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There was that feminist myth that we can do everything. I don't think you can.

quote by Jessica Lange
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On The Verge Of

Though alchemists in every continent worked hard,
to change the cheap metals into the precious gold,
they had never succeeded as it was not the truth,
hidden in the electronic configuration and a myth,
myth of mummy's resurrection from the pyramids and a cave,
myth of witch's spell and poor women's haunted look,
myth of piped piper and the following of the rats loot,
myth of the split ocean that paved the way for the joy walk,
myth of human intelligence and its relation to the races,
myth of ether that found in the space,
myth of flat earth, myth of spirit,
all are not lies, but steps taken to find the truth,
truth hidden in nature, that has hundred more elements,
everything derived from these, even the love and lust,
even the diseases and wellness,
concept and convenience of communication,
We have found something to explore other things,
we cloned the new things to produce substitute organs,
We are one step backward to find that God,
Who controls us to be happy and sad,
Creation of life in a cell, then,
Man will be the creator, until then,
Would we be alive or would we be destroyed,
if Gods of religions like to keep the secret or,
the intelligence of human dig its own grave.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A City of The Old

A mature old man from the myth raised a question, 'Who is the oldest poet on earth? . '
when you are old, you will understand more about hope.The city of the Old without hope is the city with lots of hope in the myth.
kitchen, bathroom, market, forest, stock-market, shares prices, bank accounts, logistics plus and minus; the archeology of the old men's skills on carrying travelling bags.
what is the difference between old-aged homes and theatres?
the tide is rising up.
what is your last words?
A sandwithed present moment between the past and the future
congested aesthetics
Buddha said, 'Human beings exist only for a moment'
for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment vfor a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment for a moment
where is your hope escaping?
Is this bank account important for you?
Is the kitchen important for you?
Is the bathroom important important for you?
The bathroom said, 'I clean it again and again and who is making dirty again and again?
Let's listen to the birthrooms' voices.
A mature old man from the myth raised a big question, 'Who is the oldest poet on earth?
waling to the east and looking backwards,
this is the oldest myth on earth.
In ther city of the old, nothingness, autobiography, biography, courage, nurseries, paddy fields,
internet, goggle-earth and butterflies
old man in the myth, the myth in old man; old man in the city, the city in the old man
a matur, old man raised a infant question, 'who is the oldest poet on earth now? '
I saw the youngest poet on earth in Phenom Penh in 2004.

poem by Nyein Way
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myth and abuse...by Talile Ali

we all are human
what is the use
all are victims
of myth and abuse

humans like to mess around
we don't think we're sluts
only when it's women,
then we soil all they touch

add to that the reality of
old men with young girls together
we accept it like that as lust and love
older women and young boys together
we see as cougars out slumming with thugs

myth and abuse
myth and abuse
so much insanity
based on lies and misuse

myth and abuse
myth and abuse
the bible or the Koran
to abuse our needs, such a ruse

so if you feel you
have a right to mess around and feed
cause your better half is dead
or even worse won't address your needs

no matter what the gender
be you male or female
you got to be yourself
and know you got to get nailed

we need to put an end
to all of this senseless abuse
we can shut down this game
and help each other to see the truth

we find love where it is
and thats just a fact
so long as they are adults
and mature, not just an act

end the myth and abuse
by being thoughtful and secure
and not deceiving each other
just to manipulate and procure

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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The so-called feminist writers were disgusted with me. I did my thing, and so I guess by feminist standards I'm a feminist. That suits me fine.

quote by Chrissie Hynde
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Blind Faith

[ alternative version of planned obsolescence ]
Love, breaks apart is a myth of human kindness
Love, breaks apart is amyth of human kindness
Love, breaks apart is a myth of human kindness
Panic in the worried night with the tempting, rises
Panic in the worried night with the tempting, rises
Panic in the worried night the tempting rises
No doubt that shed desire blind faith in all surmises
No doubt that shed desire blind faith in all surmises
No doubt that shed deny blind faith in half-surmises
Because
Any modern man can see that
Any modern man can see that
Piety obsolete
Faith obsolete
Mysticism obsolete
Prophetic vision obsolete
Any modern man can see that
Any modern mad can see that
Love, breaks apart is a myth of human kindness
Love, breaks apart is a myth of human kindness
Love, breaks apart is a myth of human kindness
Panic in the worried night with the tempting, rises
Panic in the worried night with the tempting, rises
Panic in the worried night the tempting rises
No doubt that shed desire blind faith in all surmises
No doubt that shed desire blind faith in all surmises
No doubt that shed deny blind faith in half-surmises
Because
Any modern man can see that
Any modern man can see that
Piety obsolete
Faith obsolete
Mysticism obsolete
Prophetic vision obsolete
Any modern man can see that
Any modern mad can see that

song performed by 10000 Maniacs
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Their Own Myth

