901

There is a house in New Orleans,
They call the Rising Sun,
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And god I know....I'm one.

Gosh, Katrina's in the headlines
Boo hoo! I wanna cry!
No, it's no fun being lonely underwater,
...Yes, in The Superdome am I!

902

Old Friends, sat on their park bench like bookends;
A newspaper blown through the grass,
Falls on the high toes of the round shoes of the Old Friends.
Old Friends, Winter companions the old men,
Lost in their overcoats waiting for the sunset.
The sounds of the city sifting through trees,
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the Old Friends.
Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy.
Old Friends,memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears.
Old Friends.

(Simon and Garfunkle)

Young Kids, sat watching banned Eminem vids,
A soda-pop left on the floor,
Spills on the brown soles of the Nikes on the Young Kids.
Young Kids, their life scanned through half-open eyelids,
Lost in that near-truth world of a chosen cartoon;
The sound of their cd's blasting smash hits,
Shatters the quiet in the households and the gardens.
Can you imagine them years from today?
Hellraisers, riff-raff, felons, fiends;
How terrible, washed-up at seventeen...
Young Kids, selflessness yet to be formed there,
Memories still to be born there.
Young Kids.

(Grrrrrrrr!)

903

Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobble stones.
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy.

Hello lamppost,
What cha knowing?
I've come to watch your flowers growing.
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in' doo-doo,
Feelin' groovy.

Got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.

Speed up, you move too slow.
You've got to hurry, go go go!
Just looking lively, that's the ticket.
Act as if yer playing cricket!

Paul and Art, now,
What cha thinkin'?
I've got to wonder
What cha been drinkin'?
Simon, Simon (moron, fool), loafing's only folly.
Dootle-doo, now,
Let's move snappy!

Got so many deeds to do (for the film!) and promises to keep,
and miles to go before we sleep.
Old Mr. Morning will go forsworn.
Doodle-de-doo,
Get a move on!

904

Remove each and every Jew who is in Palestine, okay?
Jah! Si! Si! Khrap! Evet! Ney! Ydw! Men Leo! We! Ere! Iva! Oc! Ano!
[Yes! in Estonian, Spanish, Thai, Turkish, Korean, Welsh, Lao, Creole, Kurdish, Maltese, Occitan, and Croat]

Ahoy! Ship the Moslems who are in Europe back to Arabia, huh?
Oh Ne! Bo! Bo! Pu Shi! Pu Shi! Hmar Te! Hmar Te! Siyo! Le! Cha! Kaore! Awa!
[No! in Czech, Lao, Chinese, Burmese, Swahili, Maltese, Zulu, Maori, and Creole]

Authority:
http://www.freelang.net/expressions/yes.html
http://www.freelang.net/expressions/no.html

905

The Children's Bill of Rights

One day, my son came home from school
With this grin upon his face.
Thought he was smarter than me,
His Mom, and could put me in my place.

HE SAID:
Guess what? I learned today about
THE CHILDREN'S BILL OF RIGHTS.

IT SAID:
I don't have to clean my room,
I don't have to cut my hair.
No one tells me what I have to eat,
My freedom of speech is guaranteed.
It's my choice of what I read, or watch on TV.

I have freedom of religion, too,
And regardless of what you say,
I don't have to ask your God for help, no way.
I DON'T HAVE TO PRAY.
I can wear an earring in my ear
And if I want, can pierce my nose.
It is my choice if I so desire,
To tattoo Satan's numbers across my toes.

AND if you ever try to spank me,
I will charge you with the crime,
And I can back up all my charges,
With the marks on my behind

HE SAID:
Don't expect to touch me,
This body is only for my use,
Not for your hugs and your kisses and stuff,
That's just another form of child abuse.

HE CONTINUED with:
Now don't fill my head with morals,
Like your mama did to you,
That's what's called mind control,
And it's quite illegal too!

Mom, I have these children's rights,
You can't do a thing to me,
I can call Children's Services,
They're better known as CSD.

Matriarchal Commitment: A Mom's Dilemma

My first instinct was to show
This child of mine the door!
But this was my chance to teach him
A lesson andÉ oh, much more.

The next day we went shopping,
I'd called the CSD: they said they didn't
Mind or care if I bought him scummy shoes,
Or this year's matching modern pair.

I SAID:
There is no time, or snacks
To munch. Follow the CSD, and
Take advice. Do us all a favor by
Making YOURSELF a lunch.

So what if you're too hungry
To wait till dinnertime?
We are having liver and onions,
'Cause it's a favorite dish of mine.

HE ASKED
Can we stop to find a movie,
And watch it on the VCR?
Oh my child! I sold the one in your
Room and purchased new tires for my car.

Fact is I also rented out your room,
As you don't strictly need the bed.
CSD says all that's required of me
Is to put a roof above your head.

But I can buy the childish clothes,
And healthy foods you eat.
Spare cash sums I have left, mine,
Will buy me something really neat.

It's no more eating after we shop,
No more joking along the way.
I, too have a BILL OF RIGHTS,
That comes into effect today!

Oh, what is the matter darling,
Are you crying? Praying down there on
Your knees? Are you asking God for help?
WHY NOT CALL THE CSD?

906

[A Wilde Magic Word Square

Below is Oscar Wilde's 'Sonnet on Approaching Italy', which is anagrammed in 2 stages:

First, it's anagrammed into a paraphrase dealing with Venice, with a certain additional constraint: the letters of the odd-numbered words in every three lines from line 2 onward comprise the words of a magic square.

Then, the paraphrase itself is anagrammed into the magic word square thus:

The initial letters (red), which could be read both horizontally and vertically, are placed into a grid;

Line 1 (blue) is anagrammed into an explanatory line;

The rest of the letters (black) are anagrammed into the definitions of these words, and also note their usages in Wilde's poems and prose.

Enjoy!]

I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned,
Italia, my Italia, at thy name:
And when from out the mountain's heart I came
And saw the land for which my life had yearned,
I laughed as one who some great prize had earned:
And musing on the marvel of thy fame
I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.
The pine-trees waved as waves a woman's hair,
And in the orchards every twining spray
Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam:
But when I knew that far away at Rome
In evil bonds a second Peter lay,
I wept to see the land so very fair.

I quiver as I find the coast's fine gem:
Sweet Venice, which fills eyes with awe and tears,
A wealth of honoured beauty from which stem
Main works of art that many would hold dear.
When stars in heaven light a day's dim end
I pause to praise San Marco's dreamy view;
To Pala D'Oro I then my way wend -
Earth's most loved piece lures, and endures as new.
And while I gaze beneath one pure, round moon
I halt, my breath weak so that I may hear
A fine draft that emerged to play a tune,
And nearby ballad by a gondolier...
I'm drawn to fume and suffer when I think
That what evokes a night of thrills might sink!

907

Blowin' in the wind by Bob Dylan

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Oh Man by A N.O. Man

How many hurricanes must hit New Orleans
Before men admit they're the boss?
Yes, 'n' how many times must those damn levees break
Before Mr. Bush gives a toss?
Yes, 'n' how many claims must a householder make
With no money seen for his loss?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

What kind of a planet will our kids see
Without any ice caps 'n' oil?
Yes, 'n' why do the States divide man by race
Yet expect people all to be loyal?
Yes 'n' why do tax breaks reward the well off
When the poor receive none as they toil?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How does that Bush man justify war
And how does he feel he can sleep?
Yes 'n' many an Arab hit as a man
An enemy sown, now they reap;
Yes 'n' anyone beaten by mean FEMA men
May feel abandonment deep.
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind