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Henry Fielding

When children are doing nothing, they are doing mischief.

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When Children Lose Their Innocence

The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing
And all children are untainted in their life's early Spring
But by the time they've reached their teens their innocence they've lost
And the experience that we gain from age always comes at a cost.

When children lose their innocence they lose their gift of joy
The joy that comes from innocence in every young girl and boy
Compared to us young children see life quite differently
Of the guilt of corruption they are completely free.

I have such happy memories of when I was a boy
My childhood years were happy years but time just seemed to fly
And the experience that I've gained from life it came at a great cost
For I lost something beautiful when innocence I lost.

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Patrick White

Everybody Knows Why The Children Are Hungry

Everybody knows why the children are hungry.
Everybody knows why the poor give up dreaming
and the rich can't sleep without surveillance.
Everybody knows why this young girl can't read
and the Taliban throw acid in her face.
Everybody knows why this young boy
at twelve years old
feels about as heroic as a statistic
and looks at the future as if
he were already a has-been.
Everybody knows why there's a rifle in his hand.
Everybody knows why
there are people washed up
on the streets of our cities
as if a great ship of state had gone down
like a garbage barge off the coast of New Jersey.
Everybody knows why
women are being sexually colonized
in the Democratic Republic of the mineral-rich Congo.
Everybody knows their atrocities
like serial killers and baseball cards.
You read a lot of existentialism
that prefers existence to essence
but you still find it hard to picture the abyss
that defines being as a special case of nothingness:
look into a dead child's eyes
look into a dead child's mind
look at what she cherished about life
like a cosmology all of her own
a myth of origin
a reason for stars
rejected by the metaphysics of the flies
that gather like punctuation marks all over her eyes.
Everybody knows
why the truth is veiled in spider-webs
that are maintained like political systems
who let the few who know how to spin silk out of their ass
eat everyone.
New eyes for old lamps
here comes this year's candidates
like autumn to the ballot-box
like worms to a windfall of apples
to improve the lives of illegal immigrants
by privatizing concentration camps.
Everybody wants to stick their thumb in plum pudding
and say what a good boy am I
and everybody forgets who they stole it from
and everybody regrets that they didn't get caught
in time to do it all over again
as they address themselves like greed
to a nation of gluttons
about what to do about the hungry
at the back door of the world
living on the leftovers
of liposuction clinics for the rich.
Three quarters of the world's resources on your plate
taken out of other people's mouths
and their children washing your table-cloth
to get the worst of the blood stains out
and you wonder why
you're threatened by the fact
that people are hungry
and all they can see in your indifference
is their destiny.
Hate manipulates
the economics of fate
and the harvest moon is eclipsed
by the shadow of your dinner plate
all over the world tonight
as you go to bed full and happy
you're rich enough to have values
that can be bought and sold
in a free market.
Hell's reserved a table
in the dark corner
of an exotic place for you
that serves just those
who were exalted
by great all-consuming souls
that knew how to keep faith with a menu
that had children with cannibal soup on it.
And if hell doesn't exist anymore
because so many atrocities have put it to shame
and peace is just another black hole
in the eye of an approaching hurricane
then may your soul be subjected
to the same vicious clarity
that cooked the books
like bestsellers in heaven
that always had a happy ending
like a tax return on charity.
The Holy Ghost was first
a Greek lawyer
a paraclete
an advocatus
someone who would speak up for you
who would intercede on your behalf
after you died
and went before
Rhadamanthus Anubis God or provincial court
to see if there was a feather's-weight of good in you.
Now the Holy Ghost is a campaign manager
for a Christo-Fascist rightwing conservative think tank
with the i.q. of a snakepit
running for the office of God
by denoucing charity
as a socio-economic liberal fraud
and a green policy in Eden
as the beginnings of a police state
that will take away your right
to be psychopathically delusional about clarity.
Granny Smith Macintosh or Golden Delicious
Satan invited Eve
to take a big bite out of the apple
just for a little variety
but the neocon Nazis have taken it
a step further than that
and stuffed themselves
like maggots
into the vicious crabapples
they've stewed under the crust
of their North American piety
like a taste of downhome cooking you can trust.
But trust me
they're lick-spittle ass vacuums
that will be spit out
like something nature abhors.
Everybody knows why the children are hungry.
There are people in the world
whose values are the apple cores
of a trickle-down economy
that begrudges the poor even that.
Everybody knows that the game is fixed
and elections are Mexican pinatas
beaten to a pulp at the ballot box
to keep foreigners out of our customs
like the roots of strange lands out of our food.
Everybody knows
why the world is a dangerous place
and the only thing our children can do
is stick needles in their arms
to stay out of harm's way.
Everybody knows why the old
are left to die alone without dignity
in a world where experience
is a kind of psychological abuse
and wisdom the chronic ambiguity of a victim.
I see a war.
Between those
who have nothing to lose
and the darlings of superfluity
who live off the rest of everything
that belongs to everyone else.
Nasty guerrilla gunboat wars
like blood clots in the collective unconscious
ignited by true believers
on both sides of the fence
with the spontaneity
of improvised explosive devices
and the apocalyptic insights of fanatical drones.
More bang for the buck.
More corporate spin
for those who don't give a damn.
Everybody knows why the planet feels
