The Divided Sky
Ahhh!
Divided sky, the wind blows high
[the divided sky chant is part of an ancient ritual dating back to the
Pre-wilson years of she purity in gamehendge. after listening to the
Sacred sounds for a sloping lawn, three chosen subjects eat a special
Root collected at the base of the enormous mountain that rises in the
Center of the forest. the root is believed to contain the spirit of
Icculus, who lives at the top of the mountain. after eating the root,
They venture into a vast field at sundown. the field is deep green,
And stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions. in the
Center of the field stands an enormous black rhombus. they climb the
Rhombus and begin to sing, paying homage to the gods of the night
Sky.]
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Divided Sky
Ahhh!
Divided sky, the wind blows high
[The divided sky chant is part of an ancient ritual dating back to the
pre-Wilson years of She purity in Gamehendge. After listening to the
sacred sounds for a sloping lawn, three chosen subjects eat a special
root collected at the base of the enormous mountain that rises in the
center of the forest. The root is believed to contain the spirit of
Icculus, who lives at the top of the mountain. After eating the root,
they venture into a vast field at sundown. The field is deep green,
and stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions. In the
center of the field stands an enormous black rhombus. They climb the
rhombus and begin to sing, paying homage to the gods of the night
sky
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chug-a-lug
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Gary likes a girls tight black pants
Larry knows he doesnt stand a chance
Carl says hurry up and order it quick
Dave gets out to chase that chick
Dennis wonders whats under the hood
A big chrome tach and it sounds real good
I go down to the root beer stand
And drink up all that I can
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Cold beer, root beer
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Brians still glued to the radio
Louies lookin out the rear window
Guys got around to orderin fries
But root beers my best buy
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Cold beer, root beer
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Cold beer, root beer
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Root beer, need another mug now
Root beer, chug-a-lug-a-lug now
Root beer, need another mug now
Root beer, chug-a-lug-a-lug now
Root beer, need another mug now
Root beer, chug-a-lug-a-lug now
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Introduction Narration
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Once upon a time there was a mountain that rose out of a vast green forest. and in the forest there were birds and lakes and rocks and trees and rivers. the forest was also inhabited by a small group of people called the lizards. the lizards were a simple people and they had lived in the forest undisturbed for thousands of years in utter peace and tranquillity. once a year when spring came, and the first blossoms began to show, the lizards would gather at the base of the mountain, to give thanks for all that they had. they thanked the birds and they thanked the lakes and they thanked the rocks and the trees and the rivers; but most importantly, they thanked icculus. icculus lived at the top of the mountain, or at least everyone thought so, for no one had actually ever seen him. but they knew he existed, because they had the helping friendly book. icculus had given the helping friendly book to the lizards thousands of years earlier as a gift. it contained all of the knowledge inherent
In the universe, and had
Enabled the lizards to exist in harmony with nature for years. and so they lived; until one day a traveler arrived in gamehendge.
His name was wilson and he quickly became intrigued by the lizards way of life. he asked if he could stay on and live in the forest; and the lizards, who had never seen an outsider, were happy to oblige. wilson lived with the lizards for a few years, studying the ways of the helping friendly book, and all was well. until one morning when they awoke and the book was gone. wilson explained that he had hidden the book, knowing that the lizards had become dependent on it for survival. he declared himself king and enslaved the innocent people of gamehendge. he cut down the trees and built a city, which he called prussia. and in the center of the city he built a castle, and locked in the highest tower of the castle lay the helping friendly book out of the reach of the lizards forever. but our story begins at a different time, not in gamehendge, but on a suburban street in long island, and our hero is no king sitting in a castle, he is a retired colonel shaving in his bathroom.
Colonel forbin looked square in the mirror and dragged the blade across his cold creamed skin. he saw the tired little folds of flesh that lay in a heap beneath his eyes. fifty-two years of obedient self-restraint, of hiding his tension behind a serene veil of composure. for fifty-two years he had piled it all on the back burner, and for fifty-two years it had boiled, frothing over in a turbulent storm inside of him. it had escaped through his eyes, reacting with the cigarette smoke and the fluorescent lights and slowly accumulating into a sagging mass.
He ran his dripping palm across the stubble on the nape of his neck and thought again about the door. he had discovered the door some months back on one of his ritualistic morning walks with his dog mcgrupp. it had started out as a typical stroll with mcgrupp bounding joyously ahead of the preoccupied colonel. as they reached the apex of the hill, he saw it and he knew it had always been there, and felt foolish for overlooking the door for so long. at first, he tried to ignore it, but he soon found that it was impossible, and slowly his newly acquired knowledge transformed his dreary life into a prison from which there was only one escape. and on this morning, colonel forbin stepped through the door.
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday
INTRODUCTION
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Once upon a time there was a mountain that rose out of a vast green forest. And in the forest there were birds and lakes and rocks and trees and rivers. The forest was also inhabited by a small group of people called the lizards. The lizards were a simple people and they had lived in the forest undisturbed for thousands of years in utter peace and tranquillity. Once a year when spring came, and the first blossoms began to show, the
lizards would gather at the base of the mountain, to give thanks for all that they had. They thanked the birds and they thanked the lakes and they thanked the rocks and the trees and the rivers; but most importantly, they thanked Icculus.
Icculus lived at the top of the mountain, or at least everyone thought so, for no one had actually ever seen him. But they knew he existed, because they had the Helping Friendly Book. Icculus had given the Helping Friendly Book to the Lizards thousands of years earlier as a gift. It contained all of the knowledge inherent in the universe, and had
enabled the Lizards to exist in harmony with nature for years. And so they lived; until one day a traveler arrived in Gamehendge. His name was Wilson and he quickly became intrigued by the Lizards way of life. He asked if he could stay on and live in the forest; and the Lizards, who had never seen an outsider, were happy to oblige.
Wilson lived with the Lizards for a few years, studying the ways of the Helping Friendly Book, and all was well. Until one morning when they awoke and the book was gone. Wilson explained that he had hidden the book, knowing that the Lizards had become dependent on it for survival. He declared himself king and enslaved the innocent
people of Gamehendge. He cut down the trees and built a city, which he called Prussia. And in the center of the city he built a castle, and locked in the highest tower of the castle lay the Helping Friendly Book out of the reach of the Lizards forever. But our story begins at a different time, not in Gamehendge, but on a suburban street in Long Island, and our hero is no king sitting in a castle, he is a retired colonel shaving in his bathroom.
Colonel Forbin looked square in the mirror and dragged the blade across his cold creamed skin. He saw the tired little folds of flesh that lay in a heap beneath his eyes. Fifty-two years of obedient self-restraint, of hiding his tension behind a serene veil of composure. For fifty-two years he had piled it all on the back burner, and for fifty-two years it had boiled, frothing over in a turbulent storm inside of him. It had escaped through his eyes, reacting with the cigarette smoke and the fluorescent lights and slowly accumulating into a sagging mass. He ran his dripping palm across the stubble on the nape of his neck and thought again about the door. He had discovered the door some months back on one of his ritualistic morning walks with his dog McGrupp. It had started out as a typical stroll with McGrupp bounding joyously ahead of the preoccupied colonel. As they reached the apex of the hill, he saw it and he knew it had always been there, and felt foolish for overlooking the door for so long. At first, he tried to ignore it, but he soon found that it was impossible, and slowly his newly acquired knowledge transformed his dreary life into a prison from which there was only one escape. And on this morning, Colonel Forbin stepped through the door...
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In baseball you hit your home run over the right-field fence, the left-field fence, the center-field fence. Nobody cares. In golf everything has got to be right over second base.
quote by Ken Harrelson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women’s Individuality
Spirit of woman is dearer to sons
Than to daughters; sons feel great
loss.
Women are root systems and men
Branches.
A root will not weep for the root of the
other.
