The Playboy Mansion
If Coke is a mystery
Michael Jackson...History
If beauty is truth
And surgery the fountain of youth
What am I to do
Have I got the gift to get me through
The gates of that mansion
If OJ is more than a drink
And a Big Mac bigger than you think
If perfume is an obsession
And talk shows
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Playboy Mansion
If Coke is a mystery, Michael Jackson History
If beauty is truth, and surgery the fountain of youth
What am I to do?
Have I got the gift to get me through
The gates of that Mansion
If OJ is more than a drink, a Big Mac bigger than you think
If perfume is an Obsession, then talk shows confession
What have we got to lose?
I'll never push my way through
The gates of that mansion
I never bought a Lotto ticket
I never parked in anyone's space
And the banks feel like cathedrals because casinos took their place
Luck, come on down
I wake up, she'll come around
Sex is a kind of religion
We're down for playin' hard luck
I never did see that movie, and I never did read that book
Luck, come on down, let my numbers come around
Don't know if I can hold on
Don't know if I'm that strong
Don't know if I can wait that long
Til the colors come flashing and the lights go on
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame
And though I can't say why
I know I've got to believe
We'll go diving in their pool
It's who you know that gets you through
The gates in the Playboy Mansion
The Playboy Mansion
In the Playboy Mansion
Then will there be no time for sorrow?
Then will there be no time for shame?
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Three Sunrises
If Coke is a mystery
Michael Jackson...History
If beauty is truth
And surgery the fountain of youth
What am I to do
Have I got the gift to get me through
The gates of that mansion
If OJ is more than a drink
And a Big Mac bigger than you think
If perfume is an obsession
And talk shows, confession
What have we got to lose
Another push and we'll be through
The gates of that mansion
I never bought a Lotto ticket
I never parked in anyone's space
The banks feel like cathedrals
I guess casinos took their place
Love, come on down
Don't wake her, she'll come around
Chance is a kind of religion
Where you're damned for plain hard luck
I never did see that movie
I never did read that book
Love, come on down
Let my numbers come around
Don't know if I can hold on
Don't know if I'm that strong
Don't know if I can wait that long
'Til the colours come flashing
And the lights go on
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame
And though I can't say why
I know I've got to believe
We'll go diving in that pool
It's who you know that gets you through
The gates of the Playboy mansion
The Playboy mansion
The Playboy mansion
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame
Then will there be no time for sorrow
Then will there be no time for shame
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Picture Of Perfect Youth
Left out in the sun to dry again, washed up on a shore line south of spain
Gazing up with telescopic eyes, planetary life above the skies
Oh my god, shes my obsession, my obsession (my obsession)
Here she comes, shes a picture of perfect youth
Here she comes, lifting me up to the moon
Drifting on a boat in emerald seas, pulling on the strings inside of me
Tasting salt as waves dive over me, twisting on a rope of memories
Oh my god, shes my obsession, my obsession
Here she comes, shes a picture of perfect youth
Here she comes, lifting me up to the moon
Here she comes, shes a picture of perfect youth
Here she comes
If you could only see, that Im sinking like a stone
The sea is getting colder, every second as I go
Its like breathing underwater, but I just cant let you go
My obsession, shes my obsession, my obsession
Oh my god, shes my obsession, my obsession (my obsession)
Here she comes, shes a picture of perfect youth
Here she comes, lifting me up to the moonoh my god, shes my obsession, my obsession (my obsession)
Here she comes, shes a picture of perfect youth
Here she comes, lifting me up to the moon
Here she comes
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Timeless Obsession
Infatuated with a mystery
Eyes that show wisdom, humor, balance, grace
Years of tears, sorrow, heartache
Obsession has consumed my mind
Footsteps that don't leave a trace
Can't get over the image of his face
A smile that shines brightly as the sun
Eyes that won't shy away from revealing hidden pain
Show a deep soul reeling in private pain
Outside the pillar of strength
Inside screaming in distress
This mystery is a gift and a curse
A gift of amusement to feed my obsession
Cursed with no answers to the question
As time goes by he becomes
A never told, never solved: obsession.
poem by Deloris Hughes
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Villanelle: The Psychological Hour
I had over prepared the event,
that much was ominous.
