Bosnia is a complicated country: three religions, three nations and those ""others"". Nationalism is strong in all three nations; in two of them there are a lot of racism, chauvinism, separatism; and now we are supposed to make a state out of that.
quote by Alija Izetbegovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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 racism
The racism erases
the beautiful memories
and it believes
in the perfect
world
The racism is
a too big
and horrible problem
It is a
wrong and impure
mistake
The racism is
a bad and
public thought
The racism is
played by the
poors of reasons
The racism doesn't
live in the
jungle but it
lives in the
modern society
I'm against the
racism
The racists are
cursed because they
are false
For me the
racism resides in
the hate
For the innocents
the racism is
lost war
For me the
racism doesn't exist
in a citizen
world
For me the
racism is a
terrible suffering
It can't stand
the harmony and
the heart of
a bay
It survives in
the evident darkness
The racism hates
the comfortable and
hospitable villa
The racism serves
[...] Read more
poem by Laura arwen
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Microphone Fiend
Yo, I was a fiend before I became a teen
I melted microphone instead of cones of ice cream
Music orientated so when hip-hop was originated
Fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated
Shot grabbed the mic and try to say, yes yall!
They tried to take it, and say that Im too small
Cool, cause I dont get upset
I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet
Back to the lab ...without a mic to grab
So then I add all the rhymes I had
One after the another one, then I make another one
To dis the opposite then ask if the brothers done
I get a craving like I fiend for nicotine
But I dont need a cigarette, know what I mean?
Im raging, ripping up the stage and
Dont it sound amazing cause every rhyme is made and
Thought of, cuz its sort of...an addiction,
Magnatized by the mixing
E-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
E-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
But back to the problem, I gotta habit,
You cant solve it, you silly rabbit
The prescription is a hypertone thats thorough when
I fiend for a microphone like heroin
Soon as the bass kicks, I need a fix
Gimme a stage and a mic and a mix
And Ill put you in a mood or is it a state of
Unawareness? beware, its the reanamator!
A menace to a microphone, a lethal weapon
An assasinator, if the people aint stepping
You see a part of me that you never seen
When Im fiending for a microphone.
Cause I take it to the maximum, I cant relax see, im
Hype as a hyperchrondriac cause the rap be one
Hell of a antidote, something you cant smoke
More than dope, youre trying to move away but you cant, youre broke
More than cracked up, you should have backed up
For those who act up need to be more than smacked up
E-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
[...] Read more
song performed by Rage Against The Machine
Added by Lucian Velea
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racism- A Game Of Colour
I give you a set of colours
Red, blue, green, yellow, pink, brown, black and white
And you would say red and blue are complement complimentary,
and that contemporary brown and green are supplementary
And white is elementary,
and that black is voluntary
I would say its the adjective of racism
For racism is a game of colour
For racism is trauma of complexion
You argue black is obscurity,
white is dazzling and brown poverty
with yellow as footling
But i withstand your considerations
I would say they are the adjectives of racism
For racism is a game of colour
For racism is shame humanitarian
Tired! wanna defend?
Well, i give you some more parameters:
Demography, shape, education, economy, gender
You would say demography is fortune
And shape is good trait
That economy is brained brawn power
While gender supporting the theory of magnetism-'Unlike poles attract each other'
I would say they suffice for adjectives of racism
For racism is a game of colour
For racism is as despicable as a heinous odour
Hither and thither,
helter skeleter,
far and near,
thereover, hereunder,
I find, you see, we have colours blaming each other
Some colours say they are souvenirs
And that rest are samaritans
Some colours say they are absolute riches
And that others are dumped ditches
Hypothetically colours have some limitations
Like the dimensions in a piece of paper
And once it is replete
There is no need for scribbling black and blue
Like in reality some job agencies tag some skilled candidates to be obsolete-
Only coz' they don't match a colour of their tape-the bureaucratic red tape,
Or, they do not have blue references for a lush green outcome as future
Here ironically, one should really ponder
The world around us would have been a sheer monotony
Bereft of all hues considered as under
[...] Read more
poem by Amit Ray
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Racism and the Culture Of Racism
We must be aware…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It’s a slur and a swear….,
The Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can’t turn your back….,
On the Culture Of Racism….,
Or you’ll feel the whack…,
Of the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
It’s hard to believe….
