Homage to First Dreams
Tidying my work station I look at all the books
around me, Explication de texte by Boilly-Widmer,
containing some favourites: Le Ciel est par-dessus
le toit by Verlaine; Ballade des Dames du temps jadis
by François Villon, also
Astrology, Palmistry and Dreams by Donald Law -
though I use it to prop up my keyboard - still, it can
be read should I want to look up anything about
Astrogenetics and sun signs - even The Children's
Encyclopedia is here - for remembrance
Childhood's fantasies brought me here, I shall always
pay homage to the first dreams I had of being able to
speak in many tongues, and the music of the songs
my mother made us sing as toddlers - Frère Jacques
and Muss'I denn…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Francois Villon
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I,
What would it matter to me how the time might drag or fly?
_He_ would in sweaty anguish toil the days and night away,
And still not keep the prowling, growling, howling wolf at bay!
But, with my valiant bottle and my frouzy brevet-bride,
And my score of loyal cut-throats standing guard for me outside,
What worry of the morrow would provoke a casual sigh
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I?
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I,
To yonder gloomy boulevard at midnight I would hie;
'Stop, stranger! and deliver your possessions, ere you feel
The mettle of my bludgeon or the temper of my steel!'
He should give me gold and diamonds, his snuffbox and his cane--
'Now back, my boon companions, to our brothel with our gain!'
And, back within that brothel, how the bottles they would fly,
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I!
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I,
We both would mock the gibbet which the law has lifted high;
_He_ in his meager, shabby home, _I_ in my roaring den--
He with his babes around him, _I_ with my hunted men!
His virtue be his bulwark--my genius should be mine!--
'Go fetch my pen, sweet Margot, and a jorum of your wine!'
* * * * *
So would one vainly plod, and one win immortality--
If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I!
poem by Eugene Field
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I know all except myself.
François Villon in Ballade des Menus Propres
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wish
I wish
I will have a friend
With me to my dreams
With me to pray
With me to....drink
Not like to a mad
Not let me to mad....
I never like to read,
Never like to sing songs...
She may be with me to work
She may be with me to my dreams
She may be like to a child
she may be like to a wild.....
I never hate to your love
I never hate to my God
I never like to a river
she may like to dive there
she may die here
poem by Thampi KEE
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Can We See The Future Today? [Part 1]
Many say it is fairly possible to foresee the future
Others say, probabilities can be computed
Some say, it is all a guessing game
Few say, why bother – what will be, will surely be
From time immemorial, human beings have
wondered what the future has in stock
Many have used various methods to peep into the future
Some of these methods include astrology, oneiromancy,
chiromancy, numerology, geomancy, crystal gazing,
tarot cards, clairvoyance, oracles, necromancy,
I ching, feng shui, rune casting and many more
All these methods are known by several people as
divination, fortune-telling, soothsaying and prophesy
Numerous people today are still using astrology to
predict, foresee and to forecast the future
Based on the time, place and day of birth, astrology can be
used to explore who we are, our potentials and our strengths
How accurate is astrology as a tool to foresee the future?
Some say, it depends on the astrologer
Oneiromancy is another method that has been used
to peep and foresee the future on this earth
Oneiromancy is the use of dreams to interpret the future
The future can sometimes be revealed in dreams
We all remember the dreams Jacob, Joseph, Daniel,
Paul and many more in the Bible
How precise are dreams to foresee the future?
The accuracy of dreams depends on individuals
Some have peeped into the future through chiromancy
otherwise called palmistry, which in simplistic terms – means
the reading of the lines on our right and left palms
The lines on our palms are said to contain secrets
about us from our cradle to our grave
How exact are palm-lines in revealing
our future hopes and potentials
This depends on the professionalism of the palm-reader
[ To Be Continued in Part 2]
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Wooden Heart
(words & music by wise - weisman - twomey - kaemfert)
Can't you see
I love you
Please don't break my heart in two
That's not hard to do
'cause i don't have a wooden heart
And if you say goodbye
Then i know that i would cry
Maybe i would die
'cause i don't have a wooden heart
There's no strings upon this love of mine
It was always you from the start
Treat me nice
Treat me good
Treat me like you really should
'cause i'm not made of wood
And i don't have a wooden heart
Muss i denn, muss i denn
Zum stadtele hinaus
Stadtele hinaus
Und du, mein schat, bleibst hier?