26.06.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Divided By Zero
(two divided by zero, zero)
(two divided by zero, zero, zero)
Lets not go home, well catch the late train
Ive got enough money to pay all the way
When the postman calls, hell deliver the letter
Ive explained everything; its better that way
(divided by, divided by) I think they heard a rumour
(divided by, divided by) or someone tipped them off
(divided by, divided by) its better to go sooner
(divided by, divided by) than call it all off
Well catch a plane to new york, and a cab going down
Cross the bridges and tunnels, straight into town
Tomorrow morning well be miles away
On another continent and another day
(divided by, divided by) lets not go home
(divided by, divided by) or call it a day
(divided by, divided by) you wont be alone
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
(two divided by zero, zero)
(two divided by zero, zero, zero)
(d...d...d...d...d...divided by)
(divided by, divided by)
(z...z...z...z...z...zero, zero)
(divided by)
(turn of that noise...)
(divided by, divided by) someone spread a rumour
(divided by, divided by zero, zero)
(divided by, divided by) better to go sooner
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
So why hang around for the deed to be done
You can give it all up for a place in the sun
When the postman calls well be miles away
On a plane to new york and another day
(divided by, divided by) I think they heard a rumour
(divided by, divided by) or someone tipped them off
(divided by, divided by) better to go sooner
(divided by, divided by) than call it all off
(divided by, divided by) someone spread a rumour
(divided by, divided by) and someone has to pay
(divided by, divided by) lets not go home
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
(divided by, divided by) lets not go home
(divided by, divided by) lets run away
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Halloween Story
It all begin as grains of sand,
covering a place both wide and flat
open to the moonlight as Luna rises.
When the first breeze blows,
from a whisper to a howl and back
the dead trees, like skeletons,
shiver from cold and fear.
One by one the trees uproot
crackling and rustling, yet silent.
The open space becomes bigger
as they retreat from old knowledge,
waiting for the tide to rise.
One younger stays behind and watches.
Stares at the sand, and ponders,
reaches out and touches it with a root.
The elders, black and dead,
the home to owls and spider webs,
already mourn the youth.
At a touch the grains flicker
like starlight come to life for a moment.
Black shadows, where spirits might hide
if they weren't afraid, too, creep upward.
The sand begins to bubble,
darkness shifts and flows with purpose.
Youth is lost on the youth, foolish youth.
Its root, pulled back at the darkness,
has turned black and gray with ash.
Like torpid terror the ash crawls
up the root and outward, up the trunk
to where leaf and branch shake
and fruit falls like tears of regret.
Now the sand heaves and towers
over the remnant of the youth.
Quickly dispersed by the wind,
dusty ash rises up into the dark clouds
gathering over a moon now red.
The ceremony is nearly met.
Tiny, pitch black grains of sand stand up,
now given meager life by this evil,
and run away as individual thoughts.
Past the trees they scatter, screaming
warnings and imprecations and horror.
The grove stands its ground,
given purpose and meaning by this night.
Where the sand once was, now a bulge grows
pale, even in the blood of the moon.
Rising higher and higher,
until even the clouds eschew the sky.
This abomination is pale like bone
covered by an aura of black so deep
that its meaning has never been needed
except for this moment, this single instant.
A terrible beast smiles at the night
and a tongue of rancid mold slips out
between teeth like tombstones.
When the world begins to shudder
at the presence of this cancerous evil,
the grove moves, and moans as it goes.
Lightning laughs from the clear sky,
lashing out at the wood song's meaning.
Calling back the black sand, to its duty,
repairing the wound in the veil.
Frozen images cover the wound
where the pale monster rose up to consume,
like moonlight shining through stained glass.
In the images, spirits swirl and play,
calling back to their master, no longer afraid.
Their night is over.
All in the space of the moon crossing the sky
these events took place: the running,
the rising, the loathing, and the calling.
Now come the true screams. Painful and
invigorating they slip into cracks
where humans cannot hear them, but they shudder
and they flow, across the wound, into it.
As the beast is put to slumber once more,
sand grains poised as cowards among the tree roots
run out and jump into their place.
A flat field of creeping black.
Then the black flows inward, to the center,
and downwards to the depths and is gone.
