Adie Pena

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Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

The New Colossus
Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

THE OLD WOUNDED WEEP
(Hidden From A Damnable Tormentor)

"Ellis Island isn't that far away,"
She uttered with tears in her eyes.
The blood maggots oozed from my side
As the cruel moon was on the rise.

The torn images, the decomposed mettle
Unexpectedly soaked in wretched misery
Endure the loathsome, common damage
Of a quiet hostage's oppressive memory.

Frightful flogging coerces hardship;
Languishing, or whether in pain ...
Insufferable, the awkward attempts wither
But the smallest scars will remain.

"Ellis Island," she echoed in my ear,
"Remember rises in our horizon bright.
Take my hand, we'll soon be there.
Your sweet freedom and comfort is in sight."

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WHO ARE YOU?

Composed by the guitarist Peter Dennis Townshend, the song is the title cut on The Who's "Who Are You," the last album released before the death of ill-fated drummer Keith John Moon from an accidental overdose of prescription drugs. The hard-rocking song became one of the British band's biggest and greatest American hits, jumping to number fourteen in the U.S. Billboard charts.

Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?

I woke up in a Soho doorway
A policeman knew my name
He said you can go sleep at home tonight
If you can get up and walk away

I staggered back to the underground
And the breeze blew back my hair
I remember throwin' punches around
And preachin' from my chair

Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Cause I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

I took the tube back out of town
Back to the rollin' pin
I felt a little like a dying clown
With a streak of Rin Tin Tin

I stretched back and I hiccupped
And looked back on my busy day
Eleven hours in the tin pan
God, there's got to be another way

Who are you?
Ooh wa ooh wa ooh wa ooh wa ...

Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?

I know there's a place you walked
Where love falls from the trees
My heart is like a broken cup
I only feel right on my knees

I spit out like a sewer hole
Yet still receive your kiss
How can I measure up to anyone now
After such a love as this?

Just a short postscript: The album version includes an extra verse compared to the much shorter single. Additionally, a "lost verse" mix of the song was released on the very recent reissue of "Who Are You," with a completely different second verse:

I used to check my reflection
Jumping with my cheap guitar
I must have lost my direction,
Cause I ended up a superstar

One night I was in the boardroom
Affected by the human race
You can learn from my mistakes,
But you're posing in the glass again.

WHO ARE YOU? is the theme music for the hit CBS show "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation," an Emmy Award-winning television series that follows a team of Las Vegas forensic scientists as they unearth the venomous, posthumous details behind unusual, kinky deaths and cryptic, murky denouements.

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Dr. Gilbert Arthur "Gil" Grissom, Ph.D. (William Petersen): Our crack night shift team supervisor with a degree in biology from UCLA. [Note: Thinker. Workaholic. With credibility.]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Catherine Willows (Marg Helgenberger): The keen blood (hemorrhage?) spatter analyst. Knockout is a second-in-command appointee. [Note: Unobtrusively beauteous face. Toothsome ex-stripper.]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Warrick Brown (Gary Dourdan): The funky audio-video analyst cum authenticator. [Note: A former "unlucky" gambler.]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Nicholas "Nick" Stokes (George Eads): The key hair and fiber analyst. [Note: Former baseball player with a degree in criminal law.]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Sara Sidle (Jorja Fox): The outspoken, unhappy materials and element analyst. [Note: Weepy, heavy outlook. Was with the San Francisco coroner.]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Gregory "Greg" Sanders (Eric Szmanda): Formerly the lab's peppy DNA technician; became a full-fledged CSI. [Note: Audiophile. Funny, hotfooted phenomenon.]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Dr. Albert "Al" Robbins (Robert David Hall): The eerie head county coroner. [Note: A stuffy, mature baldhead (needs toupee?). Monotonous. "Weak-kneed" (interpreted as "amputations").]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

David Hodges (Wallace Langham): The pesky, talkative, noisome lab technician. [Note: A wee kooky. Reeks of unctuous ingenuity.]

(Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Det. Capt. James "Jim" Brass (Paul Guilfoyle): The by-the-book, bureaucratic (yet tweedy) chief of the unit then. [Note: Went back meritoriously to the police homicide department here.]

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JUNE
Shi Tao
Translated by Chip Rolley

My whole life

Will never get past "June"
June, when my heart died
When my poetry died
When my lover
Died in romance's pool of blood

June, the scorching sun burns open my skin
Revealing the true nature of my wound
June, the fish swims out of the blood-red sea
Toward another place to hibernate
June, the earth shifts, the rivers fall silent
Piled up letters unable to be delivered to the dead

JOIN

Since our youth

We've been hesitant to join,
Join the rebel Fathers
By the battleground
Of yellowed emancipation.
Tell all lulled men ...

Join the crusade versus the starved oppression;
The horrible myth underhandedly levelled, rebuked.
Join the tempestuous war against tyranny,
While we shed subservience for autonomy.
Join the widespread fight for freedom,
The warmth of independence, slowly upheld ... triumphant.

JUMP

All our lives

We've feared to Hop, Skip and Jump.
With divine Liberty butchered anew,
They slew Freedom's content.
"Jump!" went our hearts
After an eerie Fall.

Jump into one tiny Hellhole to evade
The sinewy Stranglehold of Hades;
Jump over at the bloody barbed wire fence
To loosely untie Delusion and see Distress;
Jump through the inherently unholy barricade
And bolt from the unenlightened wretchedness in History.

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SEPTEMBER SONG
by Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill

Well, it's a long, long time
From May to December.
But the days grow short,
When you reach September.
And the autumn weather
Turns the leaves to flame
And I haven't got time
For the waiting game.

And the days dwindle down
To a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days
I spend with you.
These precious days
I spend with you.

YESTERDAY'S SUPER ELECTION SONG
(Yes, we measured untrustworthy ad pieces!)

Wow, it's a huge hubbub
'Tween McCain and Obama
Well, it gets perplexing
With this seedy drama.
I'm steadfastly unstrung,
Unhappy; kept this shame.
I'm underemployed;
Need we eye the blame?

And months are degraded
To a regretted two
October, November
And in a few months,
I'll vote for who?
In a few months,
I'll vote for who?

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As this is my last Special for the year, the author's name is hidden in the first letter of the last word in each line.

SNOWFLAKES

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

           Oh, fresh, heaven-sent

Frostbitten experience!
Harsh, never-ended
Numbing reverence
Had kissed the yearly
Windows of white-ful,
Ah, absolutely Arctic;
Too odd, delightful.

Incandescent, sleek
Wooded wonderment;
Offhandedly oppressive,
Foreshadowed, tho' resplendent.
I'd think hard; I'm thankful
Of a smoothened, harmonious,
Open and honest life,
Never over-cautious.

As noiseless as nature
I nodded, withstood gracefully;
A soft twisted swoosh falls
Oh, so effortlessly!
That colorless look
Has become lovelier;
So obsessive, obstinate.
Ask bitter, saddened Winter.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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