They swagger through the wastelands
of their own myth
believing the fantasy
they have built around themselves
of how great they are.
The shallow walls they built around themselves
with one stone could crumble away.
You see them in their peacock glory
prancing around everywhere.
Their heads stretched above the clouds
believing their own myth.
Their feet of clay can only erode
in the full flush of tidal waters.
Their peacock strut will become a limp
when their myth is broken
and things begin to challenge them.
For once, the tidal gate
is breached by leading questions
the clay feet and peacock strut
will be washed away,
and a new myth will absorb,
of bowing head and desperate look in eyes,
as their shallow walls crumble under tidal waters
and their own myth of self-greatness
loses momentum to sustain.

poem by David Harris
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how do you know that God is a myth?

a myth
like the sphinx
and the phoenix
as the story goes
on and on
somehow
there was this death
at the end
and then immortality
in the same way
that my God
died and lived
forever

killing a myth
can be another myth
like asking how do you kill a myth
that does not exist?

when you finally give the correct answer
about our humanity
the sphinx gets killed.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Be Free

To be free
Or to feel free
The first one is a myth
Yeah to be free
Or to feel free
The first one is a myth
For to be is to feel and to be real is to see
You want more
You say you want me
He left us alone as day was dawning
You got more
Did you get me
Red sleeps after sunrise has fallen
You hard core
Youre hard on me
Youre dressed up at dawn way before me
Bereft as the sunlight was falling upon me
To be free
Or to feel free
The first one is a myth
To be free
Or to feel free
The first one is a myth
To be is to feel and to be real is to see
To come is so organic unbelievable
A solitary sign to open up your mind
A love thats so organic unbelievable
A solitary sign to open up your mind
Open up your mind

song performed by Simply Red
Added by Lucian Velea
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Christmas-Eve

I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
No remedy; the rain kept driving:
They eyed me much as some wild beast,
The congregation, still arriving,
Some of them by the mainroad, white
A long way past me into the night,
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common’s self thro’ the paling-gaps,—
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
From a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town’s bad blood once slept corruptly,
Which now the little chapel rallies
And leads into day again,—its priestliness
Lending itself to hide their beastliness
So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason),
And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on
Those neophytes too much in lack of it,
That, where you cross the common as I did,
And meet the party thus presided,
“Mount Zion,” with Love-lane at the back of it,
They front you as little disconcerted,
As, bound for the hills, her fate averted
And her wicked people made to mind him,
Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him.

II.
Well, from the road, the lanes or the common,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning
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To me, a feminist belongs in the same category as a humanist or an advocate for human rights. I don't see why someone who's a feminist should be thought of differently.

quote by Suzanne Vega
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I grew up as a feminist, with feminist ideals, and I feel that I have this sense of obligation to portray women in a particular way. If the characters are intelligent and interesting and flawed and vulnerable then I'm there.

quote by Claudia Black
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So, when the discussion about not using the term feminist came up at a conference workshop, I couldn't believe it. The more I listened, the more I felt the need to express my passion about my identity as a feminist.

quote by Betty Buckley
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I realize now that I was a feminist and the minute I heard the word I certainly knew it meant me, but at that time I don't think we had the label yet. But there's no doubt about it that I was born a feminist.

quote by Marlo Thomas
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Females behind success

I dare not violate the woman’s modesty
It will be pure injustice and no honesty
The clouds may look dark and atmosphere little misty
But all this can be termed as impure and dirty

They have come into being of their own
God has given them delicate figure to maintain
If they look good and beautiful not their fault
Almighty has placed caring heart too and kept as inbuilt

How do we roam freely with joy in garden?
The flowers of all colors have emerged all of sudden
It is their presence to be felt in nice environment
Do they not deserve nice eyes to look at with comments?