With middle-ageing care
I had laid out just the right books.
I had almost turned down the pages.
Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.
So much barren regret,
So many hours wasted!
And now I watch, from the window,
the rain, the wandering busses.
"Their little cosmos is shaken" -
the air is alive with that fact.
In their parts of the city
they are played on by diverse forces.
How do I know?
Oh, I know well enough.
For them there is something afoot.
As for me;
I had over-prepared the event -
Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.
Two friends: a breath of the forest. . .
Friends? Are people less friends
because one has just, at last, found them?
Twice they promised to come.
"Between the night and the morning?"
Beauty would drink of my mind.
Youth would awhile forget
my youth is gone from me.
(Speak up! You have danced so stiffly?
Someone admired your works,
And said so frankly.
"Did you talk like a fool,
The first night?
The second evening?"
"But they promised again:
'To-morrow at tea-time'.")
Now the third day is here -
no word from either;
No word from her nor him,
Only another man's note:
"Dear Pound, I am leaving England."
poem by Ezra Pound
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Oh, Michael Jackson is Michael Jackson. And no matter if he sold 40 million records off of one record and sold 15 off his last or whatever the counts may be, Michael Jackson will be Michael Jackson.
quote by Tito Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You know, let's put it this way, if all the people in Hollywood who have had plastic surgery, if they went on vacation, there wouldn't be a person left in town.
quote by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At 10, I was intrigued by surgery, I wanted to be a surgeon for a long time. I love doctor shows and surgery shows. Blood is not an issue for me. I even took pictures once of me getting my blood taken.
quote by Jessica Biel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beauty Is Truth
Natural beauty of nature
Is like a beautiful damsel.
She needs no makeup or perfume
To enhance her physical beauty-
Her beauty is truth, period.
An anonymous wildflower
Growing with delicate fragrance
Beside a forests time-worn path
Can't be anymore lovelier
If plucked and placed within her locks;
Nor her comely grace be improved.
Their "beauty is truth, truth beauty"
Apart they are most beautiful;
In concert they accent the whole.
On a Grecian urn:
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty"
All we need to know.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Yesterday Is History
If yesterday is history,
Why do we hold on to it?
If tomorrow is a mystery,
Why do we look for it?
And they say that today is a gift
So why don't we cherish it?
And we wish to find
That perfect peace in life,
The peace that will give us true happiness
So just remember
Yesterday is history
Tomorrow is a mystery
And today is a gift
poem by Rachelle Sowders
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Zac Efron is my obsession, we're the same person. We're not actually here, it's like Janet and Michael Jackson. He just puts on his wig and a dress, and it's me, and you don't know that. It's one of the greatest mysteries of all time.
Michael Jackson! King of Pop
The artistically king of pop
The legendary cream of the crop
In silence your world falls
Through hearts and souls, large and small
With your final curtain call
Sadly there were many of us not there
In your solitary blackest moments of fear
Michael Jackson! With sobbing tears we cry
Michael Jackson! Why did you fly far away so high?
On life’s theatre stage you broke phenomenal grounds
As we take a look back to culture, songs and sounds
When black and white were maliciously separate
You brought to the world universal love instead of hate
Through your songs was born a faith
So strong it reunited people, countries and states
Michael Jackson! With sobbing tears we cry
Michael Jackson! Why did you die before saying goodbye?
The dancing genius - Father of the moonwalk
The world is curious – Small talk becomes large talk
And now your memory will stalk us
As you return back to dust so fast!
