The Special Category

Anagrammy Awards > Voting Page - Special Category

An optional explanation about the anagram in green, the subject is in black, the anagram is in red.

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Arther Freed and Nacio Brown

I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeling
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for love

Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I'll walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Singing, singing in the rain
In the rain.

I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeling
I'm happy again
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
I'm singing, singing in the rain
In the rain
In the rain

Her Singing Royal Majesty

I'm singin' in a reign,
I'm singin' in a reign,
I just watched that wonderful movie again,
Dame Helen played me,
So triumphantly,
The Oscar she won and a BAFTA or three.

So, now they've all seen,
That I'm still a good bean,
I'm forthright and funny,
Not haughty or mean,
I trip down Park Lane,
Back in favour again,
Thrivin', singin' as I reign,
As I reign

I'm singin' while I reign,
I'm singin' while I reign
Though Charlie, Prince Philip
And Will are inane;
That Harry's insane,
Is he sniffing cocaine?
Yet I'm thankful 'n' happy in a reign.
I won't wane
Through the pain.

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Tony Blair was visiting a primary school, when they were in the middle of a discussion about words and their meanings. The teacher asked the Prime Minister if he would like to lead the discussion on the meaning of the word "tragedy".

So the illustrious Labour leader asked the class to give him an example of tragedy. One little boy stood up and offered: "If my best friend who lives on a farmyard is playing in the field and some tractor runs him over and kills him then that would be a tragedy".

"Actually, no," said Blair, "...that would just be an accident."

One little girl raised her hand: "If a school bus carrying fifty children drove over a cliff killing everybody inside would that be a tragedy, then?"

"No, I'm afraid not," explained the Prime Minister, "that's just what we would call a great loss. The room went silent. No other children volunteered. Tony searched the room.

"Look, is there not someone here who can give me an example of tragedy?"

Finally, at the back of the classroom, a small boy raised his hand. In a quiet voice he said: "Please sir...if the airplane carrying you and Mrs Blair was struck by a 'friendly fire' missile and blown completely to smithereens that would be a tragedy".

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Tony Blair. "That's absolutely right. And can you please tell me why that would be a tragedy, young man?"

"Well," says the boy, " has to be a tragedy, because it wouldn't be a great loss and it probably wouldn't be an accident either!"

One day Tony Blair, who was out jogging along the side of a river, accidentally fell backwards from the bank, and, alas, crashed headfirst downwards into the cold waters.

Three schoolboys playing by the river saw the accident. Without a second thought, the boys waded into the water and pulled the careless Prime Minister out of the river, soaking wet. After drying himself off and cleaning himself up, an ashamed and rather embarrassed Blair breathlessly exclaimed to the schoolmates: "Well done, boys! Today, you saved the life of the elected Right Honourable Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland...a heroic, unselfish achievement! It's extremely important that you all get a each deserved it. You name it, and I shall give it to you!"

"Well, I'd like some new trainers...some Nike Air Turbos," the first boy said.

"Of course. I shall go and buy them myself. In fact, allow me to present them to you in my Downing Street headquarters!" gabbled the grateful Blair.

The second boy said, excitedly, "Please Tony, I'd very much like a ticket to go on vacation in Disneyland Florida!"

"Fantastic! I shall personally hand it to you," said Mr. Blair, beaming.

"I want a wheelchair" said the third boy.

"Certainly! No problems, I shall personally get one,, just a're not handicapped!", Blair exclaimed, aghast.

"Well, no...but I will be when my dad finds out that I saved you from drowning, you useless little bastard!"

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Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann

The Serenity Prayer

God Grant Me...

One: The serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

By nature or nurture,
I am who I am.
A perfect example,
Of imperfect man.

I can't change who I am,
Yet why do I try,
To be someone I'm not,
And live out a lie?

If I try to change history,
To annul these regrets,
I find time's eternal,
It never forgets.

I can't change other people,
It's unfair, when I try,
Everyone shuns me,
They say that I lie.

I can't alter the planet,
Or bring back the dead.
So I really should stop now,
And focus instead

On picking my battles,
And doing my best,
To be a good person,
Despite all the rest.

Two: The courage to change the things I can.

So, life can't be changed,
Pray, what should I do?
To stay fair to myself,
Respectful and true.

Should I air harsh opinions,
Or flatly refuse,
To express selfish values,
And annul sinful views.

I endeavour to change,
Only every day,
An infuriating fear,
Carries virtues away.

With weary neurosis,
In anxious despair,
I yearn for a reason,
It sure is unfair.

Now, is everyone nervous
Of change in their lives?
Or wary of ruin
When burden arrives?

Hurray, I can change,
And free my dismay.
And all I may ask,
Is assured bravery

Three: The Wisdom to know the difference

Should I yearn to be older?
Should I try to be meek?
Should I yearn to be bolder,
Whenever I speak?

Should I be less resentful?
Would I be less like me?
Should I be less distrustful.
Of those that I see?

Should I try to be joyful?
Should I try to be droll?
Should I yearn to be playful,
And refrain from control?

Should I be less obsessive?
Would I be less in love?
Should I be less submissive?
Would my partner approve?

Should I yearn to be thankful,
For this life here on earth?
Or try to be hopeful,
That there is life after death?

Should I answer these questions,
That cause everyone strife?
Or ignore these frustrations,
And get on with life?

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Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.


Sorrow maimed your soul like a strong slim hammer.
A pistol flitted across your temple, and all mortal thoughts
Vanished for eternity.

None there to view you fall away. An ancient canvas,
If a half-forgotten one. Your incongruous wholeness
Disquiets us all with memento mori.

For we are all related:
Common stock of this basic yet timeless soil
On which you softly rest.

All day your savage agony
Scorched within your mind. But no man saw
That nearby yet unheard civil war.

A final wordless cannon-shot summoned no townsmen. Later we found you
Sprawled half-naked on the vast earth.
Your ragged wound yawns. The westward sky

Fast fading into black, we lose sight of
The calm spatter of your blood;
Dark drops sinking like bullets.

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[A sonnet by Alfred Lord Tennyson anagrammed into another sonnet, which contains 2 acrostics relating to Tennyson: His name is spelled down the 1st letters, and reading down each 4th word results in one of his best-known quotes.]

If I were loved, as I desire to be,
What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
And range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear, if I were loved by thee?
All the inner, all the outer world of pain
Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine
As I have heard that, somewhere in the main,
Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine.
'T were joy, not fear, claspt hand-in-hand with thee,
To wait for death--mute--careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, tho' the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see.

An Ode of A Healing Heart

As woes abound, 'tis harder to suppose
Life will get better soon, but fairly worse,
From bitter grief to far more hated foes;
Right now, I have to suffer through that curse.
Euphoric, I had loved her, I declare,
Despite the differences, and then, it seems,
That heat was lost in our abrupt affair,
Eternal no more than a fleeting dream.
No, I will never touch her face with glee
Nor guide her to our bed when she feels blue -
Yet I shall have a thought to strengthen me:
She once had loved me, while our love was true.
One raw pain at a time will fade, and then,
New joys will all appear in me, again.

["'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."]