Written January 1718 in the Chiosk at Pera, overlooking Constantinople
Give me Great God (said I) a Little Farm
in Summer shady, & in Winter warm
where a cool spring gives birth to a clear brook
by Nature slideing down a mossy Rock
Not artfully in Leaden Pipes convey'd
Or greatly falling in a forc'd Cascade
Pure & unsully'd winding throu' ye Shade.
All bounteous Heaven has added to my Praier
a softer Climate and a purer Air.
"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
Farewell to Severn shore.
Terence, look your last at me,
For I come home no more.
"The sun burns on the half-mown hill,
By now the blood is dried;
And Maurice amongst the hay lies still
And my knife is in his side.
Close by those meads, for ever crown'd with flow'rs,
Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs,
There stands a structure of majestic frame,
Which from the neighb'ring Hampton takes its name.
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom
Of foreign tyrants and of nymphs at home;
Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,
Dost sometimes counsel take--and sometimes tea.
Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort,
To taste awhile the pleasures of a court;
'Tis of a wild Colonial Boy, Jack Doolan was his name,
Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine.
He was his father's only hope, his mother's pride and joy,
And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial Boy.
Come, all my hearties, we'll roam the mountains high,
Together we will plunder, together we will die.
We'll wander over valleys, and gallop over plains,
And we'll scorn to live in slavery, bound down with iron chains.
There's a palace in Florence, the world knows well,
And a statue watches it from the square,
And this story of both do our townsmen tell.
Ages ago, a lady there,
At the farthest window facing the East,
Asked, "Who rides by with the royal air?"
The bridesmaids' prattle around her ceased;
She leaned forth, one on either hand;
i am queer.
i am my school’s gsa
i am asking people’s pronouns
i am a sign on my teachers door that says “all are welcome here”
i am a couple who can’t hold hands on the street without being hate crimed
i am a protest against supreme court justices who live in a world where 7.1% of the population they swore to protect cannot live their lives being who they are unless they are behind the bars of a jail cell and don’t think to do anything to change it
i am the singular pride flag swaying lonely in the wind of a small suburban town in connecticut
i am millions of people who just want to be left alone but who’s mere existence spawns twitter debates with 80-year-olds
i am a romance novel with cartoon drawings of two women on the cover
i am mistranslated bible verses used in arguments against queer rights
What qualities make a ‘successful man’,
Is it the tambor of his voice,
Some lofty goals, a lifelong plan,
A steering hand, his knowing choice.
Can compassion play a part
Or is that interpreted as meekness;
Is it wrong to show a heart
Without labeling it as weakness?
A little small world, is the one that we live in.
It’s a very little small world in the midst of the space.
It’s a little world, with little room.
It’s a small world of impending doom.
But that’s not the tale I wanna tell,
It’s the tale of all that went well.
So strap on your seatbelt, and enjoy the ride,
cause nothing beats history and standing with pride,
for this little small world, that we call our home.
They said they would do it
And done it they did,
But little they know
They’ve lifted the lid.
The kettle is boiling,
The heat never more,
I’m ready and waiting
To even the score.
In a tango with the sky,
Along the symphony of the wind,
Higher and higher Icarus flew.
In shade of a cloud
Above, swayed by the wind,
Mocking it's impotence, his pride grew.
Defiant Icarus refused to comply.
'Tear through.' The voice of pride maligned.