like a sexually assaulted woman
with no shelters or restraining orders
to hear her appeals for help.
We shut our mouths like doors.
We close our eyes like windows.
We stuff our ears with loud music
to keep from hearing
how she screams our names out loud
as if there were still some heroes left
among all her shameless children
that weren't legendary
for their sins of omission.
The planet is one body.
The planet is one mind.
If your little toe gets gangrene like Somalia
and you do nothing about it
given time for the disease to progress
California will go blind
and Tokyo go into cardiac arrest.
If a child loses an eye
that's one less star in the sky
for the lost to find their way back by.
If a student is killed for an idea
by the Neanderthals of creationism
standing up for a time-honoured ice-age
against the proponents of global warming
that's proof that humans
were created in the image of God
like a missing link in the brain drain of evolution
that never flushes the think-tank
after it's done its business
like other species that have gone extinct
abusing their own awareness.
But I've got a way out of the argument.
It isn't evolution or creationism
that governs the direction of events
among all living things on the planet.
It's eliminationism.
Murder in the name of self-defense.
Genocide in the name of purifying the race.
Theft in the name of giving back.
Lying as a way of upholding the truth.
Rape as a way of making love.
Iron pyrite as the standard of the Golden Rule.
Do unto others before they do unto you.
Jesus overthrew the benches
of the money-lenders in the temple.
The Vatican's got a bank.
Wisdom as the think-tank of the fool.
When the meaning of life is insignificant
so is its lack of meaning too.
Compassion as heartfelt as a foreign policy.
Desecration as the true aesthetic of celebrity.
Horror takes a short-cut to fame
and leaves the long way home to the hero.
War as a way of imposing peace.
Starvation poverty disease clean water air and arable land
beaten like old ploughs
into the new weapons
of a corporate arsenal.
Nike owns the rain in Bolivia
and Coca Cola's
the corporate Magna Carta of Belize.
You're the nobody everybody's watching
like the someone they should be afraid of
who's watching you.
Profligate variety the vacillating substitute for choice.
The bride wore black at the wedding
to celebrate her marriage to an oilslick
like moonlight that landed a big eclipse
and the mutant sex life of a polluted fish.
There's honey in the orchards that broke their vows
and money in doing what you hate
for the best of reasons.
One half the world is grass.
The other half is grazers.
There are children who suckle
at their dead mothers' breasts
like Hathor the cosmic cash-cow
when she crashed on Wall Street
like a fall in the price of meat.
The promised land of milk and honey
is a profit margin on the edge of the sea
looking for big returns on its spiritual dividends.
The ends don't justify the means anymore.
The means are the ends.
Like the children
that are dynastically slaughtered
to keep Herod from having bad dreams
about the birth-rate of immaculate Palestinian virgins.
Lord won't you send me an M-16.
My friends all have Mausers
and AK-47s.
The conspiracy theorists
of the justifiably paranoid
look at a tree
and see an underground arboreal organization.
The crazy try to keep the mad from going insane.
Everyone's dining with Claudius on poison mushrooms.
Nero waits in the wings
like the Elvis Presley of emperors
and sings of all the things
he's going to do to the Christians
with a blast from the past
and a little number
he took from the beast
that rose to six six six on the charts
for drowning their children
and drinking the blood of a god
who rose from the dead on the third day
like Marianne Faithful making a comeback.
And everybody knows why the children are hungry.
Everybody knows the big bad wolves
caught up to their toes
and blew their house down
and ate them like little piggies.
Everybody knows where the cradle crashed
and how many millions of children there were on board
when the wind blew the treetops out like candles.
But everybody plays dumb and mute and stupid
and says they're still looking for the black box
to determine what caused the tragedy
and possibly in the future
make sure that it won't probably happen again.
Everybody knows there are maggots in Armani suits
pimped out like butterflies
to misrepresent themselves to the people
in the voice of an experienced apple
who knows how to make the hard choices
when it gets down to taking a bite out of the budget.
Corruption always persecutes virtue
for falling into fiscal arrears
when it should have known
like any good snakeoil salesman
it just couldn't keep up
with the luxurious lifestyle of its tears.
Mirrors within mirrors within mirrors
and not one them bright enough
to reflect the dark truth
of why children just hundreds of miles away
from a supermarket and a health plan
look like the fossils of pterodactyls
in the last stages of late Triassic starvation.
All skin and bones
with big eyes like bat kites
tangled in the powerlines
of the economic spider grid of a world
that separates the flies
the gods kill for sport
from the bureaucrats and politicians
that deny any knowledge of their crimes
in a marsupial court
where everyone else
is in everyone else's pocket.
Wanton boys pull the wings off the fly.
The fly kills them with germs.
Everybody knows why their heart squirms
when they shake out the garbage can
like a cornucopia full of worms
that have grown fat and chubby as commas
on the flesh of illiterate children
that didn't live long enough
to learn to count the dead
without using their fingers and toes.
The tooth fairy's turned into a terrorist
that puts homemade explosives
under the pillows of stone
the children lay their heads down on
shaking in their deathbeds
to scream in their dreams about things
that were better left unsaid.
Everybody knows why the damage to our children
is always a collateral
and never a capital offense.
A prosthetic footnote to a roadside bomb.
A small pale blossom of a face
in the cosmic expanse
of an adult-sized tomb
that casts monstrous shadows
on the walls of the room
she sleeps alone in
without any sign from heaven
that anyone knows she's dead.
All her lucky stars
swept like tragic dust under the bed
where she's hiding
from everyone who knows why
and doesn't come looking.

