome for Lalage's sake, etc.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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My visit this autumn is an opportunity to continue that rich tradition of visits between Canterbury and Rome.
quote by Rowan Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spanish Steps Of Rome
The first time I saw her
She was wearing scarves of white
That little spark between us
Took only seconds to ignite
And then it occured to me
Suddenly I was standing there alone
On the spanish steps of rome
I kept searching through the ally
Searching through the catacombe that night
I closed my eyes and threw a coin in the fountain
Then I looked and she was nowhere in sight
I wandered through the holy city
Like a beggar beneath the moon lit dome
Near the spanish steps of rome
I heard a voice as I looked through my fingers
And saw the old monsignor
He gave me his blessing and said
Dont try and please her
And then I heard her singing like some diva
Perched upon her throne
On the spanish steps of rome
Now I know I should have listened
When he warned me not to follow
I noticed that the statues eyes
Were all sunken and hollow
She let those young wolves do the dirty deeds
While she lay there inside her home
On the spanish steps of rome
song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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