Paul Gauguin "Tahitian Women On The Beach"

Sandro Botticelli "Venus And Mars"

Henry Mancini "Theme From Peter Gunn"

PETER GUNN THEME

George Gershwin "Porgy And Bess"

Porgy and Bess

Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky "Swan Lake"

Swan Lake Ballet (Music)

Ludwig Van Beethoven "Moonlight Sonata"

Moonlight Sonata

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart "41st Symphony"

Mozart Symphony 41 K 551 - Molto Allegro

Johannes Sebastian Bach "The Well Tempered Clavier"

Glenn Gould - Fugue in E Major from The Well Tempered

Maya Angelou "Momma Welfare Roll"

Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.

Her jowls shiver in accusation
Of crimes cliched by Repetition.
Her children, strangers
To childhood’s TOYS, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people’s property.

Too fat to whore,
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bureaucrats for her portion.

‘They don’t give me welfare.
I take it.’

Dylan Thomas "Elegy"

Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cool kind man brave in his narrow pride
On that darkest day. Oh, forever may
He lie lightly, at least, on the last, crossed
Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow
Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
Above all he longed for his mother’s breast
Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,
I prayed in the crouching room, but his blind bed,
In the muted house, on minute before
Noon, and night, and light. The rivers of the dead
Veined his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his unseeing eyes to the roots of the sea.
(An old tormented man three-quarters blind,
I am not too proud to cry that He and he
Will never never go out of my mind.
All his bones crying, and poor in all but pain.
Being innocent, he dreaded that he died
Hating his God, but what he was was plain:
An old kind man brave in his burning pride.
The sticks of the house were his; his books he owned.
Even as a baby he had never cried;
Nor did he now, save to his secret wound.
Out of his eyes I saw the last light glide.
Here among the light of the lording sky
And old blind man is with me where I go
Walking in the meadows of his son’s eye
On whom a world of ills came down like snow.
He cried as he died, fearing at least the spheres’
Last sound, the world going without a breath:
Too proud to cry, too frail to check the tears,
And caught between two nights, blindness and death.
O deepest wound of all that he should die
On that darkest day. Oh, he could hide
The tears out of his eyes, too proud to cry.
Until I die he will not leave my side.)

Robert Forst "Fire And Ice"

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Louis Stevenson "The Swing"

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown--
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!