The Culture Of Racism….,
That’s why we all grieve….,
The Culture Of Racism…! ! !
We must face the facts….,
On the Culture Of Racism ….! ! !
Cause we’ve seen the attacks…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It follows us all…,
The Culture Of Racism….,
But we must stand tall….,
Against the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can we control or stop it….,
As long as it’s been livin’….? ? ?
That’s the priceless question….,
On the Culture Of Racism…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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Racism Still Sadly Continues...
Racism comes in many different shapes and forms
Sadly I have had my fair share since I’ve been born
Judged before I have been even given a chance
Delaying my future and for my career to advance
My parents tell me of stories they have had to endure
I wish racism was a sickness with a dose of medication to cure
Thankfully there are good hearted and educated people
Who can look beyond skin colour and treat us all as an equal
Why would another person’s skin colour be such an issue?
Get to know them; they might have things in common just like you
I am so fed up of hearing “They from so and so, they all the same”
Everyone has differences but skin colour is not to blame
I wonder sometimes is it because the racist themselves are afraid to mix
Who knows, I am only looking for a solution to get it fixed
It’s a major problem none of us like or need,
How sad to hear, a racist sees skin colour the only reason to want to make you bleed
You see films like ‘Mississippi Burning’
I think to myself that was then but when are racist going to start learning?
If humans never saw in colour, what would it be like then?
I am sure everyone would get along and call each other friend
I hope my kids and the next generation never get to witness racism first hand
Lets pray for them racism was a issue in the past that no longer stands
Life is hard as it is, without the need of racism
Like supporting our family and giving our kids a good education
Ways to stop racism should begin at home and school
Getting along will be our biggest advantage, our strongest tool
I did have people who I did call friends
But their own racist views meant our friendship had to end
It does not matter, if your white, black or brown
You should feel safe to walk and talk in any town
Racism has to be erased from every country and every street
Knowing racism is not an issue when theirs someone new we meet
Everyone has the right to go anywhere they choose
Because whilst racism is still alive, no one wins, everybody lose
To those facing racism, all I can say is be brave and stay strong
To those racist, deep down in your heart you must know it’s wrong?
God blessed us by putting us here, giving us all different shades of colour
Were not meant to have the same colour skin, but we all can respect one another
Martin Luther King Jr said in 1963 “I have a dream”
But up to now it has yet to be seen
Amit Chubbah - 21.04.2008
poem by Amit Chubbah
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Balkan Nightmares
The ghosts of history haunt the Balkans.
Ancient passions, unbending hatreds
turmoil the region.
Painful tragedies of the past
are recycled by memories.
Permanent hostage of bound
and determined remembrance,
Race, religion and poverty clash
in violent convulsions.
Ethnic warfare and ruthless fright
sweep across nations,
fuelled by explosions of grief, revenge
and fear.
They are immersed in horror,
terror, chaos and bloodshed,
the sufferings of children,
the sorrows of fathers,
and the agonies of widows.
In 1453 the Turks led by Mehmet II
captured Constantinople
and the Eastern Roman Empire
ceased to exist.
The Ottomans became the new masters
of the Balkan provinces,
ushering in long centuries
of rugged struggles for freedom
and independence.
In 1697 Prince Eugene of Savoy
conquered Sarajevo,
A historic city that he left burned down
and plague-infected. Although by 1717
the prince liberated Belgrade
and the Danube region from Ottoman rule,
he failed to retake the Bosnian capital.
In the 19th century Austria-Hungary
annexed Bosnia, but together with Albania,
it remains a Muslim stronghold
in the heart of Europe.
In one summer day in 1914
the driver of Archduke Franz Ferdinand
took a wrong turn to Franz Josef Street,
at the edge of the Latin Bridge in Sarajevo.
