Because hypocrisy stinks in the nostrils one is likely to rate it as a more powerful agent for destruction than it is.
quote by Rebecca West
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Related quotes
The Reverend Simon Magus
A rich advowson, highly prized,
For private sale was advertised;
And many a parson made a bid;
The REVEREND SIMON MAGUS did.
He sought the agent's: "Agent, I
Have come prepared at once to buy
(If your demand is not too big)
The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge."
"Ah!" said the agent, "THERE'S a berth -
The snuggest vicarage on earth;
No sort of duty (so I hear),
And fifteen hundred pounds a year!
"If on the price we should agree,
The living soon will vacant be;
The good incumbent's ninety five,
And cannot very long survive.
See - here's his photograph - you see,
He's in his dotage." "Ah, dear me!
Poor soul!" said SIMON. "His decease
Would be a merciful release!"
The agent laughed - the agent blinked -
The agent blew his nose and winked -
And poked the parson's ribs in play -
It was that agent's vulgar way.
The REVEREND SIMON frowned: "I grieve
This light demeanour to perceive;
It's scarcely COMME IL FAUT, I think:
Now - pray oblige me - do not wink.
"Don't dig my waistcoat into holes -
Your mission is to sell the souls
Of human sheep and human kids
To that divine who highest bids.
"Do well in this, and on your head
Unnumbered honours will be shed."
The agent said, "Well, truth to tell,
I HAVE been doing very well."
"You should," said SIMON, "at your age;
But now about the parsonage.
How many rooms does it contain?
Show me the photograph again.
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Old Spense
You've seen his place, I reckon, friend?
'Twas rather kind ov tryin'.
The way he made the dollars fly,
Such gimcrack things a-buyin'--
He spent a big share ov a fortin'
On pesky things that went a snortin'
And hollerin' over all the fields,
And ploughin' ev'ry furrow;
We sort ov felt discouraged, for
Spense wusn't one to borrow;
An' wus--the old chap wouldn't lend
A cent's wuth to his dearest friend!
Good land! the neighbours seed to wunst
Them snortin', screamin' notions
Wus jest enough tew drown the yearth
In wrath, like roarin' oceans,
'An' guess'd the Lord would give old Spense
Blue fits for fightin' Pruvidence!'
Spense wus thet harden'd; when the yearth
Wus like a bak'd pertater;
Instead ov prayin' hard fur rain,
He fetched an irrigator.
'The wicked flourish like green bays!'
Sed folks for comfort in them days.
I will allow his place was grand
With not a stump upon it,
The loam wus jest as rich an' black
Es school ma'am's velvet bunnit;
But tho' he flourish'd, folks all know'd
What spiritooal ear-marks he show'd.
Spense had a notion in his mind,
Ef some poor human grapples
With pesky worms thet eat his vines,
An' spile his summer apples,
It don't seem enny kind ov sense
Tew call that 'cheekin' Pruvidence!'
An' ef a chap on Sabbath sees
A thunder cloud a-strayin'
Above his fresh cut clover an'
Gets down tew steddy prayin',
An' tries tew shew the Lord's mistake,
Instead ov tacklin' tew his rake,
He ain't got enny kind ov show
[...] Read more
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Book Agent Story
As we have given several humorous Scottish stories in verse we will venture to
trespass on your good nature by giving an American specimen. The scene is laid
in the suburbs of New York. It was a prose tale, and we fancy we have not
diminished the height, breadth or depth of the humour by grinding it in our
poetical mill and having it flow out in rhyme.
There is a man, his name is Brown,
He lives in a suburban town
And has an office in the city,
His misfortunes you will pity.
His mind it was on stocks and change,
He cared not for things new or strange ;
But agent managed him to hook
And sold to him a costly book.
Brown cared not for those glorious names-
Died for religion in the flames;
Now he felt agent was a Tartar
For selling him a book of martyr.
The agent knew it would make strife,
But sold another to his wife;
She did not know that Brown had bought,
And agent on her easy wrought .
Approaching her with winning smile
He poor woman did beguile.
He made her believe without a doubt
No Christian could do without
This book, which would all inspire
With spark of celestial fire,
With feelings like the first martyr
Who had died for Christian charter.
