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We know we're up against the wall. We know how difficult a challenge it is, being in the minority.

quote by Tom Daschle
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The Iliad: Book 12

So the son of Menoetius was attending to the hurt of Eurypylus
within the tent, but the Argives and Trojans still fought desperately,
nor were the trench and the high wall above it, to keep the Trojans in
check longer. They had built it to protect their ships, and had dug
the trench all round it that it might safeguard both the ships and the
rich spoils which they had taken, but they had not offered hecatombs
to the gods. It had been built without the consent of the immortals,
and therefore it did not last. So long as Hector lived and Achilles
nursed his anger, and so long as the city of Priam remained untaken,
the great wall of the Achaeans stood firm; but when the bravest of the
Trojans were no more, and many also of the Argives, though some were
yet left alive when, moreover, the city was sacked in the tenth
year, and the Argives had gone back with their ships to their own
country- then Neptune and Apollo took counsel to destroy the wall, and
they turned on to it the streams of all the rivers from Mount Ida into
the sea, Rhesus, Heptaporus, Caresus, Rhodius, Grenicus, Aesopus,
and goodly Scamander, with Simois, where many a shield and helm had
fallen, and many a hero of the race of demigods had bitten the dust.
Phoebus Apollo turned the mouths of all these rivers together and made
them flow for nine days against the wall, while Jove rained the
whole time that he might wash it sooner into the sea. Neptune himself,
trident in hand, surveyed the work and threw into the sea all the
foundations of beams and stones which the Achaeans had laid with so
much toil; he made all level by the mighty stream of the Hellespont,
and then when he had swept the wall away he spread a great beach of
sand over the place where it had been. This done he turned the
rivers back into their old courses.
This was what Neptune and Apollo were to do in after time; but as
yet battle and turmoil were still raging round the wall till its
timbers rang under the blows that rained upon them. The Argives, cowed
by the scourge of Jove, were hemmed in at their ships in fear of
Hector the mighty minister of Rout, who as heretofore fought with
the force and fury of a whirlwind. As a lion or wild boar turns
fiercely on the dogs and men that attack him, while these form solid
wall and shower their javelins as they face him- his courage is all
undaunted, but his high spirit will be the death of him; many a time
does he charge at his pursuers to scatter them, and they fall back
as often as he does so- even so did Hector go about among the host
exhorting his men, and cheering them on to cross the trench.
But the horses dared not do so, and stood neighing upon its brink,
for the width frightened them. They could neither jump it nor cross
it, for it had overhanging banks all round upon either side, above
which there were the sharp stakes that the sons of the Achaeans had
planted so close and strong as a defence against all who would
assail it; a horse, therefore, could not get into it and draw his
chariot after him, but those who were on foot kept trying their very
utmost. Then Polydamas went up to Hector and said, "Hector, and you
other captains of the Trojans and allies, it is madness for us to
try and drive our horses across the trench; it will be very hard to
cross, for it is full of sharp stakes, and beyond these there is the

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Minority Government

The wise are in minority.
The rulers are in minority
Rogues too are in minority.
So are captains and militants.

Teachers are in minority.
Bishops are in minority.
Juries too are minority.
So are smugglers and the rich.

Americans are in minority.
Human beings are in minority.
Minority rules the majority.
Minority rides the majority.

Majority yields to minority.
Majority fears the minority,
And loves to play the role of drudgery.
The sign of majority is slavery
23.09.2008

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Brus Book X

[Preparations for battle against John of Lorn]
Quhen Thomas Randell on this wis
Wes takyn as Ik her devys
And send to dwell in gud keping
For spek that he spak to the king,
The gud king that thocht on the scaith
The dispyt and felny bath
That Jhone off Lorne had till him doyn
His ost assemblyt he then sone
And towart Lorn he tuk the way
With his men intill gud aray.
Bot Jhone off Lorn off his cummyng
Lang or he come had wittering,
And men on ilk sid gadryt he
I trow twa thousand thai mycht be
And send thaim for to stop the way
Quhar the gud king behovyt away,
And that wes in an evill plas
That sa strayt and sa narow was
That twasum samyn mycht nocht rid
In sum place off the hillis sid.
The nethyr halff was peralous
For schor crag hey and hydwous
Raucht to the se doun fra the pas,
On athyr halff the montane was
Sua combrous hey and stay
That it was hard to pas that way.
I trow nocht that in all Bretane
Ane heyar hill may fundyn be.
Thar Jhone off Lorne gert his menye
Enbuschyt be abovyn the way,
For giff the king held thar away
He thocht he suld sone vencussyt be,
And himselff held him apon the se
Weill ner the pais with his galayis.
Bot the king that in all assayis
Wes fundyn wys and avisé
Persavyt rycht weill thar sutelte,
And that he neid that gait suld ga.
His men departyt he in twa
And till the gud lord off Douglas
Quham in herbryd all worschip was
He taucht the archerys everilkane
And this gud lord with him has tane
Schyr Alysander Fraser the wycht,
And Wylyam Wysman a gud knycht
And with thaim syne Schyr Androw Gray.
Thir with thar mengne held thar way
And clamb the hill deliverly
And or thai off the tother party