And the trees settle once again around the clearing
to again await the culmination of their existence
next Halloween.
poem by Poet Dragon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Of Money
Chorus:
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the work of the devil
Love of money
She began running for the border and her life
Like the wind, straight into the terror of the night
And she survived, bargaining her body for their gold
In the end all she had to sell them was her soul
Thats the way it goes
Chorus:
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the work of the devil
Love of money
We began reaching for the future like a dream
In a land where everything was free
Wordly men turned their profits into war
No one knows who were really fighting for
Chorus:
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the work of the devil
Love of money
Chorus:
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the root of all evil
Love of money is the work of the devil
Love of money
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Field
You lie so unfolded
In a love field
With your contempt for any modesty
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
You yield with your lips still sealed
In a love field
Lost in a sea of imaginary women
Everything youd want
From the dawn to the dimming
Breath comes sharp and heart beats faster
In a love field
Cold ground for a pillow
Under a blanket of stars
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Headlights that startled
This embrace of hours
In a love field
In a crooked house
Where things can be arranged
You think youre different from the rest
But you dont see how youve changed
Under an archway
On a road of white linen
In a love field
Feel the anxious rhythm of a functional stranger
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Shes so tense but its never mentioned
In a love field
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell To My Fans
A farewell to my fans
When I am just a faded memory,
and my dimensions shift in your mind’s eye-
think back upon the nights you spent at me
around a field of green beneath the sky.
For you were here the night back in 04’
The night that Jeter dove into my stands
When Yanks and Red Sox played a thirteenth Frame
he caught the ball but had to leave the game.
And you were here when A-Rod hit three bombs
Against the cy young candidate Colon-
you stood expectant in my left field stands
To catch the fourth if ever it should land..
Who can forget old Freddy and his pan-
The “Ancient Mariner” of Yankee fans
He wanders through my aisles just like a vendor-
He bangs the drum more slowly this September.
I’ve been the field where Ruth and Mantle played-
where DiMaggio stood out at center stage.
I’ve been the home plate where the luckiest man
bowed out before his disbelieving fans.
I’ve played host often to a Series game
My champions have added to my fame.
The shadows long upon my infield face
As days grew short and cool at Autumn’s pace.
I was the place George Herman lay in state
When he lost his fight for life in 48’
Thousands of you wandered past his bier
(the only one he didn’t want, I hear) .
But now my time has come, they say I’m through
And I think hard what Gehrig had to do-
He passed on the baton from failing hands
So I too say my farewell to the fans.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Optometry
If you had not been a poet,
What other field of endeavor...
Would you have chosen to pursue?
'Without a doubt,
It would have been optometry.'
Why that particular field of study?
'It seems as though everyday,
I find myself in a debate with someone...
Over that which is clearly observed.
And,
They deny seeing the obvious.'
Maybe it is not so obvious to them.
'That's why,
Optometry would have been my chosen field of study.'
It's never too late you know.
'It is for a lot of people.
Many will never see the forest for the trees.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Chant Your Name Oh Beloved
Chant Your Name
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the raindrops on a roof
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the breeze in the leaves
I chant Your name o beloved
Like the snowflakes on mountain peaks
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the dew drops in the field
I chant your name O beloved
As Your blood pulsate in my veins
I chant Your name O beloved
As the bees buzz around my head
In silence I chant Your name O Beloved
As they carry my whispered prayers
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have Climbed Up The Mountain Of Despair
I have climbed up the mountain of despair
Oft – too oft perhaps for me
Too many bitter cups of grief I drunk
Too few the days of calm I joyed.
My flower of youth I wasted more
Than time and age could
Too many bitter cups of grief I drunk
Too few the days of calm I joyed.
Too many nights of weirdness I had
When bad dreams chased all sleep away:
And the black firmament like a cold wall
Smiled at me where’er I trod and went
Railing and deriding my despair.
Too many storms of green my vessel has
Weathered and been buffeted into
Too many a water wraith and ghost
Saw I in my mountain of despair:
Too many a field with corpses have I dreamed
Strewn and divided all irregular:
Too many a stormy sea with corpses I
Have dreamed swollen and strewn amidst the wrecks:
Too many a field with crosses in rows decked
And yew-clad cemeteries solitaire I dreamed.
Too many a monster new unheard unseen
By previous eyes or ears have I met
To many a deed and mishap have I been
Nor have been spared a son’s grief and despair
And now my father lies low in earth.