There's no strings upon this love of mine
It was always you from the start
Sei mir gut
Sei mir gut
Sei mir wie du wirklich sollst
Wie du wirklich sollst
'cause i don't have a wooden heart
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Do Children Want To Grow
Why do Children
of now adays
Want to grow so fast
to look grown up
to think grown up
But still be a child at heart
I would live my childhood
OVER again just to be a child
to have pure heart
Pure minds, pure dreams
Instead of a childhood of distain
To play without a care
And see the magic of Mother Nature
And use imagination
To dance on rainbows
And white fluffy clouds
To play hide and seek
In the candy land of our dreams
To ride on unicorns
And sprinkle fair dust
To take a flight in
A midsummer dream
Why would children of today
Pass all this by
Just to be grown up
In a world like ours
Why lose the innocence
Of childhood sweet dreams
Just to rush into
The uncertainty of life
Why bypass your childhood
Just to be an adult of today
only to yearn the loss
of you childhood of yesterday
poem by Kaila George
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Sing My Songs To Me
Sing my songs to me
Sing them to me softly
Sing me sunlight and shadows
Orange groves and meadows
Let your voice ring back my memories
Sing my songs to me
Bring my dreams to me
Bring them from the darkness
Let the minutes and hours
Show my mind strange new flowers
But Id like to know where they go
When the morning comes
Bring my dreams to me
Because it seems to me that there may never be
A better chance to see who I am
Come timelessly dancing
Through my dreams to me
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreams
In my colourful dreams
I live my fantasies.
Sometimes
In my dreams
I fulfil my wish
To travel to distant lands
Of which I have only read.
I have visited
Wordsworth’s English countryside
And seen Daffodils smile
I have gone to Mauritius,
And gone under sea
To see the coral reefs.
i have lied on the beaches
of exotic Maldives.
Dreams, wrote Freud
Release fears
From deep
Unconscious layers,
At times in the form
Of nightmares.
sometimes
Resolve issues
Which baffle you.
Some recur
And make me wonder
What they are
Trying to tell.
Others often I can’t
Recall too well.
I am sure
A therapist
Will shed some light.
I believe 3500 years ago
In ancient Egypt
Too they were
Intrigued
And dreams were
Interpreted.
like young children
bored in the
classroom,
some of us
day dream,
and take flights of fancy.
All said.
Dreams
Are healthy
For our well being.
Even medical science
Agrees
its only
due to dreams,
mankind has
made these
giant strides.
exploring space,
riding waves
if we had
no dreams,
life will be indeed
dull and grim.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Signs
Words and music by neil diamond
Signs that burn like shooting stars
That pass across the nighttime skies,
They reach out in their mystic language
For us to read between the lines.
Some are born who would defy them,
Others still who would deny them, signs.
Signs like moments hung suspended,
Echoes just beneath the heart
Speak in voices half remembered
And half forgotten play their part.
Signs that come as we lay sleeping
Left behind for our keeping, signs.
Sail along, sail along the reefs and the coves inside your soul.
Sail along, sail along in search of a star that you can hold.
And we journey far to where that star may lead to (lead to).
Signs that whisper in the dreams of sailors
And of river queens of paupers and of men with means,
It all depends on how it reads.
Some are born who never need them,
Others still who never read them, signs.
Sail along, sail along the reefs and the coves inside your soul.
Sail along, sail along in search of a star that you can hold.
And we journey far to where that star may lead to (lead to).
Signs, signs.
Some are born who never need them,
Others still who never read them, signs.