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What to say when you are hurt

Do they hurt you today?
In your mind? In your heart?
What is the color of this blood
Flowing from your mind
This bleeding heart
Because they hurt you again
She slapped you he kicked you
And they insulted you
You knelt for mercy
They laughed and they left
You alone in your pains
Do not clench your hands to
Form these fists
Do not let your heart be
Conquered by anger
Do not let your mind be poisoned
By the thoughts of revenge
What did God tell you when you are hurt?
Forgive them for they do not know
What they are doing.
Do you remember that? Do you understand that?
Now you must stand and be counted.
You have the name, you are God’s child.
You have something again to tell him
Why not? Now rest your head on his arms.

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When Riches Are Hand-Me-Down

If looks and appearance,
Were an indicator that ensured one's wisdom...
There would be very few,
Suited and tied with careful images...
Dressed to impress.

There is a difference between,
Researching with studying to produce an effect.
Than having an ability to quickly purchase,
An etiquette to reproduce an elegance...
That is far removed from an intelligence...
Assumed to be obtained but nonexistent.

And when riches are hand-me-down,
Homelessness and poverty...
Gives a boost to those who believe,
Everything they have has been earned...
Like others reflecting their quality of life,
With a doing of it to be amongst the thieves.
And concentrating on this...
Can be interpreted as having intelligence.
But common sense is rarely an ingredient in the mix.

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Children are today.

Children are today, Too outspoken for their age,

Some of their attitude stinks, and they have too much rage;

When we as adults grew up years ago, learnt to behave,

We respected the older folk, and no drugs did we crave.


Some children today, through abuse, and neglect,

Are hurting inside them, what they need is hard to detect;

They need guidance, love, understanding and care,

They need to be shown that someone will be there.


Children today, are expected to grow up too quick,

Taught to much, far too early, so wrong things they'll pick;

And as they grow, let them grow slowly at their own pace,

Let them be children while they can, and give them space.

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Children Are Our Future

We often hope and pray
That our children find the right way

How they think
How they act
How they handle things in life

Like adults they have two paths to chose
The one for good the other for bad

All we can do
Is give them love
And support

All we can do
Is make sure they know
How much we care

How they chose their paths
Would be their own choice

How they behave
Would be their own choice

Should they try drugs?
We can only ever be there
To pick up the pieces

Should they get hurt?
We can only ever comfort them
When they are in need

As Whitney us to say

I believe the children
Are our Future
Teach them well and
Let them lead the way

Show them all the beauty
They posses inside
Let the children's laughter
Remind us how we use to be

Food for thought don't you think!