Goodbye and may you be in peace at last
Copyright 2009 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Things Go Better With Coke #1
Orbison/dees
Roy orbison wants to get together again
Baby, how it hurts to break up, but its so much fun to make up
Lets do the things we used to do, you love me and I love you
Lets talk again, joke again lets get together for a coke again
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
Lets relive the date that we just broke, our favorite cafe, the special of the day
The jukebox playing, things go better with coke
Well, waiter, waiter, treat us right, you remember what we like
Shes back again, by my side again, waiter, we want to feel alive again
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
I;m glad we kept the date we almost broke, our favorite cafe, the special of the day
The jukebox playing, things go better with coke
(spoken) you never get tired of its taste coke after coke
Things go better with coke #2
Orbison/dees
Roy orbison takes a break
Stayed out too late, at work at eight, dont wanna wait for that ten o clock break
Big man, if you can, let me go for a coke right now
For things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
Ill get caught up if youll let me stop for a coke, a big tall frosty ice cold bottle of coke
Fun goes better with, food goes better with, people go better with coke
The real live one puts extra fun in you and everything you do
Big man, let me take a five minute break, things go better with coke, things go better with coke
(spoken) sometimes on big jobs I drink coke after coke after coke
And I never get tired of the taste
Yeah, things go better with coke
Things go better with coke #3
Orbison/dees
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
Life is fun when youre refreshed and coke refreshes you the best, ah-ah
Fun goes better with, food goes better with, people go better with coke
The real live one puts extra fun in you and everything you do
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
Life is fun when youre refreshed and coke refreshes you the best
So things go better with coca cola, yeah, things go better with coke
Things go better with coke #4
Orbison/dees
C-o-c-a c-o-l-a
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
Life is much more fun when youre refreshed
Food goes better with, fun goes better with, you go better with coke
The real live one puts extra fun in you and everything you do
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with
Things go better with coke
C-o-c-a c-o-l-a
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with.....coke
Things go better with coke #5
Orbison/dees
C-o-c-a c-o-l-a
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with coke
Life is much more fun when youre refreshed
Food and fun and you go better with
Things go better with coca cola, things go better with.....coke
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surgery
Just back from the surgery
(at least it’s ‘the’ surgery, not
cold-steel ‘surgery’…)
Surgery. Well-named.
Surges of fear, apprehension,
remorse, injustice, you name it.
On second thoughts, don’t bother.
The reception room’s OK though.
The counter staff are always ready for
a laugh, a smile, a bit of banter.
Today, it’s ‘Do you mind being video’d?
It’s a training video. If that’s OK, would you sign
now, and again afterwards? ’
Cue for joker: you should have warned me,
I’d have gone to Make-Up first, and I only give my signature
for charity these days…send the fee to my agent
and next time my people will talk to your people
about the Pers. App….
but they stopped listening halfway.
Then the surgery… it’s like a scene
From Malice in Blunderland: as I enter,
I shrink, am diminished to
a slithery list on her computer screen;
judgment day records, and doomful events of personal life
now mere one-liners..
a case-history with the added social disadvantage,
sorry, negatively endowed, of
having a face and body..
Look for the camera, natch -
always ready to falsify my life
for no-one who might care.
Damn, it's behind me;
looks like truthday here.
Spare you the details
in case you tell me worse.. so
Exit Dwarf, as Shakespeare would have penned it.
You could have surfboarded on the final surge
of peripheral dismissed humanity;
too mean now, to say goodbye
to the deception staff.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God gave us intestines for a reason. I'm not keen on surgery. It's too extreme. All it took was one of those plastic surgery shows to see how violent it is.
quote by Kirstie Alley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mansion On The Hill
Theres a place out on the edge of town, sir,
Risin above the factories and the fields
Now, ever since I was a child, I can remember
That mansion on the hill
In the day you can see the children playing
On the road that leads to those gates of hardened steel
Steel gates that completely surround, sir,
The mansion on the hill
At night my daddyd take me and wed ride
Through the streets of a town so silent and still
Park on a back road along the highway side
Look up at that mansion on the hill
In the summer all the lights would shine
Thered be music playin, people laughin all the time
Me and my sister, wed hide out in the tall cornfields
Sit and listen to the mansion on the hill
Tonight down here in linden town
I watch the cars rushin by, home from the mill
Theres a beautiful full moon rising
Above the mansion on the hill
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Became My History
You were once a mystery,
The one I loved to solve.