On an official visit, the heir presumptive
to the Austro-Hungarian throne was riding
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Hartal
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Allegany Camp
amazing grace circus camp
amazing grace day camp
amazing grace hallelujah jeremy camp
amazing grace jeremy camp
amazing love jeremy camp
amazing place chalet pigeon forge
amazing race church camp
amazing race games for camps
amazing race girl scout camp
amazon camp dutch lodge oven
amazon camp in sweetwater missouri
amazon cast iron dutch lodge camp
amazon dutch oven camp
amazon lodge dutch oven camp
ambassador camp at lake waccamaw nc
ambassador camp inc
ambassador chalet
ambassador chalet at doral
ambassador chalet wgc
amber bowers
amber camp lazlo
amber pow camp
amberg germany dp camp
ambition camp hockey pro
ambler baseball camp
ambleside scotland school camp
ambon pow camp
ambor island pow camp
ambor pow camp
ambulance bower
amc camp dodge
amc camp movie summer
amc camp summer theater
amc little lyford camps
amc movie camp
amc movie camps
amc north west camp bear mountain
amc pinkham notch camp
amc summer camp for s
amc summer camp for s 2007
amc summer camp movies
amc summer movie camp
amc summer movie camp 2007
amc summer movie camp 2008
amc summer movie camp arlington
amc summer movie camp ontario california
amc theater camp hill
amc theatres summer camp
amcmovie camps
amelia earhart in japanese war camp
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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David
My thought, on views of admiration hung,
Intently ravish'd and depriv'd of tongue,
Now darts a while on earth, a while in air,
Here mov'd with praise and mov'd with glory there;
The joys entrancing and the mute surprize
Half fix the blood, and dim the moist'ning eyes;
Pleasure and praise on one another break,
And Exclamation longs at heart to speak;
When thus my Genius, on the work design'd
Awaiting closely, guides the wand'ring mind.
If while thy thanks wou'd in thy lays be wrought,
A bright astonishment involve the thought,
If yet thy temper wou'd attempt to sing,
Another's quill shall imp thy feebler wing;
Behold the name of royal David near,
Behold his musick and his measures here,
Whose harp Devotion in a rapture strung,
And left no state of pious souls unsung.
Him to the wond'ring world but newly shewn,
Celestial poetry pronounc'd her own;
A thousand hopes, on clouds adorn'd with rays,
Bent down their little beauteous forms to gaze;
Fair-blooming Innocence with tender years,
And native Sweetness for the ravish'd ears,
Prepar'd to smile within his early song,
And brought their rivers, groves, and plains along;
Majestick Honour at the palace bred,
Enrob'd in white, embroider'd o'er with red,
Reach'd forth the scepter of her royal state,
His forehead touch'd, and bid his lays be great;
Undaunted Courage deck'd with manly charms,
With waving-azure plumes, and gilded arms,
Displaid the glories, and the toils of fight,
Demanded fame, and call'd him forth to write.
To perfect these the sacred spirit came,
By mild infusion of celestial flame,
And mov'd with dove-like candour in his breast,
And breath'd his graces over all the rest.
Ah! where the daring flights of men aspire
To match his numbers with an equal fire;
In vain they strive to make proud Babel rise,
And with an earth-born labour touch the skies.
While I the glitt'ring page resolve to view,
That will the subject of my lines renew;
The Laurel wreath, my fames imagin'd shade,
Around my beating temples fears to fade;
My fainting fancy trembles on the brink,
And David's God must help or else I sink.
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Canto the Sixteenth
I
The antique Persians taught three useful things,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.
This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings --
A mode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings;
Horses they ride without remorse or ruth;
At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,
But draw the long bow better now than ever.
II
The cause of this effect, or this defect, --
"For this effect defective comes by cause," --
Is what I have not leisure to inspect;
But this I must say in my own applause,
Of all the Muses that I recollect,
Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws
In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.
III
And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats
From any thing, this epic will contain
A wilderness of the most rare conceits,
Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain.