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Hans Christian Andersen
We welcome you this wondrous summer-day,
When childhood's dreams on earth are streaming,
To bloom and sing, to brighten and to pale;
A fairy-tale,
A fairy-tale, our Northland all is seeming,
And holds you in its arms a festal space
With grateful glee and whisperings face to face.
Th' angelic noise,
Sweet strains of children's joys,
Bears you a moment to that home
Whence all our dreams, whence all our dreams have come.
We welcome you! Our nation all is young,
Still in that age of dreams enthralling,
When greatest things in fairy-tales are nursed,
And he is first,
And he is first, who hears his Lord's high calling.
Of childhood's longings you the meaning know,
And to the North a goal of greatness show.
Your fantasy
Has just that path made free,
Where, past the small things that you hate,
We yet shall find, we yet shall find the great.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Box
Box
by Ted L Glines
working working
no time to play
postpone your dreams
for another day
eternity waits
an endless stage
for your childish glee
or dreams of rage
children know
magickal places
dragons and elves
grins on their faces
but growing up
is serious stuff
put your childhood away
learn how to bluff
living by logic
from man-made books
kills your soul
under pious looks
an empty life
is something built
one day at a time
from fears and guilt
growing misuses
drown childhood gladness
replaced with abuses
of adult sadness
rushing your life
schedules and clocks
all of it ends
in a fancy box
going to heaven
or that place of screams
such an awful waste
for the soul with no dreams
poem by Ted L Glines
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The good of a book lies in its being read. A book is made up of signs that speak of other signs, which in their turn speak of things. Without an eye to read them, a book contains signs that produce no concepts; therefore it is dumb.
quote by Umberto Eco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baby Boy
Certified quality
A dat da girl dem need and dem not stop cry without apology
Buck dem da right way - dat my policy
Sean Paul alongside - now hear what da man say - Beyonce
Dutty Ya, Dutty Ya, Dutty Ya
Beyonce sing it now ya
BABY BOY YOU STAY ON MY MIND
FULFILL MY FANTASIES
I THINK ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME
I SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS
BABY BOY NOT A DAY GOES BY
WITHOUT MY FANTASIES
I THINK ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME
I SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS
AAH OH MY BABY'S FLY BABY OH
YES NO HURT ME SO GOOD BABY OH
I'M SO WRAPPED UP IN YOUR LOVE LET ME GO
LET ME BREATHE STAY OUT MY FANTASIES
Ya ready gimme da ting dat ya ready get ya live
And tell me all about da tings that you will fantasize
I know you dig da way me step da way me make my stride
Follow your feelings baby girl bc they cannot be denied
Come check me in-a night and make we get it amplified
Me have da ting to run da ship cause I'm go slip and I'm go slide
And in the words of love I got ta get it certified
But I give you da toughest longest kinda ride - girl
BABY BOY YOU STAY ON MY MIND
FULFILL MY FANTASIES
I THINK ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME
I SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS
BABY BOY NOT A DAY GOES BY
WITHOUT MY FANTASIES
I THINK ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME
I SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS
PICTURE US DANCIN REAL CLOSE
IN A DARK DARK CORNER OF A BASEMENT PARTY
EVERY TIME I CLOSE MY EYES
IT'S LIKE EVERYONE LEFT BUT YOU AND ME
IN OUR OWN LITTLE WORLD
THE MUSIC IS THE SUN
THE DANCE FLOOR BECOMES THE SEA
FEELS LIKE TRUE PARADISE TO ME
BABY BOY YOU STAY ON MY MIND
FULFILL MY FANTASIES
I THINK ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME
I SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS
BABY BOY NOT A DAY GOES BY
WITHOUT MY FANTASIES
I THINK ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME
I SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS
BABY BOY YOU STAY ON MY MIND
BABY BOY YOU ARE SO DAMN FINE
BABY BOY WON'T YOU BE MINE
Top top - girl
Me and you together is a wrap - dat girl
Driving around da town in your drop top - girl
You no stop shock - girl
Little more da Dutty, we'll rock dat world
song performed by by Sean Paul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mama's Legacy
-- * MAMA'S LEGACY * --
When I was just a little girl
I lay in Mama's bed
To listen to the fairy tales
From the little books she read.