When Brown did home return at night
His wife, to add to his delight,
Resolved that she would, after tea,
Get chatting with her husband free
And tell him of fine book she bought ;
Of trouble fresh she never thought,
But she noticed a gloomy frown
On the brow of her husband Brown,
But thought when I my purchase tell
Those dark clouds they will dispel ;
She said, my dear, I bought martyr,
He looked as if he her could quarter.
And said the scoundrel sold me book ;
Out of the window then he did look
And saw the agent haste to train ;
He tried to stop him, but in vain ;
Smith then was passing in spring waggon,
[...] Read more
poem by James McIntyre
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The Silent Member
He lived in Mundaloo, and Bill McClosky was his name,
But folks that knew him well had little knowledge of that same;
For he some'ow lost his surname, and he had so much to say –-
He was called 'The Silent Member' in a mild, sarcastic way.
He could talk on any subject -- from the weather and the crops
To astronomy and Euclid, and he never minded stops;
And the lack of a companion didn't lay him on the shelf,
For he'd stand before a looking-glass and argue with himself.
He would talk for hours on literature, or calves, or art, or wheat;
There was not a bally subject you could say had got him beat;
And when strangers brought up topics that they reckoned he would baulk,
He'd remark, 'I never heard of that.' But all the same -- he'd talk.
He'd talk at christ'nings by the yard; at weddings by the mile;
And he used to pride himself upon his choice of words and style.
In a funeral procession his remarks would never end
On the qualities and virtues of the dear departed friend.
We got quite used to hearing him, and no one seemed to care --
In fact, no happ'ning seemed complete unless his voice was there.
For close on thirty year he talked, and none could talk him down,
Until one day an agent for insurance struck the town.
Well, we knew The Silent Member, and we knew what he could do,
And it wasn't very long before we knew the agent, too,
As a crack long-distance talker that was pretty hard to catch;
So we called a hasty meeting and decided on a match.
Of course, we didn't tell them we were putting up the game;
But we fixed it up between us, and made bets upon the same.
We named a time-keep and a referee to see it through;
Then strolled around, just casual, and introduced the two.
The agent got first off the mark, while our man stood and grinned;
He talked for just one solid hour, then stopped to get his wind.
'Yes; but --' sez Bill; that's all he said; he couldn't say no more;
The agent got right in again, and fairly held the floor.
On policies, and bonuses, and premiums, and all that,
He talked and talked until we thought he had our man out flat.
'I think --' Bill got in edgeways, but that there insurance chap
Just filled himself with atmosphere, and took the second lap.
I saw our man was getting dazed, and sort of hypnotized,
And they oughter pulled the agent up right there, as I advised.
'See here -' Bill started, husky; but the agent came again,
And talked right on for four hours good -- from six o'clock to ten.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Weapons of Mass Destruction
The Holy Roman Empire and Alexander The Great
Exterminate the globe, with extreme prejudice,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The European Inquisition, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Holy Christian Crusades, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Manifest Destiny and land expansion, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Globalization and commercialization of the many rain forests,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Comprehensive sanctions is economic violence,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The procreation of religion and God, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Democratizing the whole world, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The extermination of The Iroquois Confederation, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
World domination the salvation of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
War, is the greatest Weapon of Mass Destruction
The justification for annihilation of, The Constitution
The constitution of retribution, the absolution of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction.
poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Powerful Thing
(written by al anderson and sharon vaughn)
Ive never seen two people in my life
More determined to ignore the obvious
We better stop thinking
Let our hearts start doing the talking
Youd have to be stone deaf dumb and blind
Not to see whats going on with us
So lets jump in
And get over our fear of fallin
cause what we got here
Is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
We started out strangers on a two-way street
Neither one of us lookin to fall in love
But we dont need us a map
To know were headed in that direction
Well, its out of our hands
And over our heads
Its something thats bigger than both of us
Turnin back nows completely out of the question
cause what we got here
Is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
Stronger than the force of a driving wind
Hotter than a forest fire
There never has been and there never will be
Nothing like the power of you and me, yeah
Its a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
Our love, baby, is a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
Its a powerful thing
More than three words
And a diamond ring
It can open up the heavens
Make the angels sing
[...] Read more
song performed by Trisha Yearwood
Added by Lucian Velea
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Neuromancer
Age of destruction
Age of oblivion
Age of destruction
Age of oblivion
Discovered love,
In the rancid days of ruin
My bodys sweatin toxins,
Of my own demise
Only from space, can you see
How much earth is burning
Smokin out the innocense inside
The child
Its the age of destruction
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
Neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer--and Im trancing
Man wallows in his insatiable greed
More in the answer that sweats
From desparate palms
Turn on the lies, the secrets,
Of our desolation,
Or be smothered, by the red hot core
Its the age of destruction,
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
The neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer--Im trancing
Trancing
Trancing
And Im trancing
Denied love in the age of ruin
Suicide toxins of my own demise
In cyberspace, you know how much
The earth aint learning
Smoking out the man, inside the child--yeah
Its the age of destruction
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
The neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer and Im trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer
Age of destruction
[...] Read more
song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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Secret Agent Man
You know I live a life of danger
For the fbi
Keeping tabs on our nation
On the land, on the sea, in the sky
But every single night
Before I go to bed
I get down on my knees
And thank god
Im a secret agent man
* secret agent man
Secret agent man
Theyve given me a number
But theyve taken way my name
I got one hell of a job to perform
For the u. s. of a.
Got the responsibility
Of our nations top security
But every night and day
I salute the flag and say
Thank you jesus
Cause im, Im a secret agent man
( * repeat)
You know they got me doin this
Doin that
And a little bit of something else
Fighting cavities of evil
Safe-guarding americas health
But not an afternoon pass
I dont get up off my ass
Thank you god
Cause im, Im a secret agent man
( * repeat 2 times)
Cause Im a secret agent man
song performed by Devo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Parfum Exotique (Exotic Perfume)
Quand, les deux yeux fermés, en un soir chaud d'automne,
Je respire l'odeur de ton sein chaleureux,
Je vois se dérouler des rivages heureux
Qu'éblouissent les feux d'un soleil monotone;
Une île paresseuse où la nature donne
Des arbres singuliers et des fruits savoureux;
Des hommes dont le corps est mince et vigoureux,
Et des femmes dont l'oeil par sa franchise étonne.
Guidé par ton odeur vers de charmants climats,
Je vois un port rempli de voiles et de mâts
Encor tout fatigués par la vague marine,
Pendant que le parfum des verts tamariniers,
Qui circule dans l'air et m'enfle la narine,
Se mêle dans mon âme au chant des mariniers.
Exotic Perfume
When, with both my eyes closed, on a hot autumn night,
I inhale the fragrance of your warm breast
I see happy shores spread out before me,
On which shines a dazzling and monotonous sun;
A lazy isle to which nature has given
Singular trees, savory fruits,
Men with bodies vigorous and slender,
And women in whose eyes shines a startling candor.
Guided by your fragrance to these charming countries,
I see a port filled with sails and rigging
Still utterly wearied by the waves of the sea,
While the perfume of the green tamarinds,
That permeates the air, and elates my nostrils,
Is mingled in my soul with the sailors' chanteys.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Exotic Perfume
When I, with eyes shut, on warm autumn eves,
The fragrance of your warmer breast respire,
I see a country bathed in solar fire
Whose happy shores its lustre never leaves;
An isle of indolence, where nature raises
Singular trees and fruits both sweet and tender,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto III
THE ARGUMENT
The Knight and squire's prodigious Flight
To quit th' inchanted Bow'r by Night.
He plods to turn his amorous Suit
T' a Plea in Law, and prosecute
Repairs to Counsel, to advise
'Bout managing the Enterprise;
But first resolves to try by Letter,
And one more fair Address, to get her.
WHO wou'd believe what strange bugbears
Mankind creates itself of fears
That spring like fern, that insect weed,
Equivocally, without seed;
And have no possible foundation,
But merely in th' imagination;
And yet can do more dreadful feats
Than hags, with all their imps and teats
Make more bewitch and haunt themselves
Than all their nurseries of elves?