'T is true there be some bitters with the sweets,
Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't complain,
But wonder they so few are, since my tale is
"De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis."
IV
But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.
I said it was a story of a ghost --
What then? I only know it so befell.
Have you explored the limits of the coast,
Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell?
'T is time to strike such puny doubters dumb as
The sceptics who would not believe Columbus.
V
Some people would impose now with authority,
Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;
Men whose historical superiority
Is always greatest at a miracle.
But Saint Augustine has the great priority,
Who bids all men believe the impossible,
Because 't is so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he
Quiets at once with "quia impossibile."
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don Juan: Canto The Sixteenth
The antique Persians taught three useful things,
To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the truth.
This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings--
A mode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings;
Horses they ride without remorse or ruth;
At speaking truth perhaps they are less clever,
But draw the long bow better now than ever.
The cause of this effect, or this defect,--
'For this effect defective comes by cause,'--
Is what I have not leisure to inspect;
But this I must say in my own applause,
Of all the Muses that I recollect,
Whate'er may be her follies or her flaws
In some things, mine's beyond all contradiction
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction.
And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats
From any thing, this epic will contain
A wilderness of the most rare conceits,
Which you might elsewhere hope to find in vain.
'Tis true there be some bitters with the sweets,
Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't complain,
But wonder they so few are, since my tale is
'De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis.'
But of all truths which she has told, the most
True is that which she is about to tell.
I said it was a story of a ghost--
What then? I only know it so befell.
Have you explored the limits of the coast,
Where all the dwellers of the earth must dwell?
'Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb as
The sceptics who would not believe Columbus.
Some people would impose now with authority,
Turpin's or Monmouth Geoffry's Chronicle;
Men whose historical superiority
Is always greatest at a miracle.
But Saint Augustine has the great priority,
Who bids all men believe the impossible,
Because 'tis so. Who nibble, scribble, quibble, he
Quiets at once with 'quia impossibile.'
And therefore, mortals, cavil not at all;
Believe:--if 'tis improbable you must,
And if it is impossible, you shall:
'Tis always best to take things upon trust.
I do not speak profanely, to recall
[...] Read more
The Angry Soup Of Racism
ain't it a shame:
when hate lynches
a 14 year old, Colored boy
in 1955, Mississippi,
and blows away the dreams of
(four innocent little Negroe girls) ,
in 1963, Birmingham, Alabama.
yeah,
bus that to your segregated thoughts:
as I “interracially” walk you,
through Little Rock, Arkansas
with Daisy Bates & nine Black Children,
to march along side the National Guard,
on their way to a lily white school,
as the message of this-
un-segregates & un-tangles
the history of hate;
attackin’ Negroes in 1957,
whose only desire was to be educated;
and schooled too.
racism & hate
doesn’t try to guide,
the white citizen council back,
to their good senses,
‘cause racism-
[...] Read more
poem by Ronald Stroman
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The Columbiad: Book IX
The Argument
Vision suspended. Night scene, as contemplated from the mount of vision. Columbus inquires the reason of the slow progress of science, and its frequent interruptions. Hesper answers, that all things in the physical as well as the moral and intellectual world are progressive in like manner. He traces their progress from the birth of the universe to the present state of the earth and its inhabitants; asserts the future advancement of society, till perpetual peace shall be established. Columbus proposes his doubts; alleges in support of them the successive rise and downfal of ancient nations; and infers future and periodical convulsions. Hesper, in answer, exhibits the great distinction between the ancient and modern state of the arts and of society. Crusades. Commerce. Hanseatic League. Copernicus. Kepler. Newton, Galileo. Herschel. Descartes. Bacon. Printing Press. Magnetic Needle. Geographical discoveries. Federal system in America. A similar system to be extended over the whole earth. Columbus desires a view of this.
But now had Hesper from the Hero's sight
Veil'd the vast world with sudden shades of night.
Earth, sea and heaven, where'er he turns his eye,
Arch out immense, like one surrounding sky
Lamp'd with reverberant fires. The starry train
Paint their fresh forms beneath the placid main;
Fair Cynthia here her face reflected laves,
Bright Venus gilds again her natal waves,
The Bear redoubling foams with fiery joles,
And two dire dragons twine two arctic poles.