Deciphering your code,
Always got me lost.
I thought of understanding you more,
But before I realised it,
You became my history.
You were once a mystery,
Discovering you was a thrill,
Every puzzle I put together,
Granted me fulfilment,
But as time flew by,
you became my history.
You were once a mystery,
Every clue brought me closer,
Every step brought me nearer,
Only to make me smile,
I thrived on your addiction
But after a while,
You became my history.
You were once a mystery,
the very foundation that kept me stable,
Once I comprehended you, I began to feel able,
You were the ocean to my boat,
The cell to my system,
However, even without the distance,
You became my history.
You were once a mystery,
Clouded in question marks,
Trying to understand,
Trying to comprehend,
I was left with numerous thoughts,
The more I tried, the more I learnt,
The less I craved, and before I knew it,
You became my history.
poem by Zushan Hashmi
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The Cornelian
No specious splendour of this stone
Endears it to my memory ever;
With lustre only once it shone,
And blushed modest as the giver.
Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties,
Have, for my weakness, oft reproved me;
Yet still the simple gift I prize,
For I am sure the giver loved me.
He offer'd it with downcast look,
As fearful that I might refuse it;
I told him, when the gift I took,
My only fear should be to lose it.
This pledge attentively I view'd,
And spakling as I held it near,
Methought one drop the stone bedew'd,
And ever since I've loved a tear.
Still, to adorn his humble youth,
Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield;
But he who seeks the flowers of truth,
Must quit the garden for the field.
'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth,
Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume;
The flowers which yield the most of both
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.
Had Fortune aided Nature's care,
For once forgetting to be blind,
His would have been an ample share,
If well proportion'd to his mind.
But had the goddess clearly seen,
His form had fix'd her fickle breast;
Her countless hoards would his have been,
And none remain'd to give the rest.
poem by Byron (1806)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Misery
If love is history,
And life, not a mystery,
If truth, is a lie,
And poetry the bane of youth...
What are we, to do?
Have we got the grit to get us through,
The gates of our heaven?
If religion is more than addiction,
And music, an affliction,
And life is a confession,
And inspiration a possession,
I never cried a tear for you,
I never used a can of mace,
The warriors they're like poison,
I guess Auschwitz took their place,
Dove, come on down,
Wake up before we drown.
Violence has become a religion,
Where within us we get stuck,
I never did feel groovie,
I never felt like a crook.
Dove, come on down,
Wake up before we drown.
Don't know if I can keep on,
Don't know if I'm that wrong,
Don't know if I will already be gone,
See the stars go crashing,
And my Light come on.
Then there will be no tomorrow,
Then there will be no one to blame,
And though I know it's a lie,
I know I've got to leave.
We'll think that we are cool,
It's not the bomb that gets us through,
The gates of our heaven.
Our heaven, our heaven,
Then there will be no tomorrow,
Then there will be no one to blame,
Then there will be no need for sorrow,
Then there will be no one to maim.
April 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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The Listening One
The Listening One
Does he, did he, know, what he contributed
to the truth of what was spoken?
Towards the back seats of the lecture room,
this tidy, slim, quiet, dark-complexioned youth
listened with unwavering attention;
so much in the moment, his mind, so visibly,
claiming nothing; receiving all that there was to receive;
contributing, all that an audience can:
under his so steady listening,
I could not lie, blur, dodge; be anything
but dedicated to the truth;
from his attention, through my own,
he gave the audience more than I prepared.
I wonder if he knows the gift he’s shaped.
How many others has he blessed thus, with himself?
The Hindus have a name for him:
the Southward Facing, and the Formless One;
the Self as youth who teaches elders by his silence.
You may have met him, mortal, once or twice;
I wonder if he knows his priceless gift?
*
[A long-delayed debt of gratitude never since forgotten.]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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