GO FOR THE GOLD
Many thanks to Bryan Kenneth Jackson a fellow Brooklynite,
Currently attending the University of Massachusetts at Amherst
Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc.
Alpha Kappa Chapter
for supplying the missing third verse to this one.Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced or cried aloud;
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody but unbowed.Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
W. E. Henley, 1849-1903
The Twins
In form and feature, face and limb,
I grew so like my brother,
That folks got taking me for him,
And each for one another.
It puzzled all our kith and kin,
It reached a fearful pitch;
For one of us was born a twin,
Yet not a soul knew which.
One day, to make the matter worse,
Before our names were fixed,
As we were being washed by nurse,
We got completely mixed;
And thus, you see, by fate's decree,
Or rather nurse's whim,
My brother John got christened me,
And I got christened him.
This fatal likeness even dogged
My footsteps when at school,
And I was always getting flogged,
For John turned out a fool.
I put this question, fruitlessly,
To everyone I knew,
"What would you do, if you were me,
To prove that you were you?"
Our close resemblance turned the tide
Of my domestic life,
For somehow, my intended bride
Became my brother's wife.
In fact year after year the same
Absurd mistakes went on,
And when I died, the neighbors came
And buried brother John.
Henry S. Leigh
From Fatal Interview
Night is my sister, and how deep
in love,
How drowned in love and weedily washed ashore,
There to be fretted by the drag and shove
At the tide's edge, I lie—these things and more:
Whose arm alone between me and the sand,
Whose voice alone, whose pitiful breath brought near,
Could thaw these nostrils and unlock this hand,
She could advise you, should you care to hear.
Small chance, however, in a storm so black,
A man will leave his friendly fire and snug
For a drowned woman's sake, and bring her back
To drip and scatter shells upon the rug.
No one but Night, with tears on her dark face,
Watches beside me in this windy place.
By Edna St. Vincent Millay
The O.J. Trial, as told by The Cat in the Hat
I did not kill my lovely wife.
I did not slash her with a knife.
I did not bonk her in the head.
I did not know that she was dead.
I stayed at home that fateful night.
I took a cab, then took a flight.
The bag I had was just for me.
My bag! My bag! Leave it be!
When I came home I had a gash.
My hand was gashed from broken glass.
I cut my hand upon a glass.
A broken glass did cause that gash.
My friend, he took me for a ride.
All through L.A., from side to side.
From North to South, we took a ride.
But from the cops, I could not hide.
And now we've been here for a year.
A year! A year! Just sitting here!
The DNA, the hem and haw.
The circus-hype the viewers saw.
A year! A year! Just sitting here!
And lawyers charge by the hour, I fear.
If I'm found "Guilty," I'll appeal.
Appeal! Appeal! I will appeal!
I'll wheedle and whine; I'll cut a deal!
If it's "Not Guilty," so glad I'll feel.
And this little Diddy suggested by OJ's statement to Judge Ito
that he could not, would not, kill Nicole and Ron.
(Ito's lines are in capital letters.)
DID YOU DO THIS AWFUL CRIME?
DID YOU DO IT ANYTIME?
I did not do this awful crime.
I could not, would not, anytime.
DID YOU TAKE THIS PERSON'S LIFE?
DID YOU DO IT WITH A KNIFE?
I did not do it with a knife.
I did not, could not, kill my wife.
I did not do this awful crime
I could not, would not, anytime.
DID YOU LEAVE A POOL OF BLOOD?
DID YOU DROP THIS BLOODY GLOVE?
I did not leave a pool of blood.
I can not even wear that glove.
I did not do it with a knife.
I did not, could not, kill my wife.
I did not do this awful crime
I could not, would not, anytime.
I did not do it, so I say
It's not my blood or DNA
-ORIGINAL AUTHOR UNKNOWN
This was one called,
"Incident of the French Camp" and was a ballad of Napoleon.You know we French stormed
Rattisbon. A mile or so away,
On a little mound Napoleon stood on our storming day.
With head outthrust, you fancy how, legs wide, arms locked
behind,
As if to balance the prone brow, oppressive with his mind.
When off on yonder hillside came a rider bound on bound
That's about where I lose it, but I remember something about the description of Napoleon when he realizes the young soldier is shot; something about "a film, the mother eagles eye when her bruised eaglet breathed-"
Your wounded. Nay, his soldier's
pride touched to the quick, he said,
"I'm killed sire", and his chief beside, smiling, the
boy fell dead.
* * *
MANY THANKS TO THOMAS
VAUGHAN JONES
FOR SUPPLYING US THE REST OF THIS ONE
You
know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming day,
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.
Just as perhaps he mused 'My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall, ' -
Out
'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect -
So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
'Well,'
cried he, 'Emperor, by God's grace
We've got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal's in the market-place,
And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed ; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes;
'You're wounded!' 'Nay,' his soldier's pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
'I'm killed, Sire!' And his chief beside,
Smiling the boy fell dead.
Robert Browning (1812-1889)
AND NOW YOU KNOW THE REST OF THE STORY!
Mountain Greenery
In a mountain greenery
Where God paints the scenery,
Just two happy people together
While you love your lover let
Blue skies be your coverlet,
If it rains we'll laugh at the weather.
And if you're good,
I'll go for wood,
So you can cook,
While I stand look-Ing.
Beans could get no keener re-
Ception in a beanery;
Bless our mountain greenery
Home
by Lorenz Hart
Thou Swell
Thou swell, thou witty, thou
sweet, thou grand,
Wouldst kiss me pretty, wouldst hold my hand;
Oh thine eyes are blue, too, what they do to me;
Hear me holler I choose a sweet lollapalooza in thee.
Thou'd look so rich in a hut for
two;
Two rooms and kitchen, I'm sure they'd do;
Give me just a plot of, not a lot of land, and
Thou swell, thou witty, thou grand.
by Lorenz Hart
| |||
| Next | Random | List | Join |