I am fascinated with the way they open up and boom
They may not look that beautiful when decorated in room
They may add beauty and nicely adore
But we need to do something more

We appreciate feminist out look and touch
We do take care and appreciate very much
I love being very near to them and present
All that I could do without any reservation and not resent

I feel we have great and caring heart like female
In some of the fields they have outwitted males
Females have proved great artists and poets
Remain in doors still all fronts keeping very quiet

So much to learn from their feminist look and nature
They are great philosopher even if not fully matured
The motherly and caring nature all that very much assure
At least I feel honestly secured of near future

We may have different character inbuilt
We may show favor and make some tilt
Still they outsmart us in every field and make move
They have made their presence known and need not prove

Time and again it is male very clear
I hear it number of times and pleases ears
All stories about them have vanished like yesteryears
They are dear alright but so much to be afraid of or fear

They are submissive but not to the extent beyond limit
They have dedication and will power to show and exhibit
We can not be unsecured or unsafe in their orbit
It will be too naïve to disregard or praise little bit

[...] Read more

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Progressive Girls

We read the progressive testament
promoting the cause of the feminist.
Hatred bites males back black rage
inflames from every inflamed page.

A retaliatory war waged
on half of gender humanity.
Is ravenous spite philosophy
taught by no wisely saged.

Although when we review
sickening crimes silently sadly female suffered;
by docile domesticated new
housewives. We sympathize with feminist raged.

This is the time the moment the due age
to dispose of all violence inherited rage.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Not A Label… Poem, Prose or Thesis

Go out and get a name for…you…
Yes! Feminist if you must…
But a name of your own…

It's not a label…it's freedom for you…
Your will…your perspective…
Your personal therapy…

Men fine you(Ooo…Ahhh)
When you act(Ooo..Ahhh)
But a MAN…fines you Ooo..Ahh
When you show him Oooo..Ahh

Not a label but a feminist for sure…
That is the Oooo and the Ahhh is allowing…
Him to fly…invited of course…ha..ha…
A certain kind of mind for you…

That certain kind of woman…
Not a label…just free will…
And empowerment of steel…

That is what a mom is…
The sun holds nothing new…
But you as woman do…
God bless Amerika…
My home sweet home…

Not a label…born to a Willie lynch stable…
But did not silence Mom's Mable…
Still can't say what need to said…
Females put it into dreads…

Walking tall…and being free…was about being …YOU
Not a label…But the queen of the queen of the day…
Before the day …Woman was born…
You do not have to be top-less
To be law-less…
A free minded woman is top-less in mind
And law-less with time…
Her respect is now…before you wake…

Not a label…but a fact…
Her word is law…
Re-move your paw…

No means, no…not yes…
And those things you call gold
Don't make you bold…
But me cold…

[...] Read more

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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All Around The World Or The Myth Of Fingerprints

Over the mountain
Down in the valley
Lives a former talk-show host
Everybody knows his name
He says theres no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
Ive seen them all and man
Theyre all the same
Well, the sun gets weary
And the sun goes down
Ever since the watermelon
And the lights come up
On the black pit town
Somebody says whats a better thing to do
Well, its not just me
And its not just you
This is all around the world
Out in the indian ocean somewhere
Theres a former army post
Abandoned now just like the war
And theres no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
Thats what that old army post was for
Well, the sun gets bloody
And the sun goes down
Ever since the watermelon
And the lights come up
On the black pit town
Somebody says whats a better thing to do
Well, its not just me
And its not just you
This is all around the world
Over the mountain
Down in the valley
Lives the former talk-show host
Far and wide his name was known
He said theres no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
Thats why we must learn to live alone

song performed by Paul Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Will Come Back To Me

I am not that man,
You think you understand...
And,
That man you understood...
Wasn't me to move along!
To care less,
How you let somebody else judge me.
But I'm back...
If you'll have me stay in your heart to belong.

There's not a part but a whole of me...
To be who I am,
And...
I'm not a myth.
To be wished up,
Dismissed and pushed away.

No myth am I...
Nor a symbol of some kind to find,
Time to me to give as if...
You have but few seconds,
With me to spare.
And only if...
I'm there AND,
On your mind.

I am me,
The first one you said you saw to love.
But...
I'm no myth,
To be wished up.
Dismissed and pushed away.

Too bad,
I didn't fit the perfect image.
And...
Our kissing didn't feed your needs.
To please a 'forevermore'.
But,
Just know this...
You will,
Come back to me.
But know this...
You will,
Come back to me.