For fear does things so like a witch,
'Tis hard t' unriddle which is which:
Sets up Communities of senses,
To chop and change intelligences;
As Rosicrucian virtuosos
Can see with ears, and hear with noses;
And when they neither see nor hear,
Have more than both supply'd by fear
That makes 'em in the dark see visions,
And hag themselves with apparitions;
And when their eyes discover least,
Discern the subtlest objects best
Do things not contrary, alone,
To th' course of nature, but its own;
The courage of the bravest daunt,
And turn poltroons as valiant:
For men as resolute appear
With too much as too little fear
And when they're out of hopes of flying,
Will run away from death by dying;
Or turn again to stand it out,
And those they fled, like lions, rout.
This HUDIBRAS had prov'd too true,
Who, by the furies left perdue,
And haunted with detachments, sent
From Marshal Legion's regiment,
Was by a fiend, as counterfeit,
Reliev'd and rescu'd with a cheat;
[...] Read more
poem by Samuel Butler
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Hypocrisy
Hypocrisy
I wanted to sit and write today-but I did not know what to say.
Then a thought came to me. Why don’t I write about hypocrisy?
The hypocrisy of man leaves you to wonder.
Will this country make another blunder?
Will we continue in this Arab war where we are despised/
Will we choose to live a lie?
They say Americans shed their blood for you and me.
We all know its hypocrisy.
Men in uniform no longer fight the world wars.
People who want to hide what they are Moreover, what they say and do is because of me and you. Our service members and women still use our uniforms with pride
It is something that we can’t deny.
I could see it in my mind-the older politician telling the younger one.
“Let the road take its course” we are the trainers and they are the horse.
They will go where we lead them-that is why we are leaders.
The politicians of all nations should hide their heads in shame.
They search for all that they can gain.
They all try to line their pockets
They’ll pull your eyeballs from their sockets.
Then you cannot see all their hidden hypocrisies.
People will believe for a short period
While it weighs on their mind.
They have to tell the politicians that they will not follow
Like sheep to a slaughter so they could make a quarter.
We must tell them that we are tired as can be-living in hypocrisy.
poem by Louis Rams
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto I
THE ARGUMENT
The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.
'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit,
Has all his flames and raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble,
While those who sillily pursue,
The simple, downright way, and true,
Make as unlucky applications,
And steer against the stream their passions.
Some forge their mistresses of stars,
And when the ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won
Than by CALIGULA the Moon,
Cry out upon the stars, for doing
Ill offices to cross their wooing;
When only by themselves they're hindred,
For trusting those they made her kindred;
And still, the harsher and hide-bounder
The damsels prove, become the fonder.
For what mad lover ever dy'd
To gain a soft and gentle bride?
Or for a lady tender-hearted,
In purling streams or hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elysium,
Through th' windows of a dazzling room?
But for some cross, ill-natur'd dame,
The am'rous fly burnt in his flame.
This to the Knight could be no news,
With all mankind so much in use;
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due time and place
No sooner was the bloody fight,
Between the Wizard, and the Knight,
[...] Read more
poem by Samuel Butler
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II
THE ARGUMENT
The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.
THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,
[...] Read more
poem by Samuel Butler
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12
WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d,
Himself become the mark of public spite,
His honor question’d for the promis’d fight;
The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5
The more his fury boil’d within his breast:
He rous’d his vigor for the last debate,
And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate.
As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,
He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; 10
But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side,
The lordly beast returns with double pride:
He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;
His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:
So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, 15
Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.
Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,
At length approach’d the king, and thus began:
“No more excuses or delays: I stand
In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, 20
This base deserter of his native land.
The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take
The same conditions which himself did make.
Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare,
And to my single virtue trust the war. 25
The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight;
This arm unaided shall assert your right:
Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,
To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.”
To whom the king sedately thus replied: 30
“Brave youth, the more your valor has been tried,
The more becomes it us, with due respect,
To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.
You want not wealth, or a successive throne,
Or cities which your arms have made your own: 35
My towns and treasures are at your command,
And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land;
Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,
Unmarried, fair, of noble families.
Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, 40
Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear,
But sound advice, proceeding from a heart
Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.
