Artists are traditionally resistant to labels.
quote by Patti Smith
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Washed Away Under Work Loads
artists feel frustrated
when achieving not
when producing art not
not realizing images
in shifting vision mind
artists should
be producing art
no time for cooking
no time for cleaning
no time for hair cut
artists should not
not be able to keep up
with fermenting ideas
rain weather changes
haunting wake up calls
not creating art
is wasting artistic souls
is wasting artistic lives
in dry season droughts
withering artistic minds
work income human activities
life necessity farming for wages
dependent on salary climates
fifty sixty wage slave hours
is change devastating for artists
this drought no time for artistic activities
is crop failure starvation of artistic minds
leading to artistic suffering on massive scales
droughts are caused by lack of fertility rains
extended over long periods of wage slave times
slight brief rains slight artistic showers
is normality artistic not enough spring rains
to ground absorb artistic evaporated minds
artist is dehydrated lacking soul rejuvenations
plants animals need sustaining life waters
artists need self generated creativity waters
least art dies death of artistic dehydrations
art is main ingredient in artistic food chains
plants die from lack of water therefore animals
eating these plants will also die in drought cycles
artists true artists deprived of art wither drought dies
in mind soul lacking artistic flowering rejuvenations
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Labels
i seem to hate labels,
that defind who i am,
you can't hide from them,
they only seem to defind you,
most of my life,
labels became a pain in the butt,
being different,
from the time i was little,
can you understand?
what it is like to be a kid,
who is different?
other kids don't understand,
why you are the way you are,
it's hard to explain,
most of the time you feel alone,
nobody want to have an open mind,
it like i'm not from here,
people seem to like you,
for all of the wrong reasons,
hard to tell who your true friends are,
because nobody want to be an out cast,
we so stuck on labels that defind who we are,
but, ever though that not all we are,
we feed it power to take over our minds,
it hard to change,
what you believe is true,
yeah the world uses labels,
why else do we feel over powered?
but, what else can we do?
besides change the way we think,
easier said than done,
when ever since you were little,
labels just became who you are,
how do you break a habit,
you want nothing to do with?
because every single day,
there seem to be a new label,
that defind who i am.
poem by Mona Martinez
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The Work Resistant Man
The knockers pigeon hole him as the work resistant man
And they say he has never worked and that work not in his future plan
And that he's one of those people who is softened from welfare
Just one of the bone lazy his type are everywhere.
But Mrs Blake the old age pensioner with them would not agree
He built her garden fence for her and his services were free
She could not afford to pay him but he said that is okay
And she will tell you men like him are very rare today.
On old John the octogenarian the years now taking toll
He cannot afford to pay for to mow his grass due to circumstances beyond his control
But the so called work resistant man he works for him for free
And John will tell you that there is no greater man than he.
He works for poor aged people who struggle to get by
And he never asks for money he is that sort of a guy
And though to work for wealthy factory boss not in his future plan
He is not what you would call a work resistant man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Bestowers Of Transformative Vision
pathos suffering passion
ripe within bodily experience
pathos of culture artistic expression
artists the 'I give birth to'
shape shifters people creators
bestowers of transformative vision
sentence seen is life vibration alteration
passionate in artistic creation expression
enrichers of web strand seekers beholders
artists hung upon vision quests
artists hung upon life beat heart beats
artists hung upon eyes burning in soul flame
artists historical now you see them now you don’t
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Labels are for filing. Labels are for clothing. Labels are not for people.
quote by Martina Navratilova
Added by Lucian Velea
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By the Fruit You Will Know Them
By the fruit you will know them
Not by the pious labels worn
For actions and words confirm
If a man has been truly reborn.
Labels do not mean anything
When inside content does not match
So never go on with presuming
What you see is true, just watch.
People can carry many labels
Wear masks of odd pretensions
The heart will always show and tell
What's their true spiritual condition.
When the LORD Jesus comes in the end
Each man will be weighed in true Justice
For God knows the ones to whom He will send
Into the punishment of that fiery abyss.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Labels!
they call us poor white folks
'white trash'....
they call poor black folks
'niggers'....
they call poor Hispanic folks
all kinds of names,
'illegal' being the worst!
labels...
people who have too much
at the expense of the rest of us...
well insulated ignorance...
hatreds, that begin with hatred
of the self!
we're not labels!
we're just folks....
breathing, working, dreaming,
trying, doing the best we can....
we deserve the dignity
of being treated as human beings....
labels... hell no!
i'm not your boy, not your slave,
not your inferior...
i am human!
treat me as such!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Only One Religion
What was I fed to believe?