Too bad,
I didn't fit the perfect image.
And...
Our kissing didn't feed your needs.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Salome

Salome, the unique daughter of Philip of Rome and Herodias,
Was the stepdaughter of the ruler of Galilee, Herod Antipas,
She wanted to find for her mother's problems a real solution
Therefore, she caused to St. John the Baptist a painful execution.

This saint had condemned the marriage of Herod Antipas
With the divorced wife of his half brother Philip, Herodias.
Herod imprisoned John, but feared this great prophet to kill,
Because to become King Herod the Great he had a goodwill.

Herodias was not mollified by great John's incarceration
And wanted to induce Antipas a great mental state of elation.
She pressed beautiful Salome to seduce him with her dance,
Thinking that her smart daughter his emotions could enhance.

Salome made him to promise to give her everything she wanted.
Dancing the 'Dance of the Seven Veils', her beautiful figure she flaunted.
Salome, thus, asked for the head of John the Baptist on a platter,
At her mother's behest, for whom nothing else could ever matter.

Herod did her bidding and that platter, to her mother, Salome brought.
Her mother won, this way, the John's head for saving her free thought.
Salome became a seductress of a stepfather and a murderer of a saint,
Herodias became a symbol of women, who can live without any constraint.

The Dance of the Seven Veils expresses the myth of the goddess Ishtar,
Also, the myth of the god Tammuz of Assyrian and Babylonian lore.
In this myth, Ishtar went in the underworld to visit Ereshkigal, her sister.
Ishtar passed through the seven gates and her power could glister.

At each gate, Ishtar had to shed an article of clothing, finally being nude.
Unleashing sixty diseases against her, Ereshkigal proved to be so rude.
Ishtar was imprisoned and all the sexual activity on earth ceased.
Papsukkal reported the situation to Ea, the king of the gods, at least.

Ea created the eunuch called Asu-shu-namir and sent him to Ereshkigal
To ask for the bag containing the waters of life, after Ishtar's last squeal.
She gave him this water and Asu-shu-namir sprinkled Ishtar, reviving her.
She came back and sent Tammuz to Ereshkigal, avoiding this story to recur.

Ishtar was associated with sexuality, her cult involved sacred prostitution,
Her city Uruk was the 'town of the sacred courtesans', place of persecution.
Although for the god Ishtar, love was fatal, she treated her passing lovers cruelly,
And the unhappy wretches, for the favors heaped on them, paid dearly.

Philip the Tetrarch was the son of Cleopatra of Jerusalem and Herod the Great.
He was the brother of Herod Antipas and Herod Archelaus, he had a good fate.
He inherited north father's kingdom and by Luke (3: 1) in the Bible he’s mentioned.

[...] Read more

poem by Marieta Maglas
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0375 Season of mists and merry mythfulness

You…leave…the…
Pennsylvania classroom at a
quarter to four..
leaving all your Bio. notes
for checking, at the door…

With exquisite timing, a Pennsylvania judge
has ruled that the wonders of biology, as
revealed by the dissection of neatly-pinned frogs
and suchlike squeamy miracles of internal packaging
so cleverly evolved by, uh, ‘Darwinian evolution’,
must not mention - no, not just God, as
Creator - heaven forfend - but even
‘divine intervention’ - like some ‘hey, stop the show
right there! ’, as the alternative to
‘Darwinian evolution’ - so called, by the way, because
it’s only a theory anyway, not yet
a proven law – it’s just a kinda myth..and
with nasty Emperor’s-clothes, whizz kid, questions
sticking their hand up in the classroom –

‘Please, if it all started from two whatsits getting together,
who made the whatsits, and, who made the law that helped this
evolution to evolve? ’…

So, since we’re in the world of myth, which
is said to be the wishes of mankind
formulated into glorious dreams
of might-have-been – then can we give
some thought to alternatives?

No 1 on the list is surely
Santa Claus – that jolly, kindly man who one year
maybe thought it would be fun
to create, simultaneously,
some really super presents, and of course,
someone to give them to – it’s called
a symbiotic relationship – and Santa’s grotto
became – hey presto - the Garden of Eden!

and just to make the whole caboosh more fun, he
added a special family-sized Christmas present –
a Christ to go with Christmas – or
as Shakespeare might have said,
giving to these airy nothings of a dream
a substance and a local habitation…and
thus without much of a hitch, we could re-direct
our prayers and praise to Holy Father Christmas –
I mean, we’re halfway there already…what
are you praying for this Giftmas?

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Shepherd
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