The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,
No prince Italian born should heir my throne: 45
Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d,
And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d.
Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood,
Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood,
Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied, 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Carol Of Occupations
COME closer to me;
Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess;
Yield closer and closer, and give me the best you possess.
This is unfinish'd business with me--How is it with you?
(I was chill'd with the cold types, cylinder, wet paper between us.)
Male and Female!
I pass so poorly with paper and types, I must pass with the contact
of bodies and souls.
American masses!
I do not thank you for liking me as I am, and liking the touch of
me--I know that it is good for you to do so.
This is the carol of occupations; 10
In the labor of engines and trades, and the labor of fields, I find the developments,
And find the eternal meanings.
Workmen and Workwomen!
Were all educations, practical and ornamental, well display'd out of
me, what would it amount to?
Were I as the head teacher, charitable proprietor, wise statesman,
what would it amount to?
Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you, would that
satisfy you?
The learn'd, virtuous, benevolent, and the usual terms;
A man like me, and never the usual terms.
Neither a servant nor a master am I;
I take no sooner a large price than a small price--I will have my
own, whoever enjoys me; 20
I will be even with you, and you shall be even with me.
If you stand at work in a shop, I stand as nigh as the nighest in the
same shop;
If you bestow gifts on your brother or dearest friend, I demand as
good as your brother or dearest friend;
If your lover, husband, wife, is welcome by day or night, I must be
personally as welcome;
If you become degraded, criminal, ill, then I become so for your
sake;
If you remember your foolish and outlaw'd deeds, do you think I
cannot remember my own foolish and outlaw'd deeds?
If you carouse at the table, I carouse at the opposite side of the
table;
If you meet some stranger in the streets, and love him or her--why I
often meet strangers in the street, and love them.
[...] Read more
poem by Walt Whitman
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Annals of Assur-Nasir-Pal column I
To Ninip most powerful hero, great, chief of the gods, warrior, powerful Lord, whose onset in battle has not been opposed, eldest son,
crusher of opponents, first-born son of Nukimmut, supporter of the seven, noble ruler, King of the gods the producers, governor, he who rolls along the mass
of heaven and earth, opener of canals, treader of the wide earth, the god who in his divinity nourishes heaven and earth, the beneficent,
the exalted, the powerful, who has not lessened the glory of his face, head of nations, bestower of sceptres, glorious, over all cities a ruler,
valiant, the renown of whose sceptre is not approached, chief of widespread influence, great among the gods, shading from the southern sun, Lord of Lords, whose hand the vault of heaven
(and) earth has controlled, a King in battle mighty who has vanquished opposition, victorious, powerful, Lord of water-courses and seas,
strong, not yielding, whose onset brings down the green corn, smiting the land of the enemy, like the cutting of reeds, the deity who changes not his purposes,
the light of heaven and earth, a bold leader on the waters, destroyer of them that hate (him), a spoiler (and) Lord of the disobedient, dividing enemies, whose name in the speech of the gods
no god has ever disregarded, the gatherer of life, the god(?) whose prayers are good, whose abode is in the city of Calah, a great Lord, my Lord - (who am) Assur-nasir-pal, the mighty King,
King of multitudes, a Prince unequalled, Lord of all the four countries, powerful over hosts of men, the possession of Bel and Ninip the exalted and Anu
and of Dakan, a servant of the great gods in the lofty shrine for great (O Ninip) is thy heart; a worshipper of Bel whose might upon
thy great deity is founded, and thou makest righteous his life, valiant, warrior, who in the service of Assur his Lord hath proceeded, and among the Kings
of the four regions who has not his fellow, a Prince for admiration, not sparing opponents, mighty leader, who an equal
has not, a Prince reducing to order his disobedient ones, who has subdued whole multitudes of men, a strong worker, treading down
the heads of his enemies, trampling on all foes, crushing assemblages of rebels, who in the service of the great gods his Lords
marched vigorously and the lands of all of them his hand captured, caused the forests of all of them to fall, and received their tribute, taking
securities, establishing laws over all lands, when Assur the Lord who proclaims my name and augments my Royalty
laid hold upon his invincible power for the forces of my Lordship, for Assur-nasir-pal, glorious Prince, worshipper of the great gods
