You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Poem
Everybody's going for those kinky boots, kinky boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
It's a manly kind of fashion that you borrowed from the brutes,
Borrowed from the brutes,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots.
Fashion magazines say wear 'em,
And you rush to obey like the women in a harem.
Full length, half length,
Fully fashion calf length,
Brown boots, black boots,
Patent leather jackboots,
Low boots, high boots,
Lovely lanky thigh boot,
We all dig those boots.
Everybody's crazy for those kinky boots, kinky boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
And whether you're in evening dress or bathing suits,
You wear boots, boots, kinky boots.
There are twenty million women wearing kinky boots, kinky boots,
Puss in boots,
Footwear manufacturers are gathering the fruits,
Gathering the fruits,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots.
Advertising men say try 'em,
And you all run amok like a flock of sheep to buy 'em.
Sweet girls, street girls,
Grumpy little beat girls,
Square girls, cool girls,
Sexy little schoolgirls,
Maiden aunties,
Mayfair debutantes,
They all dig those boots.
Everybody's rushin' for those Russian boots,
Prussian boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
Both: Cover up those slender little tender foots with kinky slinky,
Leather is so kinky,
Come and get those kinky boots, boots, kinky boots.
Patrick Macnee and Honor Blackman
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
It's a manly kind of fashion that you borrowed from the brutes,
Borrowed from the brutes,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots.
Fashion magazines say wear 'em,
And you rush to obey like the women in a harem.
Full length, half length,
Fully fashion calf length,
Brown boots, black boots,
Patent leather jackboots,
Low boots, high boots,
Lovely lanky thigh boot,
We all dig those boots.
Everybody's crazy for those kinky boots, kinky boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
And whether you're in evening dress or bathing suits,
You wear boots, boots, kinky boots.
There are twenty million women wearing kinky boots, kinky boots,
Puss in boots,
Footwear manufacturers are gathering the fruits,
Gathering the fruits,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots.
Advertising men say try 'em,
And you all run amok like a flock of sheep to buy 'em.
Sweet girls, street girls,
Grumpy little beat girls,
Square girls, cool girls,
Sexy little schoolgirls,
Maiden aunties,
Mayfair debutantes,
They all dig those boots.
Everybody's rushin' for those Russian boots,
Prussian boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
Both: Cover up those slender little tender foots with kinky slinky,
Leather is so kinky,
Come and get those kinky boots, boots, kinky boots.
Patrick Macnee and Honor Blackman
Mael, 50th ment.
omfg i've just noticed this, maeloch has lost it, run away be very afraidMaeloch wrote:Everybody's going for those kinky boots, kinky boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
It's a manly kind of fashion that you borrowed from the brutes,
Borrowed from the brutes,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots.
Fashion magazines say wear 'em,
And you rush to obey like the women in a harem.
Full length, half length,
Fully fashion calf length,
Brown boots, black boots,
Patent leather jackboots,
Low boots, high boots,
Lovely lanky thigh boot,
We all dig those boots.
Everybody's crazy for those kinky boots, kinky boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
And whether you're in evening dress or bathing suits,
You wear boots, boots, kinky boots.
There are twenty million women wearing kinky boots, kinky boots,
Puss in boots,
Footwear manufacturers are gathering the fruits,
Gathering the fruits,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots.
Advertising men say try 'em,
And you all run amok like a flock of sheep to buy 'em.
Sweet girls, street girls,
Grumpy little beat girls,
Square girls, cool girls,
Sexy little schoolgirls,
Maiden aunties,
Mayfair debutantes,
They all dig those boots.
Everybody's rushin' for those Russian boots,
Prussian boots,
(boop, boop)
Kinky boots,
Both: Cover up those slender little tender foots with kinky slinky,
Leather is so kinky,
Come and get those kinky boots, boots, kinky boots.
Patrick Macnee and Honor Blackman
Nothing in the world can take the place of persistance. Talent will not: nothing more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not: unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts.
Persistance and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.......
El Grapplo RR10+ ML10 Warden :sheepskip
Silken RR3 Chanter :banghead:
Toothless
Persistance and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.......
El Grapplo RR10+ ML10 Warden :sheepskip
Silken RR3 Chanter :banghead:
Toothless
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
Nothing in the world can take the place of persistance. Talent will not: nothing more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not: unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts.
Persistance and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.......
El Grapplo RR10+ ML10 Warden :sheepskip
Silken RR3 Chanter :banghead:
Toothless
Persistance and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.......
El Grapplo RR10+ ML10 Warden :sheepskip
Silken RR3 Chanter :banghead:
Toothless
-
Gitt
Edgar Allen Poe - The Raven
A good choice
/salute
Rose of all the world - D. H. Lawrence
A good choice
/salute
I am here myself; as though this heave of effort
At starting other life, fulfilled my own;
Rose-leaves that whirl in colour round a core
Of seed-specks kindled lately and softly blown
By all the blood of the rose-bush into being -
Strange, that the urgent will in me, to set
My mouth on hers in kisses, and so softly
To bring together two strange sparks, beget
Another life from our lives, so should send
The innermost fire of my own dim soul out-spinning
And whirling in blossom of flame and being upon me!