Confine to one religion and live
Believe one God and consider none
Yet I believed there was invisible someone
I traditionally learnt all aspects
It did not teach for any disrespect
Almost all advocated for noble acts
Tolerance to all and respect to facts
At no stage something came out as critical
Almost all views shared were identical
“Love and let others live” was suited as ideal
The message was well conveyed and seemed real
As a child when I turned round to acknowledge
I was bewildered at different stories and failed to manage
Why so many faiths on earth to obey his existence?
When it was a universal line and read as sentence!
Well, I believed divine power had descended on earth
But all had one thing in common … fate with death
They did their job for us and departed
Only we drew lines separately and parted
Neither I would not want some one teach
Not would I expect them in any way to preach
As path to salvation is known or within reach
Only true vision or some thing else is needed to search
Let us believe in two side theory
It is not a blind faith or simple story
It is known fact and not any illusion
We must recognize divine power without any confusion
I would rather bow my head to all directions
Wait for good message to reach for peaceful actions
Let any God guide their faith for world peace
Grant all human beings a way to live with ease
What was I fed to believe?
Confine to one religion and live
Believe one God and consider none
Yet I believed there was invisible someone
I traditionally learnt all aspects
It did not teach for any disrespect
Almost all advocated for noble acts
Tolerance to all and respect to facts
[...] Read more
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Lie And Wait
Inequity solace,
in your driven sate.
Seize your right to earn the same.
She wants it.
How long must we wait,
before they take our side?
Sordid Practice,
engine overheated.
Theres no way to cool.
Turned up on your side,
the one that you choose.
Why should they mind,
scared of what your thinking.
A strong resistant.
Sunday feeling,
under weight of whats to come.
Tired of living under thumb.
She wonders,
why did you say what you said.
Silently living is death.
Shout him down,
its worth it,
no compromises on this.
Turned up on your side,
the one that you choose.
Why should they mind,
scared of what your thinking.
Scared of what your thinking.
She wonders,
How long, have we been senseless.
So tired and pensive.
Instead of stand up,
stand to the side.
Feel a strong resistant
song performed by Quicksand
Added by Lucian Velea
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World Tb Day,2012
(Part of celebrations at IRT PMC, Perundurai)
A hundred years ago, Koch found
The bacillus causing TB,
That gave the world's scientists the ground
To find the drugs as remedy.
Then, TB was a pandemic,
And was called ‘Consumption' that killed
The high and low, as all turned sick
And sanatoria all filled.
Most people feared the ‘phthisis' much;
And treatment was by good food, air;
And nurses gave the magic touch
Of kindness, tender loving care.
The bacilli by droplets spread
To lungs, and every body part;
The person melted, ridden-bed -
A downhill course right from the start!
Then came the anti-TB drugs
That inhibited growth of rod;
A prolonged course thus healed the lungs:
A two year treatment looking odd!
A hundred years from then, today,
Disease is rampant in third world,
As many people huddled stay;
HIV heralds ‘Abscess Cold'!
There is a cure for TB now,
As DOTS and DOTS PLUS can save most;
Unhalted stays the disease, oh,
As people die or it turns worst!
Resistant strains emerge out fast,
Though patients can be healed at home;
No more the disease looks aghast,
As ‘six-months' treatment is welcome!
Yet, millions continue to die,
Despite new drugs and early finds
Of cases, testing that can't lie,
And cures are rather very high!
The war against TB must wage;
The dreaded disease must be stopped;
No one shall die in any age;
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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Treatment-Resistant Depression
I have been treated for depression
but my symptoms have as yet to improve me.
I think,
I may have have treatment-resistant depression.
Taking an antidepressant or going through
all of that psychological counseling.
What (psychotherapy) puts me through,
I am ill at ease
then comes some latter I date your depression.
Unlike most people
whom for not most if not all are such people.
This treatment for treatment-resistant depression.
When standard treatment was never enough.
Flakes of snow leave white claws and dark marks.