Of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Cinderella and her Prince
Of Rumplestiltskin-Puss 'N Boots
And Aladdin and his tents.
I couldn't get enough of them
I'd ask her every night
But sleep would always conquer me
No matter how I'd fight.
I'd recite the words along with her
I knew them all by heart
She'd read to me from anything
Some knowledge to impart.
She taught me about the world around
From books she read aloud
She made my life worth living
And made me live it proud.
When I had children of my own
I read from those same books
To teach my children that in this life
You need brains, not just good looks.
Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline
10-27-05
dedicated to my mother
Wilma Ford
4-16-1912-4-19-2009
poem by Carolyn Ford Witt
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Le Testament: Epitaph et Rondeau
Epitaph
Here there lies, and sleeps in the grave,
One whom Love killed with his scorn,
A poor little scholar in every way,
He was named François Villon.
He never reaped a morsel of corn:
Willed all away, as all men know:
Bed, table, and basket all are gone.
Gallants, now sing his song below:
Rondeau
Oh, grant him now eternal peace,
Lord, and everlasting light,
He wasn't worth a candle bright,
Nor even a sprig of parsley.
Of eyebrows, hair, and beard he's free,
A turnip scraped with a spade, all right:
Oh, grant him now eternal peace.
Exiled with strict severity,
Rapped behind with a spade, despite
It all he cried: ‘Appeal, for me!'
- Which wasn't the height of subtlety.
Oh, grant him now eternal peace.
poem by François Villon
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L'air Du Temps
Epe de Damocles
toi qui ne cesses
de surveiller tranquille
au dessus de nos ttes
de nos faits et gestes
tu te vois la matresse
pourtant l'me vacille
du vent on est pas matre
l'air de rien dans l'air du temps
je me dtends
palabrer pas l'adresse
noue au bout d'une tresse
a ne pend qu' un fil
que tu n'tiennes ta promesse
sans en avoir l'air
j'vite les courants d'air
t'as l'air d'tre au courant
mais comment te faire taire
l'air de rien dans l'air du temps
je me dtends
mme si tu dteins
juste de temps en temps
l'air de rien tu perds ton temps
l'une ou l'autre joue je tends
song performed by by Vanessa Paradis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Dreams Are Made Of
hey now
hey now
hey now
hey now
have you ever seen such a beautiful night
i could almost kiss the stars for shining so bright
when i see you smiling i go uh oh oh
i would never want to miss this
cause in my heart i know what this is
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
i've got somewhere i belong
i've got somebody to love
this is what dreams are made of
have you ever wondered what life is about
you could search the world and never figure it out
you dont have to sail the oceans uh no no
happyness is no mystery
it's here and now it's you and me
hey now hey now this is what dremas are made of
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
i've got somewhere i belong
i've got somebody to love
this is what dreams are made of
open your eyes(this is what dreams are made of)
shout to the sky( this is what dreams are made of)
when i see you smiling i go uh oh oh
yesterday my life was life was color
now everything's technocolored
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
hey now hey now this is what dreams are made of
i've got somewhere i belong
i've got somebody to love
this is what dreams are made of
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pâques
Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,
Réveille-toi de ton sommeil d'hiver
Les fins taillis sont déjà verts
Et nous voici au temps de Pâques,
Frère Jacques.
Au coin du bois morne et blêmi
Où ton grand corps s'est endormi
Depuis l'automne,
L'aveugle et vacillant brouillard,
Sur les grand-routes du hasard,
S'est promené, longtemps, par les champs monotones ;
Et les chênes aux rameaux noirs
Tordus de vent farouche
Ont laissé choir,
De soir en soir,
Leur feuillage d'or mort sur les bords de ta couche.