[...] Read more

poem by John Barbour
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Easy and Difficult

Easy and Difficult

Easy to get a place in someone’s address book
Difficult is to get a place in someone’s heart
Easy is to judge the mistakes of others
Difficult is to recognize our own mistakes
Easy is to talk without thinking
Difficult is to control the tongue
Easy is to hurt someone who loves us
Difficult is to heal the wound
Easy is to forgive others
Difficult is to ask for forgiveness
Easy is to set rules
Difficult is to follow them
Easy is to dream every night
Difficult is to fight for a dream
Easy is to show victory
Difficult is to accommodate defeat with dignity
Easy is to admire a full moon
Difficult is to see the other side
Easy is to stumble on a stone
Difficult is to get up
Easy is to enjoy life every day
Difficult is to give its real value
Easy is to pray every night
Difficult is to find God in small things
Easy is to promise something to someone
Difficult is to fulfill the promise
Easy is to say we love
Difficult is to show it every day
Easy is to criticize others
Difficult is to improve oneself
Easy is to make mistakes
Difficult is to learn from them
Easy is to weep for lost love
Difficult is to take care of it so as not to lose it
Easy is to think about improving
Difficult is to stop thinking and putting it into action
Easy is to think bad of others
Difficult is to give them the benefit of doubt
Easy is to receive
Difficult is to give

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The Brus Book XVIII

Only Berwick remains in English hands; a burgess offers to betray it]

The lordis off the land war fayne
Quhen thai wist he wes cummyn agan
And till him went in full gret hy,
And he ressavit thaim hamlyly
5 And maid thaim fest and glaidsum cher,
And thai sa wonderly blyth wer
Off his come that na man mycht say,
Gret fest and fayr till him maid thai.
Quharever he raid all the countre
10 Gaderyt in daynte him to se,
Gret glaidschip than wes in the land.
All than wes wonnyn till his hand,
Fra the Red Swyre to Orknay
Wes nocht off Scotland fra his fay
15 Outakyn Berwik it allane.
That tym tharin wonnyt ane
That capitane wes of the toun,
All Scottismen in suspicioun
He had and tretyt thaim tycht ill.
20 He had ay to thaim hevy will
And held thaim fast at undre ay,
Quhill that it fell apon a day
That a burges Syme of Spalding
Thocht that it wes rycht angry thing
25 Suagate ay to rebutyt be.
Tharfor intill his hart thocht he
That he wald slely mak covyne
With the marchall, quhays cosyne
He had weddyt till him wiff,
30 And as he thocht he did belyff.
Lettrys till him he send in hy
With a traist man all prively,
And set him tym to cum a nycht
With leddrys and with gud men wicht
35 Till the kow yet all prively,
And bad him hald his trist trewly
And he suld mete thaim at the wall,
For his walk thar that nycht suld fall.

[The marischal shows the letter to the king,
who seeks to avoid jealousy between Douglas and Moray]

Quhen the marchell the lettre saw
40 He umbethocht him than a thraw,
For he wist be himselvyn he
Mycht nocht off mycht no power be
For till escheyff sa gret a thing,
And giff he tuk till his helping

[...] Read more

poem by John Barbour
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Losing My Minority

To lose one’s minority
Is not a bad thing.

With the loss of minority
come untold opportunities,
The magic of the number Eighteen.

With the loss of minority
Comes the lifting of the chains
That we once called childhood.

With the loss of minority
Comes college, then work,
Credit cards and Ebay.

With the loss of minority
Come parties and booze,
Familiar faces in the evening news.

With the loss of minority
Comes the search for a partner –
The thorn-lined chatrooms on rose-colored sites.

With the loss of minority
Comes the loss of virginity
And the loss of your sanity.

To lose one’s minority
is not a bad thing.