the generous, the great, the powerful, acquirer of cities and forests and the territory of all of them, King of Lords, destroying the wicked, strengthening
the peaceful, not sparing opponents, a Prince of firm will(?) one who combats oppression, Lord of all Kings,
Lord of Lords, the acknowledged, King of Kings, seated gloriously, the renown of Ninip the warrior, worshipper of the great gods, prolonging the benefits (conferred by) his fathers:
a Prince who in the service of Assur and the Sun-god, the gods in whom he trusted, royally marched to turbulent lands, and Kings who had rebelled against him
[he cut off like grass, all their lands to his feet he subjected, restorer of the worship of the goddesses and that of the great gods,
Chief unwavering, who for the guidance of the heads (and) elders of his land is a steadfast guardian, the work of whose hands and
the gift of whose finger the great gods of heaven and earth have exalted, and his steps over rulers have they established forever;
[...] Read more
poem by King Assur-Bani-Pal
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Freedom is a Powerful Word
freedom is a powerful word
filled with glori and brightened eyes
freedom is a powerful word
where no black child is left behind
the despair of no hesitation
the depair of no education
freedom is a powerful word
freedom is a powerful word
where everyone gets a chance to be one
freedom is a powerful word
where a black man can raise his son
we got freedom
but we dont respect it
black boys droppin out of school
black girls gettin pregnant at early ages
these people fought for our rights
but all we do is abuse it
like i said freedom is a powerful word
are you sure we are free
why are we killing our own race
we are gettin involved in the wrong stuff
like gangs and selling drugs
smokin weed and makin d's
it aint right
freedom is a powerful word
if it is so powerful
dont abuse it
poem by Tatianna Biggs
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Things' to Rate That Relates
'Things' given symbolic status,
And valued higher with a standard...
Above that of a human being,
There is going to be a failure that unravels...
On these scenes that demean.
Finding justification,
To denounce one's way of life...
As another depicted as glorious,
Entertains a destruction without insight.
'Things' to rate that relates to material needs,
Blinds all who become focused...
On greed and the success of hypocrisy.
So blind they are they forget humanity.
And people easily duped in believing,
They can actually purchase integrity...
Find they become eventually used and abused,
By foolish yet followed mindless philosophies.
'Things' to rate that relates to material needs,
Blinds all who become focused...
On greed and the success of hypocrisy.
So blind they are they forget humanity.
Finding justification,
To denounce one's way of life...
As another depicted as glorious,
Entertains a destruction without insight.
'Things' given symbolic status,
And valued higher with a standard...
Above that of a human being,
There is going to be a failure that unravels...
On these scenes that demean.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Joseph’s Dreams and Reuben's Brethren [A Recital in Six Chapters]
CHAPTER I
I cannot blame old Israel yet,
For I am not a sage—
I shall not know until I get
The son of my old age.
The mysteries of this Vale of Tears
We will perchance explain
When we have lived a thousand years
And died and come again.
No doubt old Jacob acted mean
Towards his father’s son;
But other hands were none too clean,
When all is said and done.
There were some things that had to be
In those old days, ’tis true—
But with old Jacob’s history
This tale has nought to do.
(They had to keep the birth-rate up,
And populate the land—
They did it, too, by simple means
That we can’t understand.
The Patriarchs’ way of fixing things
Would make an awful row,
And Sarah’s plain, straightforward plan
Would never answer now.)
his is a tale of simple men
And one precocious boy—
A spoilt kid, and, as usual,
His father’s hope and joy
(It mostly is the way in which
The younger sons behave
That brings the old man’s grey hairs down
In sorrow to the grave.)
Old Jacob loved the whelp, and made,
While meaning to be kind,
A coat of many colours that
Would strike a nigger blind!
It struck the brethren green, ’twas said—
I’d take a pinch of salt
Their coats had coloured patches too—
But that was not their fault.
Young Joseph had a soft thing on,
And, humbugged from his birth,
You may depend he worked the thing
For all that it was worth.
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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M'Fingal - Canto IV
Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.
On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.
"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!
"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;
[...] Read more
poem by John Trumbull
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