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The Children Are The Future Of Humanity

The children are the future of Humanity so teach the children well
And as their teacher your knowledge of Life and Nature to them you ought to tell
And teach them to respect our Mother Earth the one who feeds us all
And in years from now to you they will be grateful when memories of you they will recall.

The children are the future of Humanity but for guidance on you they do depend
They need you as a mentor and they need you as a friend
Children are innocent and easily led astray good role models they do need
That you have been chosen as their mentor to you is a great honour indeed.

Children who do not have good role models in life are easily led astray
That they do not receive a fair go does seem so sad to say
Far too many young children become victims of abuse
For wronging children in any way there cannot be an excuse.

As the teacher of the children you've been chosen for to lead
And though of good mentors and teachers we seldom hear about or read
That you do your best as a teacher for you enough of success
To young people that you mentor you bring hope and happiness.

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When Children Pray

Children only kneel when some incident causes great fear
Children only cry when they feel alone and threatened
Children live by a strong faith that is scare these days
Children will bare any type of pain if they feel it will ease the hate
And those times when children pray those times are when god can do nothing but, obey
Children the ask for happiness and they are the light of day
Yet we let millions of these treasures starve for attention
Children look at war but, look away
Its times like these when children prayers save the day
In this world of lost souls what more could one wish for than just pure hope
They are bright as stars that glitter
And all they shed is grace
With sticky fingers from exploring the juices mother earth bares
And their innocence laying bare
And simple truths spew from their rosy lips
Children pray but only when they can feel the end is near
And their love is a sudden rush that only causes forgiveness
Perfect smiles they wear upon their face
And children never hold any disgrace
Light shallow dreams of making the world a better place
When children kneel that is for which they will pray
Children only pray when in doubt
And their voices portray light fears
All a child wants to see is the new day break
And when that thought is threatened children kneel and pray

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Dogs Are Shakespearean, Children Are Strangers

Dogs are Shakespearean, children are strangers.
Let Freud and Wordsworth discuss the child,
Angels and Platonists shall judge the dog,
The running dog, who paused, distending nostrils,
Then barked and wailed; the boy who pinched his sister,
The little girl who sang the song from Twelfth Night,
As if she understood the wind and rain,
The dog who moaned, hearing the violins in concert.
—O I am sad when I see dogs or children!
For they are strangers, they are Shakespearean.


Tell us, Freud, can it be that lovely children
Have merely ugly dreams of natural functions?
And you, too, Wordsworth, are children truly
Clouded with glory, learned in dark Nature?
The dog in humble inquiry along the ground,
The child who credits dreams and fears the dark,
Know more and less than you: they know full well
Nor dream nor childhood answer questions well:
You too are strangers, children are Shakespearean.


Regard the child, regard the animal,
Welcome strangers, but study daily things,
Knowing that heaven and hell surround us,
But this, this which we say before we’re sorry,
This which we live behind our unseen faces,
Is neither dream, nor childhood, neither
Myth, nor landscape, final, nor finished,
For we are incomplete and know no future,
And we are howling or dancing out our souls
In beating syllables before the curtain:
We are Shakespearean, we are strangers.

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When You Are Gone

it is only
when you are gone
when you
cannot be reached
anymore
that they begin
to know
your presence
as an
irony

a field of absence
they now think of you as the wind.

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When You Are Running Through The Streets

When you are running through the streets
There is no hope for you
You have got to pick yourself up
Isn't there something better for you to do
There is nothing but trouble
If you continue to stay within the vicinity
If you do not make this move now
No one will show you any sympathy

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When Lessons Are Learned

Hush.

'But...'

No 'buts'
Just hush.

'There is a...'

No there,
Just hush.
And hurry up.
I'm late enough as it is.
Hopefully,
I can catch up to the bus...
So I wont have to take you,
All the way to school.

'Good luck.
They came to tow the car away...
5 minutes ago.'

They WWWHHAATT?

'I tried to tell you...
But you told me to hush.'

When did you ever listen to me?

'Mommy?
How do I know when lessons are learned?
And which ones should I ignore? '

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When You Are With Me

When you are with me,
time has no capacity to schedule us.
When kisses fall like rain,
there is no pain, no sorrow
and only joy
with no way to time it.