Lights o'er the land, from cities lost in shade,
New constellations, new galaxies spread,
And each high pharos double flames provides,
One from its fires, one fainter from the tides.
Centred sublime in this bivaulted sphere,
On all sides void, unbounded, calm and clear,
Soft o'er the Pair a lambent lustre plays,
Their seat still cheering with concentred rays;
To converse grave the soothing shades invite.
And on his Guide Columbus fixt his sight:
Kind messenger of heaven, he thus began,
Why this progressive laboring search of man?
If men by slow degrees have power to reach
These opening truths that long dim ages teach,
If, school'd in woes and tortured on to thought,
Passion absorbing what experience taught,
Still thro the devious painful paths they wind,
And to sound wisdom lead at last the mind,
Why did not bounteous nature, at their birth,
Give all their science to these sons of earth,
Pour on their reasoning powers pellucid day,
Their arts, their interests clear as light display?
That error, madness and sectarian strife
Might find no place to havock human life.
To whom the guardian Power: To thee is given
To hold high converse and inquire of heaven,
To mark untraversed ages, and to trace
Whate'er improves and what impedes thy race.
Know then, progressive are the paths we go
In worlds above thee, as in thine below
Nature herself (whose grasp of time and place
Deals out duration and impalms all space)
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Canto the Fourth
I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.
III.
In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.
V.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Pharsalia - Book VII: The Battle
Ne'er to the summons of the Eternal laws
More slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds,
Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven,
With gloomier presage; wishing to endure
The pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse;
And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames,
But lest his light upon Thessalian earth
Might fall undimmed.
Pompeius on that morn,
To him the latest day of happy life,
In troubled sleep an empty dream conceived.
For in the watches of the night he heard
Innumerable Romans shout his name
Within his theatre; the benches vied
To raise his fame and place him with the gods;
As once in youth, when victory was won
O'er conquered tribes where swift Iberus flows,
And where Sertorius' armies fought and fled,
The west subdued, with no less majesty
Than if the purple toga graced the car,
He sat triumphant in his pure white gown
A Roman knight, and heard the Senate's cheer.
Perhaps, as ills drew near, his anxious soul,
Shunning the future wooed the happy past;
Or, as is wont, prophetic slumber showed
That which was not to be, by doubtful forms
Misleading; or as envious Fate forbade
Return to Italy, this glimpse of Rome
Kind Fortune gave. Break not his latest sleep,
Ye sentinels; let not the trumpet call
Strike on his ear: for on the morrow's night
Shapes of the battle lost, of death and war
Shall crowd his rest with terrors. Whence shalt thou
The poor man's happiness of sleep regain?
Happy if even in dreams thy Rome could see
Once more her captain! Would the gods had given
To thee and to thy country one day yet
To reap the latest fruit of such a love:
Though sure of fate to come! Thou marchest on
As though by heaven ordained in Rome to die;
She, conscious ever of her prayers for thee
Heard by the gods, deemed not the fates decreed
Such evil destiny, that she should lose
The last sad solace of her Magnus' tomb.
Then young and old had blent their tears for thee,
And child unbidden; women torn their hair
And struck their bosoms as for Brutus dead.