Young girl, welcome to your future.

poem by Marin Tsuikata
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Empire State Human

Since I was very young I realised
I never wanted to be human size
So I avoid the crowds and traffic jams
They just remind me of how small I am
Because of this longing in my heart
Im going to start the growing up
Im going to grow now and never stop
Think like a mountain, grow to the top
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
With concentration
My size increased
And now Im fourteen stories high
At least!!
Empire state human
Just a bored kid
Ill go to egypt to be
A pyramid
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Tall, tall, tall, I want to be tall, tall, tall
As big as a wall, wall, wall, as big as a wall, wall, wall
And if Im not tall, tall, tall, then I will grow, grow, grow
Because Im not tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall, tall
Brick by brick
Stone by stone
Growing till hes fully grown
Brick by brick
Stone by stone
Growing till hes fully grown
Fetch more water
Fetch more sand
Biggest person in the land
Fetch more water
Fetch more sand
Biggest person in the land

song performed by Human League
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sum Total Residue Life Ripples

lifetimes spent filling empty spaces
lifetimes spent desiring other places
people could spend a lifetime in this

world studying learning doing or not
belonging or not as you choose most
people cannot most need to conform

but you can and will define yourself
herd mentality conformity denies self
conformity imprisons social responsibility

compliance identification internalization
choose then informational social influence
choose also or normative social influence

information cascade knowledge peer pressure
age social rejection social norms youth culture
status public opinion immediacy group numbers

conformity normally leads individuals
to think and act more like social groups
herd mentality often rejects rationality

status individuals are occasionally
able to reverse lower IQ herd tendency
challenge change people peer groups

minority influence is a special case
of adaptive informational influence
minority influence is most influential

when group accepted admired esteemed people
can charismatic make a clear consistent
case for their point of view prime relevant

but when minority view fluctuates
shows uncertainty signs signals
chance of influence is small falls

however beware a racist minority
that makes a strong scapegoat political
convincing case which increases

probability of changing majority beliefs
changing majority beliefs behaviors
minority members perceived as experts

members with appeal high in status
perceived benefited group in the past

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Ducks On The Wall

After dinner norman becomes depressed.
Star:
Normans office got on my nerves to-day.
Wife:
What do you mean? you are norman!
Star:
(shouts) I am a star!
Wife:
Youre not a star norman. youre
Just a plain ordinary little bloke and
Even if you walked down the street in
A silver suit people still wouldnt
Recognise you. youre dull, ordinary
And uninteresting! youre a drag!
Star rises from his chair and smashes
The dinner plates to the floor.
Star:
I hate this house and I hate you, but
More than anything else I hate those
Ducks!
Wife:
Dont you touch those ducks norman!
They were a present from my mother.
Look, norman, Ive had enough of you
And your ridiculous fantasies. first of
All you wanted to be a painter, then
You wanted to be an astronaut, then
A footballer and now youre playing at
Being a rock singer. if you touch those
Ducks Im leaving!
Ducks on the wall
My babys got the most deplorable taste,
But her biggest mistake
Is hanging over the fireplace.
Shes got ducks, ducks on the wall,
Ducks, ducks, hanging on the wall.
My ladys got a sort of strange fascination,
An obsessive fixation
For cheap decorations
Shes got ducks, ducks on the wall.
Ducks, ducks, hanging on the wall.
Wo-wo-wo I love her so but if she doesnt move the ducks,
I think my mind is gonna go.
Ducks ducks on the wall.
Ducks ducks, hanging on the wall.
I leave the office and I want to relax.
Dont want to stare at a wall
And look at a duck that cant quack.
I love you baby but I cant fall
For those ducks on the wall.

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinks
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Up For The Challenge

Up for the challenge,
And wearing brand new boots.
Up for the challenge.
I've got something to prove!
If I win or lose.

Depictions make no sense.
Whether intended,
Or made by accident.

Up for the challenge,
And wearing brand new boots.
Up for the challenge.
I've got something to prove!
If I win or lose.

Someone others thought a fool,
Maybe one who someday rules!

Some have no purpose but to fly at night like bats.
Some have no purpose but to chitter chat in packs.
Some have no purpose but to stir up tit for tats...
And,
Be petty like that.
'Cause...
That is where their minds are at!

Up for the challenge.
And I know that I can manage it!

Up for the challenge,
And wearing brand new boots.
Up for the challenge,
'Cause I've got something to prove.

Depictions make no sense.
Whether intended,
Or made by accident.
But I admit I get incensed,
When no one but me pays my rent!

'Oh? '

No 'Oh'.

Some have no purpose but to fly at night like bats.
And...
Some have no purpose but to chitter chat in packs.
And...
Some have no purpose but to stir up tit for tats.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Whos Been Writing On The Wall Again

Someone keeps on telling me how much he loves me so
Writes it on the wall outside so I will always know
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori, I love you , lori, I love you
Evry evening I come home , its waiting there for me
Three little words, one little voice , someone I cant see
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hes write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when I meet him ,Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Is he tall or is he small
I wonder what his game is
I wish hed write it on the wall
And tell me what his name is
I dont know if his hair is blonde or if his eyes are blue
But I know that when meet him , Im gonna love him too
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again
Lori , I love you , lori , I love you
Whos been writing on the wall again
Whos been writing on the wall again (fade)

song performed by Bee Gees
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Siege of Corinth