And now it seems that few black days remain
And blacker days on black days follow suit
Pointing with every day a-down and down:
My heart now too hard for tears is; my eyes
Are dry as desert sands or milked breasts
My throat is parched with the last dryness weird.
I have ascended the mountain of despair.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But On The Other Hand
Death is Bad;
but it is slimming.
Life is Good;
Except when it is Bad
Heaven is good
but it is too far away
and I wonder if there
is dating there
or marriage.
Why do Arab Martyrs
get 21 virgins in Heaven?
Where do they come from?
Dying is ok by me
I just don't want it to be unpleasant
and I certainly don't want to watch;
don't want you to watch either.
I like birds
but the way they fly around
seems frivolous.
Happiness is over-rated;
but then again
so is misery.
I like kissing
but the spit part
and the lips-
can't you catch something?
The little girl said
'Sex is like blowing up a balloon
and then the baby cries.'
He said;
'Women are like precious diamonds
hard on the outside
hard on the inside
but make-up and lighting
makes them look shiny.
But they are far more valuable than men.
Men are like custard pie
delicious when fresh
but not fulfilling
enough for dinner;
have them only for dessert
and then only occasionally.
Children make marriages.
Children break marriages.
Thinking is like washing your brain
sometimes after washing
you can do a thing with it and that can make you nervous.
If your favorite pet and your significant other was drowning
who would you save?
This is the single greatest indicator of what stage of life you are in.
Cowardice is the root of all evil.
Complacency is the root of all Cowardice.
Laziness is the root of all Complacency
The root of Laziness is Boredom
The Root of Boredom is the inability
to choose what is interesting.
The root of choosing only the uninteresting
is control from the top
The root of control from the top
is Cowardice.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beloved
On my knees i chant your name oh beloved
like the raindrops on the roof
i chant your name oh beloved
like the rusttling leave in the breeze
i chant your name oh beloved
like the dew drops in te field
i chant your name oh beloved
like the snow on mountain peaks
i chant your name oh beloved
as i breath
i chant your name oh beloved
as i whisper in sincere pray...
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In children’s glory
The root toils and takes pride in its crown.
The crown beams but gives no credit to the root.
Birds and animals all admire the crown
For the fruits and the shades they obtain.
They attach least importance to the root.
The root still sticks to the vanity of its pride
As parents take pride in children’s glory.
05.07.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fire Spirit
(gun club)
I can see clearly from my diamond eyes
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will accept all of me, so the fire will stop
And for the straights that got fire cars
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will take all of me, and the fire will stop
I will be cheating the whole ritual
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will accept all of me, and the fire will stop
Someone weird read: pen down a circle
Yeah, someone left on a burned out world
Someone knows Im dead as hell
Where the old north wind blows through southeast hell, yeah
And then john was betrayed by the machine
A proper circuit was a promise to me
Im going up to the mountain to see
How blessing will set me free, yeah
I had to do something
I was wearing down
I was going down
Why can no one ever touch a fire spirit?
Why can no one ever hold a fire spirit?
Why can no one ever feel a fire spirit?
I am going to the mountain
Yeah, I can see clearly from my diamond eyes
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
And no one will accept all of me, so the fire will stop
With too much patience and too much pain
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
To make amends for all of me, and the fire will stop
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The wanderer
Upon a mountain height, far from the sea,
I found a shell,
And to my listening ear the lonely thing
Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing,
Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.
How came the shell upon that mountain height?
Ah, who can say
Whether there dropped by some too careless hand,
Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land,
Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day?
Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep,
One song it sang,--
Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,
Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,--
Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.
And as the shell upon the mountain height
Sings of the sea,
So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,--
So do I ever, wandering where I may,--
Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee.
1883.
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snag It From The Root
Snap and snag it from the root.
Use every resource you have got.
Clip and snip,
To replant.
If that's what you have to do!
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
From Sunrise until Sunset comes.
Snag it back and get it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
Snap,
And snag it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
From Sunrise until Sunset comes.
Snap,
And snag it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
You can snag it from the root!
Snap,
And snag it from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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