Frère Jacques,
Il a neigé durant des mois
Et sur tes mains, et sur tes doigts
Pleins de gerçures ;
Il a neigé, il a givré,
Sur ton chef pâle et tonsuré
Et dans les plis décolorés
De ta robe de bure.
La torpide saison est comme entrée en toi
Avec son deuil et son effroi,
Et sa bise sournoise et son gel volontaire ;
Et telle est la lourdeur de ton vieux front lassé
Et l'immobilité de tes deux bras croisés,
Qu'on les dirait d'un mort qui repose sous terre.
Frère Jacques,
Hier au matin, malgré le froid,
Deux jonquilles, trois anémones
Ont soulevé leurs pétales roses ou jaunes
Vers toi,
Et la mésange à tête blanche,
Fragile et preste, a sautillé
Sur la branche de cornouiller
Qui vers ton large lit de feuillages mouillés
Se penche.
Et tu dors, et tu dors toujours,
Au coin du bois profond et sourd,
Bien que s'en viennent les abeilles
Bourdonner jusqu'au soir à tes closes oreilles
Et que l'on voie en tourbillons
Rôder sur ta barbe rigide
Un couple clair et rapide
De papillons.
Pourtant, voici qu'à travers ton somme
Tu as surpris, dès l'aube, s'en aller
Le cortège bariolé
Des cent cloches qui vont à Rome ;
Et, leurs clochers restant
Muets et hésitants
Durant ces trois longs jours et d'angoisse et d'absence,
Tu t'éveilles en écoutant
Régner de l'un à l'autre bout des champs
Le silence.
Et secouant alors
De ton pesant manteau que les ronces festonnent
Les glaçons de l'hiver et les brumes d'automne,
Frère Jacques, tu sonnes
D'un bras si rude et fort
Que tout se hâte aux prés et s'enfièvre aux collines
A l'appel clair de tes matines.
Et du bout d'un verger le coucou te répond ;
Et l'insecte reluit de broussaille en broussaille ;
Et les sèves sous terre immensément tressaillent ;
Et les frondaisons d'or se propagent et font
Que leur ombre s'incline aux vieux murs des chaumières ;
Et le travail surgit innombrable et puissant ;
Et le vent semble fait de mouvante lumière
Pour frôler le bouton d'une rose trémière
Et le front hérissé d'un pâle épi naissant.
Frère Jacques, frère Jacques
Combien la vie entière à confiance en toi ;
Et comme l'oiseau chante au faîte de mon toit ;
Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,
Rude et vaillant carillonneur de Pâques.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
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What Are Dreams
What are dreams?
they are not what they seem,
I dream of the day
after we have had out say
to see you, sat by a window,
the sunlight upon you,
It highlights your glory
your face tells its own story,
What are dreams?
Only dreams *sighs*
What are dreams?
They are not what they seem,
to dream of touching you,
with more than just my words.
My voice trembles
as over words I stumble.
Its for you I yearn.
What are dreams?
Only dreams *sighs*
What are dreams?
they are not what they seem,
I repaired your wings,
even made you sing.
but within our trip,
your wings I clip.
your silent now
it hurts and how.
What are dreams?
Only dreams...........
RG/RR
poem by Robert Green
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It is not too early …
It is not too early to sing
The Christmas songs.
It is not too early to sing,
In many exotic tongues.
This is not the time to play,
This is the season to pray.
Let's sing joyful songs,
In many exotic tongues.
This is the time to be jolly,
This is the season to be happy.
Let's play many positives roles,
Let's hum all Christmas carols.
Papa Noel is hiding in the chimney,
Do not add more fuel to the foyer,
So you won't burn the messenger,
Who is bringing more gifts in the manger.
Jesus is born again every year,
He will always be younger
Than Mother Nature.
Jesus is born again every year.
This is the time to be jolly,
This is the season to be happy.
Let's sing peaceful songs,
In many exotic tongues.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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