Sandburg Videos

with Pat Disabato and Dave Wierzal (Sandburg H.S. Football Coach)

Author: UGVC Added: Fri, 19 Jun 2009 09:55:48 -0800 Duration: 0The UGVC Carney finally analyzes the famed 'Jizz in my Pants' vid featuring Justin Timberlake, Andy Sandburg, Jamie-Lynn Sigler, and Molly Sims! Carney, calm down... Distributed by Tubemogul.

Author: UGVC Added: Fri, 19 Jun 2009 09:55:48 -0800 Duration: 0The UGVC Carney finally analyzes the famed 'Jizz in my Pants' vid featuring Justin Timberlake, Andy Sandburg, Jamie-Lynn Sigler, and Molly Sims! Carney, calm down... Distributed by Tubemogul.

Author: UGVC Added: Fri, 19 Jun 2009 09:55:48 -0800 Duration: 0The UGVC Carney finally analyzes the famed 'Jizz in my Pants' vid featuring Justin Timberlake, Andy Sandburg, Jamie-Lynn Sigler, and Molly Sims! Carney, calm down... Distributed by Tubemogul.

The UGVC Carney finally analyzes the famed 'Jizz in my Pants' vid featuring Justin Timberlake, Andy Sandburg, Jamie-Lynn Sigler, and Molly Sims! Carney, calm down... Distributed by Tubemogul.

Heres a virtual movie of the great William Blake reading one of my most favourite of his poems a "Holy Thursday". Blakes poem like several others he wrote cries out against the injustice of mass poverty all around him at the time. "Holy Thursday" from "Songs of Experience" was written in 1794. This poem is also about the English church's ceremony on Holy Thursday, but the tone is a bit more depressing. The last line of the second stanza, "It is eternal winter there," is describing how they see the ceremony from their experienced point of view. This is very different from the image created in "Holy Thursday" of "Songs of Innocence." The last stanza of the poem adds to the analogy of the ceremony to winter by saying that when the sun shines and the rain falls, there can never be hunger or poverty. Obviously, the sun doesn't shine and the rain doesn't fall in winter, which means that, according to this poem, there is hunger and poverty among the children; a much different image from the one seen in its companion poem. William Blake (November 28, 1757 -- August 12, 1827) was an English poet, painter, and printmaker. Largely unrecognized during his lifetime, Blake's work is now considered seminal in the history of both poetry and the visual arts. Kind Regards Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2009 Holy Thursday(Songs of Experience).................. I s this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reducd to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song! Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor, It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine. And their fields are bleak & bare. And their ways are fill'd with thorns It is eternal winter there. For where-e'er the sun does shine, And where-e'er the rain does fall: Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall. Author: poetryanimations Keywords: poem animation william blake sandburg whitman donne keats james shirley poetry poesie poeme poet Added: April 21, 2009

Heres a virtual movie of the great John Keats reading "Ode to a Nightingale" "Ode to the Nightingale" was written in May 1819 and first published in the Annals of the Fine Arts in July 1819. Interestingly, in both the original draft and in its first publication, it is titled 'Ode to the Nightingale'. The title was altered by Keats's publishers. Twenty years after the poet's death Kind Regards Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2008 Ode To A Nightingale a poem by John Keats My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,-- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep? Author: poetryanimations Keywords: poem animation keats sandburg whitman shelley byron wilfred owen dickens rossetti posie poetry poet Added: April 21, 2009

1838 samuel morse demonstrated morse code, 1942 pan am first commercial flight around the world, carl sandburg born 1878 writer author, kahlil gibran born 1883 poet, earl scruggs born 1924 jazz musician, dizzy gilespie jazz trumpet player musician died 1993, theodore roosevelt american united states president died 1919, 1777 george washington set up winter quarters during the american revolution in morristown, 1936 porky pig debut, cuddle up day 2008, on this date in history january 6, inboxnews