A Broken Appointment by Thomas Hardy

You did not come,
And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there
Than that I thus found lacking in your make
That high compassion which can overbear
Reluctance for pure loving kindness’ sake
Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum,
You did not come.

You love me not,
And love alone can lend you loyalty;
—I know and knew it. But, unto the store
Of human deeds divine in all but name,
Was it not worth a little hour or more
To add yet this: Once you, a woman, came
To soothe a time-torn man; even though it be
You love me not.

Let America Be America Again                                                                                                                                                                                              by Langston Hughes 

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free.

        (America never was America to me.)

 Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above.

          (It never was America to me.)

 O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real, and life is free,

Equality is in the air we breathe.

          (There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?  

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.

I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--

And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!

Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine.

I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--

Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become.

O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home--

For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa's strand I came To build a "homeland of the free."

 The free?

 Who said the free?  Not me? Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we've dreamed And all the songs we've sung

And all the hopes we've held And all the flags we've hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay-- Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again-- The land that never has been yet--

 And yet must be--the land where every man is free. The land that's mine–the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME–

Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-- The steel of freedom does not stain.

 From those who live like leeches on the people's lives, We must take back our land again, America!

O, yes, I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

 And yet I swear this oath-- America will be!

 Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,

The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,

We, the people, must redeem

The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.

The mountains and the endless plain--

All, all the stretch of these great green states--

And make America again!

i'm just so sick of the fucking hype they always piss out about new york teams. i'm in NY for 20 years still waiting for the jets to do something after they're perennially touted as "much improved". well NY finishes this baseball season as a laughing stock and both front offices in turmoil. maybe if they didn't make so much noise people could actually be surprised and happy if they have some success.

(the fucked-up sound in the beginning is part of the music)

System of a Down - Soil

The phoenix he helped create,
Out of control boy without a dad,
Shot the gun that startled my life,
While I drove him with a forty-five.

Friends for years images in red,
Blew off his own mother-fuckin head,
Confidence, death, insecurity,
Men fall unrealized,
Unrealized, unrealized.

Making a decision of death,
While everyone around you pled,
Now you fly in peace,
I hope, my friend,
A man can't avoid what he's meant to do,
When he's meant to do it,
Even if he doesn't really want to,
My memories are of fun and friendship,
Of weakness within the strength of youth,
For reasons undefined, reasons undefined,
Reasons undefined, reasons undefined.

Friends for years images in red,
Blew off his own mother-fuckin head,
Confidence, death, insecurity,
Men fall unrealized,

Don't you realize,
Evil, lives in the mother-fucking skin,
Don't you realize,
that-Evil, lives in the mother-fucking skin,

Why the fuck did you take him away from us you mother fucker?

Sandra Bernhard dishes Sarah Palin at Theater J

From The Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory by J.A. Cuddon, as an example for a "limerick"

There was a young lady of Niger,

Who had an affair with a tiger.

The result of the fuck

Was a bald-headed duck

Two gnats and a circumcised spider.

excerpt from Rocky Racoon's epic comment/poem/manifesto on New York Post, Page 3. (He's got a name and password on 7fatcow, but insists on posting as comments. Go figure our a rabid raccoon…)

what do you think happened to rabbi akiva?
how did the romans catch him?
someone had to turn him in..
and why did they turn him in?
evidently he was stirring shit.
he was a radical.
at one time he even supported the bar kochba rebellion
and we know he was a bal teshuva himself.
and a mystic.
i’d put down ten to one, that,after watching the demise and decline of his own student body,
he adopted new views.
radical views.
views that got him killed

the same views that got gedaliah ben achikam killed.
the famous martyr of tzom gedeliah fame.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

who was gedaliah ben achikam?
gedalia was far from being a rabbi.

gedaliah ben achikam was an ambassador for the roman government in palestine.

he was an integrated jew. rumor has it that he was only half jewish - his father was a roman..but everyone agreed:he was a complete mensch.

gedaliah was an ambassador of peace

he was trying to educate the yerushalmis.
he told them that if you dont calm down and learn how to live in a civilised roman world, the romans will soon get fed up.

gedaliah was a student of the stories about the young yeshiva bochur named yeshu who was assassinated for trying to shut down the racket on the har habayis..

and gedaliah, too, became a martyr

he could have easily escaped with his own life. . he could have lived out his days in an estate in tuscany.
he didnt have to help the yerushalmis,
but he wanted to.
he cared for them he felt bad for children who have to suffer
because of the stupidity of their parents

so he showed up at the bais hamikdash.
just like yeshu did.

and he told them
Stop!Stop! Stop!

Stopkilling all the animals!
Stop lying to the people!
Stop tricking and conniving and stealing!
Stop this nonsense before it gets you all killed!

he talked to them about the brotherhood
of all men,
of God who is our Abba
and Who doesnt need animal sacrifices;
He just wants us to be good to one another..

he talked about politics and the brutal foreign policies of the roman empire
he told them how little and vulnerable mea shearim was..

he told them of the marvelous roads
and the amazing waterworks of the roman cities
he told them how much more beautiful and exciting yerushalayim can become, if only they would cooperate and cease letting a few admoirim control everybody!

and the crowd on the har habayis paused.

his words had a positive affect!
from his tone, they could see
that gedaliah had noble intentions.

and then they looked at him, in his roman way of dress. in his roman-accented speech. and they looked back at the holy priests in their austere robes..

the yerushalmis were confused-

and the wicked rabbonim siezed the moment!!!

they began to shriek at the young
yerushalmis

chaptz em!! chaptz em!!! chaptz em!!!

and they shrieked at gedaliah,too

first they called him an an am haurretz.
they called him an apikoires
they called him a roman. they called him a shaygetz
then they called him a moiser.
and then they called him a rushuh.
and then one not-so-bright
yerushalmi rushed forward with a knife and killed gedaliah
ben achikam and to this day,
we pay for that moment,
with more and more jewish blood.

	POEM: Secret Places of the Stairs
	by L. G. Corey, September 4, 2008 0 comments

Telling secrets
in the secret places of the stairs:

Fingertips, like lighted candles,
reaching out, from the dark

(O my dove, thou art
in the secret places of the stairs)

reaching out from the clefts of the rock,
from the secret places of the stairs;
reaching out, going out, going dark
in the secret places of the stairs.

O daughters of Jerusalem,
I am black but comely,
like a tent at midnight
with a lion crouching at its door,
sniffing at its door,
under a full moon in an empty sky
on a black night of a blacker god
who whispers secrets to the lost men
giggling in the secret places of the stairs –
the congregation of the lost men, the broken men,
the men sans hair, sans teeth, sans everything.

I cannot bear to keep them anymore,
these secrets of the secret places of the stairs,
nor dare I speak them
even though you question me incessantly,

“Speak! Why do you never speak?”

I never speak because I lost my tongue
where the dead men left their bones
and the living pick at them.

I dare not speak
except to those who cannot hear,
who have no ears to hear,
but hide in fear
among the secret places of the stairs,
squatting in the dust
and muttering their prayers
to a black god in a blacker sky
surrounding a dead moon
on a still night

in the secret places of the stairs.

http://www.jewcy.com/post/poem_2

“Interview with Dr. Sholem Stein”

-atgate231

From The Rock by T. S. Eliot, Section 1

Silence! and preserve respectful distance.
For I perceive approaching
The Rock. Who will perhaps answer our doubtings.
The Rock. The Watcher. The Stranger.
He who has seen what has happened
And who sees what is to happen.
The Witness. The Critc. The Stranger.
The God-shaken, in whom is the truth inborn.