Even in this winter of my despair
where age is catching up with me,
where life bangs me down to the ground,
nothing of this world is around
when your eyes form new worlds
which I in their beauty see.

The blowing leaves, the icy breeze
all passes me, while the summer of your smile
falls with life on my heart.

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My Eyes When Closed Are Yours

No I don't know how you feel,
When you're alone.
No I don't know what to say,
Or do...
While we're miles apart.

All I want and wish is this for you,
To come to realize...
My eyes,
When closed...
Are yours to keep.

No I don't know how you feel,
When you're there alone.
No I don't know what to say,
Or do...
At times like this.

All I want and wish for you,
To come to realize...
My eyes when open,
Never leave your side.
And when closed in my dreams,
They're on you forever...
To keep.

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Beware! Children Are Watching Our Activities

Children are back from school
Grand-children are back from school;

They come home and feel hungry
Their mother is offering egg fried rice and curry;

I ask them frequently to give me a handful,
The dear ones refuse to spare even a spoonful;

I ask them repeatedly,
They refuse bluntly and rigidly;

They questioned me one day, reluctantly!

Have we 'ever' asked you 'any day' to give us
a gulp of what 'you drink' in the night daily;

Beware! Children are watching our activities
and teach them manners and their duties!

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Let Us Live, My Lady, When We Are Young

Tomorrow I may die young lady,
And reduced to dust may be lost in dust:
Therefore let us live when we are young
And taste of life what it offers us:
The morrow may offer nothing to us,
It is the present that matters most
When you are young and budding like a rose.
Tomorrow this beauteous figure may fade
Time my lady shall not wait
And meanwhile youth shall pass.
Let us live, my lady, when we are young;
When my heart aches at missing your sight;
When with warmth I can clasp you in my arms;
When you are rich in your figure
When your touch sends ripples through my body
When your kiss makes life worth living,
Let us live, my lady, when we are young.

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When You are in love

when you are in love care it,
cause once in your lifetime you can find it.

when you are in love protect it from horrible storms,
because they may take it away beyond the hills.

when you are in love hold it and tenderly care it.
like a mother that cares for her child.
cause the love needs care to grow more and more every single day.

when you are in love hold it like a very valuable diamond in your hands.
and never let it slips among of your fingers.
cause love is the most valuable thing that we ever have.

when you are in love don't loose it fight forit.
cause the love is more precious then any wealth.
the life is so empty place when you are not in love.

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When Obstacles Are Identified

When obstacles are identified in your life...
There is no need to keep them around as souvenirs.
They are obstacles.
Get rid of them.
Whether they are mental or physical.
Moving and breathing on two legs or not.
Tolerate them or keep them blocked out,
If you wish.
As if they did not exist!
And yet you allow them to persist.

When obstacles are identified in your life...
There is no need to keep them around as souvenirs.
Or classify them as friends.
Or habits you can not do without!
To keep you hemmed in with your life knocked out.
When obstacles are identified in your life...
Get rid of them.
Befriending them is not advisable.
Unless you suffer from a need to bleed?
And that's sad.

Not hopeless!
But still sad.

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Children Are Not Possessions

Your children are not your children;

They are the sons and daughters life
longing for itself

They come through you but not from you,
Though they are with you they're not possessions

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts

You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls live in the house of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit, even in your dreams

You may strive to to be like them,
But seek not to make them like you
For life goes backward and lingers not with yesterday

You are the bows from which your children,
As living arrows are cast forth

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the Infinite,
And God Himself fills you with His Might that His
Arrows may go swift and far

Kahlil Gibran

(Interpretation by ROTMS)

Read more writings by ROTMS at http: //rotms.blogspot.com

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Now it is winter when trees are skeleton

Now it is winter when trees are skeleton,
stripped bare and have no more leaves
as if they are lifeless
and the weather is grey as if

there’s only chill and sieving rain
with banks of covering fog
that cuts the sun and light,
into a cold pitiless world

and then you first past and come to me
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet
where you shake your hair out, like a dog does with rain
in a blizzard of spray, getting it out of your hair

and I know that our time is only burrowed
when you stretch against me, cuddly and slim, just you and me alone
and you are hot like a ray of light that unexpectedly comes down,
we are one in passion, in a moment

after which I remove the hairclips from your hair,
your eyes are gleaming like shining pieces of steel
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
and bliss descends between us.

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