Before I was born
and the world knew dark matter,
I was left such like you to ponder it all in depression.
They may not help much at all,
to improver your fears of depression.
And why are your symptoms.
May turns back into June.
Will summer improve only to keep it like winter comes back.
From mild to severe
and may require more help
as summer becomes fall leads back to winter.
Where have all the snow cones gone?
Up the hill
down the slope where I lead you back up into depression.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Uncritical semantics is the myth of a museum in which the exhibits are meanings and the words are labels. To switch languages is to change the labels.
quote by Willard Van Orman Quine
Added by Lucian Velea
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As far as being on a major label, some labels get it and get what they have to do, and some labels don't. I don't think the label I'm on necessarily gets it, but I think over time they're gonna have to.
quote by Talib Kweli
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I was always looking to record, but how much I actually pursued it was another thing. The major labels weren't that interested in me, and the smaller labels didn't have any money to do anything.
quote by Dan Hicks
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An Abc Of Inner Peace
inner peace: a to z (© Raj Arumugam, September 2008)
Inner peace is effortless, as it’s always there within.
One just has to see it.
And once one truly sees this inner peace – not with words or just
intellectually, but actually see this inner peace within – it is one’s, always;
no one takes away that…
Nothing and no evil and no violent force or even the most difficult
of circumstances in one’s life can remove that inner peace that one
sees within; but let one see this not as a word, or as a phrase
but as an actuality.
Feel that peace, see that inner peace and let it radiate always – for it is
the harmony within each and it is always one’s own.
A
Let amity be your constant companion….Be at peace with all beings, equally at peace with those near and those far, and thus walk hand in hand with amity as in a bounteous garden…
B
Be mindful of your blessings always…To be alive, to breathe in fresh air;
and to be with the family and the companionship of good fellow-human
beings; and the kindness of strangers; and the creatures of this world
and the flowers that bloom, and to have a place in this marvelous planet
of ours….all these too are blessings….
There is a life of the body in the domain of the physical, and
the legitimate needs of the body are just as important as
one’s inner needs…
[...] Read more
poem by Raj Arumugam
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By Unmarked Graves....
i read the labels of soup cans,
the poetry of mechanized food.
while children starve in the back seats,
of cars up on blocks.
and cell phones pray with neon glow,
to the souls of the fathers
buried in unemployment lines.
heartless bastards wave numbing flags,
guarding the border, masks and rifles cocked.
bars on the windows of pregnant schools,
where freedom unravels with sterile yawns.
the fields are quiet, bodies decompose...
crows pick fruit from trees long dead.
microwave Jesus's fill plastic bowls
with fingers severed from forgotten hands.
live or die, most choose death!
young lovers taunt roaches on motel walls.
the wheels of justice groan in the heat,
and darkness erect, prophesies.
the labels of soup cans,
and the brim of old hats!
leaving only tongues left naked
by unmarked graves!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Less Thought to Accomplish
It would be wonderful to leave tags and labels,
On everyone.
To ensure that having a satisfaction is done.
And those tags and labels never move in time.
Remaining in our minds as something that takes,
Less thought to accomplish.
But so grateful we are when the ease of it is found.
It would be wonderful to claim people are what we say.
And from our narrow perspectives they would stay that way.
To perfect a game that is safely played,
In a world getting more complexed everyday.
And everyday there seems to be disappointments made,
When nothing we pigeon-hole fits properly in its place.
And we become stressed to locate a depiction that conveys...
Just what those limits are that comforts our consciousness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Surfaced Emptiness
I close my eyes...
And no boundaries appear.
I open them and quickly see...
Restrictions that are limited.
And labels placed,
That are believed.
Although unclear...
To one who perceives.
I feel emotions,
But taught them not to express.
I am confused by those,
Who have open conversations.
But only to address,
A surfaced emptiness.
I close my eyes...
And no boundaries appear.
I open them and quickly see...
Restrictions that are limited.
And labels placed,
That are believed.
Although unclear...
To one who perceives.
I question with answers expected.
Although I am told,
Curiosity killed the cat.
But if cats have nine lives to live...
Why should my questions,
Threaten death like that?
I am not a cat.
I want to learn!
And that's a fact.
I've stumbled and fell,
To my knees that were scraped.
