George Gordon Byron – Lines to Mr. Hodgson Written on Board the Lisbon Packet

Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,

Our embargo's off at last;

Favourable breezes blowing

Bend the canvass o'er the mast.

From aloft the signal's streaming,

Hark! the farewell gun is fir'd;

Women screeching, tars blaspheming,

Tell us that our time's expir'd.

Here's a rascal

Come to task all,

Prying from the custom-house;

Trunks unpacking

Cases cracking,

Not a corner for a mouse

'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket,

Ere we sail on board the Packet.

Now our boatmen quit their mooring,

And all hands must ply the oar;

Baggage from the quay is lowering,

We're impatient—push from shore.

"Have a care! that case holds liquor—

Stop the boat—I'm sick—oh Lord!"

"Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker,

Ere you've been an hour on board."

Thus are screaming

Men and women,

Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;

Here entangling,

All are wrangling,

Stuck together close as wax.—

Such the genial noise and racket,

Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.

Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain,

Gallant Kidd, commands the crew;

Passengers their berths are clapt in,

Some to grumble, some to spew.

"Hey day! call you that a cabin?

Why 't is hardly three feet square;

Not enough to stow Queen Mab in—

Who the deuce can harbour there?"

"Who, sir? plenty—

Nobles twenty

Did at once my vessel fill."

"Did they? Jesus,

How you squeeze us!

Would to God they did so still:

Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket

Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet."

Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you?

Stretch'd along the deck like logs—

Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!

Here's a rope's end for the dogs.

Hobhouse muttering fearful curses,

As the hatchway down he rolls,

Now his breakfast, now his verses,

Vomits forth—and damns our souls.

"Here's a stanza

On Braganza—

Help!"—"A couplet?"—"No, a cup

Of warm water—"

"What's the matter?"

"Zounds! my liver's coming up;

I shall not survive the racket

Of this brutal Lisbon Packet."

Now at length we're off for Turkey,

Lord knows when we shall come back!

Breezes foul and tempests murky

May unship us in a crack.

But, since life at most a jest is,

As philosophers allow,

Still to laugh by far the best is,

Then laugh on—as I do now.

Laugh at all things,

Great and small things,

Sick or well, at sea or shore;

While we're quaffing,

Let's have laughing—

Who the devil cares for more?—

Some good wine! and who would lack it,

Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet?

Carl Sandburg – Harrison Street Court

I HEARD a woman's lips

Speaking to a companion

Say these words:

"A woman what hustles

Never keeps nothin'

For all her hustlin'.

Somebody always gets

What she goes on the street for.

If it ain't a pimp

It's a bull what gets it.

I been hustlin' now

Till I ain't much good any more.

I got nothin' to show for it.

Some man got it all,

Every night's hustlin' I ever did."

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 38

My love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his mind.

Alas, I was not careful, and it struck your ringing anklets and came to grief.

It broke up into scraps of songs and lay scattered at your feet.

All my cargo of the stories of old wars was tossed by the laughing waves and soaked in tears and sank.

You must make this loss good to me, my love.

If my claims to immortal fame after death are shattered, make me immortal while I live.

And I will not mourn for my loss nor blame you.

Charles Bukowski – A Challenge To The Dark

shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ass
shot like a flower in the dance

amazing how death wins hands down
amazing how much credence
is given to idiot forms of life

amazing how laughter has been drowned out
amazing how viciousness is such a constant

I must soon declare my own war on their war
I must hold to my last piece of ground
I must protect the small space
I have made that has allowed me life

my life not their death
my death not their death...

Edgar Allan Poe – Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of ANNABEL LEE;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love-

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me-

Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we-

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.