That my completion of manhood should be the beginning
Another life from mine! For so it looks.
The seed is purpose, blossom accident.
The seed is all in all, the blossom lent
To crown the triumph of this new descent.
Is that it, woman? Does it strike you so?
The Great Breath blowing a tiny seed of fire
Fans out your petals for excess of flame,
Till all your being smokes with fine desire?
Or are we kindled, you and I, to be
One rose of wonderment upon the tree
Of perfect life, and is our possible seed
But the residuum of the ecstasy?
How will you have it? - the rose is all in all,
Or the ripe rose-fruits of the luscious fall?
The sharp begetting, or the child begot?
Our consummation matters, or does it not?
To me it seems the seed is just left over
From the red rose-flowers' fiery transience;
Just orts and slarts; berries that smoulder in the bush
Which burnt just now with marvellous immanence.
Blossom, my darling, blossom, be a rose
Of roses unchidden and purposeless; a rose
For rosiness only, without an ulterior motive;
For me it is more than enough if the flower unclose.
At starting other life, fulfilled my own;
Rose-leaves that whirl in colour round a core
Of seed-specks kindled lately and softly blown
By all the blood of the rose-bush into being -
Strange, that the urgent will in me, to set
My mouth on hers in kisses, and so softly
To bring together two strange sparks, beget
Another life from our lives, so should send
The innermost fire of my own dim soul out-spinning
And whirling in blossom of flame and being upon me!
That my completion of manhood should be the beginning
Another life from mine! For so it looks.
The seed is purpose, blossom accident.
The seed is all in all, the blossom lent
To crown the triumph of this new descent.
Is that it, woman? Does it strike you so?
The Great Breath blowing a tiny seed of fire
Fans out your petals for excess of flame,
Till all your being smokes with fine desire?
Or are we kindled, you and I, to be
One rose of wonderment upon the tree
Of perfect life, and is our possible seed
But the residuum of the ecstasy?
How will you have it? - the rose is all in all,
Or the ripe rose-fruits of the luscious fall?
The sharp begetting, or the child begot?
Our consummation matters, or does it not?
To me it seems the seed is just left over
From the red rose-flowers' fiery transience;
Just orts and slarts; berries that smoulder in the bush
Which burnt just now with marvellous immanence.
Blossom, my darling, blossom, be a rose
Of roses unchidden and purposeless; a rose
For rosiness only, without an ulterior motive;
For me it is more than enough if the flower unclose.
Rose of all the world - D. H. Lawrence
Cradled between your tender thighs
I lift you to my mouth.
The abundance of your wetness greets me
and my mouth overflows with your warm essence.
Your sweet taste is on my tongue
and your fragrance delights my senses.
No gentle lick this visit.
No bashful cautious approach
For I wish to consume you.
Push against my hungry mouth
As the tip of my tongue slides up the slippery furrow
that welcomes me between rows of delicate pink petals.
Thrust against my generous tongue.
Show me the power of your desire
for my oral caress.
My exploring tongue lifts the hood
and finds your smooth firm pearl.
You squeal in that unique way,
signaling that I have found your special spot.
I harden in response.
My jaws protests what my open mouth provides
but I am unrelenting in my gift,
intent only on your fulfillment.
I feel your body tense,
and you are quiet now...
Concentrating... bearing down.
Soon now my love,
ecstasy approaches.
You push hard and fast against my tongue,
shameless in using me
and I so willingly comply
until you cry out...
and in your satisfaction,
I will find mine,
But mine will be the greater.
Cant think of any normal poems atm just this springs to mind
I lift you to my mouth.
The abundance of your wetness greets me
and my mouth overflows with your warm essence.
Your sweet taste is on my tongue
and your fragrance delights my senses.
No gentle lick this visit.
No bashful cautious approach
For I wish to consume you.
Push against my hungry mouth
As the tip of my tongue slides up the slippery furrow
that welcomes me between rows of delicate pink petals.
Thrust against my generous tongue.
Show me the power of your desire
for my oral caress.
My exploring tongue lifts the hood
and finds your smooth firm pearl.
You squeal in that unique way,
signaling that I have found your special spot.
I harden in response.
My jaws protests what my open mouth provides
but I am unrelenting in my gift,
intent only on your fulfillment.
I feel your body tense,
and you are quiet now...
Concentrating... bearing down.
Soon now my love,
ecstasy approaches.
You push hard and fast against my tongue,
shameless in using me
and I so willingly comply
until you cry out...
and in your satisfaction,
I will find mine,
But mine will be the greater.
Cant think of any normal poems atm just this springs to mind
-= Hib/Prydwen =-
50 Druid
50 Enchanter
50 Warden
50 Nightshade
50 Mentalist
4X Ranger
-= Glastonbury =-
50 Spiritmaster - (Deleted)
Upcoming Heretic!
50 Druid
50 Enchanter
50 Warden
50 Nightshade
50 Mentalist
4X Ranger
-= Glastonbury =-
50 Spiritmaster - (Deleted)
Upcoming Heretic!