Most of what I've comprehended,
Has been done by making mistakes.
And if 'censoring' teaches anything at all...
It teaches that one man's truth,
Could get him exclusively blackballed!
How hypocritical can the expression be...
'Do as I say!
And not as I do! '
Mean to today's youth...
On pursuit,
To living lives wholesomely!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Pleasure. Book II.
The Argument
Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if wealth and greatness can produce it: begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings; the luxury of music and feasting; and proceeds to the hopes and desires of love. In two episodes are shown the follies and troubles of that passion. Solomon, still disappointed, falls under the temptations of libertinism and idolatry; recovers his thought; reasons aright; and concludes that, as to the pursuit of pleasure and sensual delight, All Is Vanity and Vexation of Spirit.
Try then, O man, the moments to deceive
That from the womb attend thee to the grave:
For wearied Nature find some apter scheme;
Health be thy hope, and pleasure be thy theme;
From the perplexing and unequal ways
Where Study brings thee from the endless maze
Which Doubt persuades o run, forewarn'd, recede
To the gay field, and flowery path, that lead
To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease:
Forsake what my instruct for what may please:
Essay amusing art and proud expense,
And make thy reason subject to thy sense.
I communed thus: the power of wealth I tried,
And all the various luxe of costly pride;
Artists and plans relieved my solemn hours:
I founded palaces and planted bowers,
Birds, fishes, beasts, of exotic kind
I to the limits of my court confined,
To trees transferr'd I gave a second birth,
And bade a foreign shade grace Judah's earth.
Fish-ponds were made where former forests grew
And hills were levell'd to extend the view.
Rivers, diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cascades in pleasing tumult roll'd,
Or rose through figured stone or breathing gold.
From furthest Africa's tormented womb
The marble brought, erects the spacious dome,
Or forms the pillars' long-extended rows,
On which the planted grove and pensile garden grows.
The workmen here obey the master's call,
To gild the turret and to paint the wall;
To mark the pavement there with various stone,
And on the jasper steps to rear the throne:
The spreading cedar, that an age had stood,
Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood,
Cut down and carved, my shining roof adorns,
And Lebanon his ruin'd honour mourns.
A thousand artists show their cunning powers
To raise the wonders of the ivory towers:
A thousand maidens ply the purple loom
[...] Read more
poem by Matthew Prior
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Flowers Are The Clocks Of The Light
Flowers are the clocks of the light.
Spring grey. Clouds. Half smoke, half crocus.
The rivulets are carrying last November's leaves away
like long lines of ants bearing the gnostic gospels
of the snow thawing into a spiritual life of water
back to the shrine of their colony
to be chewed over by the divines
masticating the mystery into something
like an edible orthodoxy of mystic impiety.
My heart is a bruised apple with purple blood today.
Neither passionate, nor aloof, clinging
nor unwilling to let go if that's what I must do.
One foot on shore. One in a lifeboat.
O what funny bridges we make as if
we were trying to balance the axis
of heaven and earth upon our nose
like the calves of giraffes learning to walk on stilts.
But there you go. What are you going to do?
That's the way it seems.
You've got to look up and stick your neck out
if you want to graze on the stars.
Same way with dreams. You've got to
risk waking up if you don't want to lose them.
I've wandered off from the carnage
of my doomed holy war of one with my heart
into a peaceful valley where I can sit
on a glacial skull of prophetic rock
and sheathe my sword in the wound I drew it from
like fire from the ore of a crippled dragon
that walked with a limp out of the war
weary of winning these honourable surrenders
like Jacob wrestling with the angel in the way.
Soft here. Easy on the eyes. A gentle touch.
The air on the verge of tears and the trees
about to see who's a skeleton and who's a survivor.
Who made it through the winter, and who
dreamed they died in their sleep and did,
and who, the ghost amputee of the limbs they lost.
I have a mindful heart and a warrior's compassion
for lost lovers, friends, suicides, martyrs, heretics,
neglected gods, defrocked saints, those
who fell half crazy on the broken panes
of their own clarity, committing hara kiri
on the splintered plinths of their own love-crossed stars.
One-eyed artists riding a pair of red bicycle glasses
in a high-wire act without safety nets
like a dropp of dew on a spider's thread
[...] Read more
poem by Patrick White
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