But now no public woe shall greet thy death
As erst thy praise was heard: but men shall grieve
[...] Read more
poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Four Seasons : Autumn
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Not Supposed To Break Down
Youre not supposed to be human
Youre not supposed to really feel
Not supposed to get involved
With anything completely real
Fifteen families starving
All around the corner block
Here were standing so alone
Just like gibraltar rock
Not supposed to break down
Youre not supposed to break down
Swallow the dirt
Keep listening to the hurt
Youll be safe and sound
Supposed to be super human
Cover everything
Just like a bird
Cover an egg with its wing
And knowing theres nothing sacred
And what is the use
>no point trying to find
What is worth, what is true
Not supposed to break down
Youre not supposed to break down
Swallow the hurt listen to the dirt
Youll be safe and sound
Youre not supposed to break down
Youre not supposed to break down
Swallow the hurt
Listen to the dirt
And youll be safe and sound
A fool and his mainline connection
By-pass going to the well
But that doesnt matter anymore
Im sure that we can tell
Whos a puppet on a string
An who really holds the glove
But it aint up you and me
Its up to the lord above
Youre not supposed to break down
Youre not supposed to break down
Swallow the hurt
Keep on listening to the dirt
And Ill bet youll be safe and sound
Youre not supposed to break down
Youre not supposed to break down
Swallow the hurt
Listen to the dirt
Ill bet youll be safe and sound
And Ill bet youll be safe and sound
And Ill bet youll be safe and sound
[...] Read more
song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Attica State
-"it is my pleasure and privilige at this very solumn moment to introduce a young man and his wife.
Who saw fit to put down in music and lyrics so that it will never be forgotten in our country, by anyone, the tragedy of attica state.
There's no more that i can say, ladies and gentlemen. i would like to introduce you to john and yoko lennon."
-"i'd just like to say, it's an honour and a pleasure to be here at the apollo and for the reasons we're all here.
This song, yoko and i wrote, is called 'attica state'"
One, two, three, four!
What a waste of human power,
What a waste of human lives.
Shoot the pris'ners in the towers,
Forty-three poor widowed wives.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Media blames it on the pris'ners,
But the pris'ners did not kill.
"rockefeller pulled the trigger,"
That is what the people feel.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Free the pris'ners, jail the judges,
Free all pris'ners ev'rywhere.
All they need is truth and justice,
All the want is love and care.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
They all live in suffocation,
Let's not watch them die in sorrow.
Now's the time for revolution,
Give them all a chance to grow.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Come together, join the movement,
Take a stand for human rights.
Fear and hatred clouds our judgement,
Free us all from endless night.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
We all live in attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
Attica, attica, attica state.
-"thank you, aah, thank you, thank you, aah,. some of you, eh, wonder what i'm doinh here with no drummers and no nothin' like that.
Well, you might know i lost my me old band, or i left it. i'm puttin' a, i'm puttin' an elecric band together, it's not ready yet.
Ah, things like this keep comin' up so, i just have to busk it. so i'm gonna sing you a song now you might know
It's called 'imagine'
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Attica State
-"it is my pleasure and privilige at this very solumn moment to introduce a young man and his wife.
Who saw fit to put down in music and lyrics so that it will never be forgotten in our country, by anyone, the tragedy of attica state.
There's no more that i can say, ladies and gentlemen. i would like to introduce you to john and yoko lennon."
-"i'd just like to say, it's an honour and a pleasure to be here at the apollo and for the reasons we're all here.
This song, yoko and i wrote, is called 'attica state'"
One, two, three, four!
What a waste of human power,
What a waste of human lives.
Shoot the pris'ners in the towers,
Forty-three poor widowed wives.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Media blames it on the pris'ners,
But the pris'ners did not kill.
"rockefeller pulled the trigger,"
That is what the people feel.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Free the pris'ners, jail the judges,
Free all pris'ners ev'rywhere.
All they need is truth and justice,
All the want is love and care.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
They all live in suffocation,
Let's not watch them die in sorrow.
Now's the time for revolution,
Give them all a chance to grow.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Come together, join the movement,
Take a stand for human rights.
Fear and hatred clouds our judgement,
Free us all from endless night.
Attica state, attica state,
We're all mates with attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
We all live in attica state.
Attica state, attica state,
Attica, attica, attica state.
-"thank you, aah, thank you, thank you, aah,. some of you, eh, wonder what i'm doinh here with no drummers and no nothin' like that.
Well, you might know i lost my me old band, or i left it. i'm puttin' a, i'm puttin' an elecric band together, it's not ready yet.
Ah, things like this keep comin' up so, i just have to busk it. so i'm gonna sing you a song now you might know
It's called 'imagine'
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!