In the year since Jesus died for men,
Eighteen hundred years and ten,
We were a gallant company,
Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea
Oh ! but we went merrily !
We forded the river, and clomb the high hill,
Never our steeds for a day stood still;
Whether we lay in the cave or the shed,
Our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed:
Whether we couch'd in our rough capote,
On the rougher plank of our gliding boat.
Or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddles spread
As a pillow beneath the resting head,
Fresh we woke upon the morrow:
All our thoughts and words had scope,
We had health, and we had hope,
Toil and travel, but no sorrow.
We were of all tongues and creeds; ---
Some were those who counted beads,
Some of mosque, and some of church;
Yet through the wide world might ye search,
Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.
But some are dead, and some are gone,
And some are scatter'd and alone,
And some are rebels on the hills
That look along Epirus' valleys,
Where freedom still at moments rallies,
And pays in blood oppression's ills;
And some are in a far countree,
And some all restlessly at home;
But never more, oh ! never, we
Shall meet to revel and to roam.
But those hardy days flew cheerily !
And when they now fall drearily,
My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,
And bear my spirit back again
Over the earth, and through the air,
A wild bird and a wanderer.
'Tis this that ever wakes my strain,
And oft, too oft, implores again
The few who may endure my lay,
To follow me so far away.
Stranger --- wilt thou follow now,
And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow?

I
Many a vanish'd year and age,
And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands,
A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron (1816)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Max Wall

Spike milligan, peter sellers, michael bentine, harry secombe,
Arthur askey, tommy cooper, norman wisdom, frankie howerd,
Norman vaughan, dave allen,
Max wall, max wall, max wall, max wall
John cleese, terry gilliam, michael palin, graham chapman,
Eric idle, ministry of silly walks, benny hill,
Max wall, max wall, max wall, max wall
Steve davis, alex higgins (gf), jimmy white, terry griffith (gf),
Brian odgers, dave early, bernie holland, richie buckley,
Max wall, max wall, max wall, max wall
Spike milligan, michael bentine, peter sellers, harry secombe,
Harry worth, frankie howerd, norman wisdom, tommy cooper,
Just like that!, benny hill,
Max wall, max wall, max wall, max wall

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Over The Wall We Go

Over the wall we go
All coppers are nanas
Over the wall we go
Leave 'em a note saying "happy new year"
I know all the best ways to break out of here
I helped a young laddie called ivan
I bundled him over the wall last night
Then he climbed back and he grabbed me tight
He uttered some words that i can't say to you
'cause he remembered that he was a screw
Over the wall we go
All coppers are nanas
Over the wall we go
Leave 'em a note saying "happy new year"
My name is henry though some say i'm thick
I've spent half me life in and out of the nick
My mum sends me presents to keep me in style
Soggy old cakes and hundreds of files
Now i sussed all them files i'm a clever young man
Now i look stupid with manicured hands
Over the wall we go
All coppers are nanas
Over the wall we go
Leave 'em a note saying "happy new year"
Spoken:
"double 3, 421" "here"
"double 3, 422" "gruesome"
"double 3, 423" "i'm here"
"double 3, 424" "hello"
"double 3, 425" "hi"
"double 3, 426, double 3, 426, where is he?"
"here, keep it up the ledge another course and we're out"
Over the wall we go
All coppers are nanas
Over the wall we go
Leave 'em a note saying "happy new year"
My name is regie the scandolous mind
I got seven years so i gossip my time
I gave all the tickbits and pieces of newt
I'm a privilidged corpse and my uniform is blue
The new lads would ask me if i am a screw
I'll tell them oh cheeky not even for you
Over the wall we go
All coppers are nanas
Over the wall we go
Leave 'em a note saying "happy new year"
Over the wall we go
All coppers are nanas
Over the wall we go
Leave 'em a note saying "happy new year"

[...] Read more

song performed by David Bowie
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The Shadow

Paul Jannes was working very late,
For this watch must be done by eight
To-morrow or the Cardinal
Would certainly be vexed. Of all
His customers the old prelate
Was the most important, for his state
Descended to his watches and rings,
And he gave his mistresses many things
To make them forget his age and smile
When he paid visits, and they could while
The time away with a diamond locket
Exceedingly well. So they picked his pocket,
And he paid in jewels for his slobbering kisses.
This watch was made to buy him blisses
From an Austrian countess on her way
Home, and she meant to start next day.

Paul worked by the pointed, tulip-flame
Of a tallow candle, and became
So absorbed, that his old clock made him wince
Striking the hour a moment since.
Its echo, only half apprehended,
Lingered about the room. He ended
Screwing the little rubies in,
Setting the wheels to lock and spin,
Curling the infinitesimal springs,
Fixing the filigree hands. Chippings
Of precious stones lay strewn about.
The table before him was a rout
Of splashes and sparks of coloured light.
There was yellow gold in sheets, and quite
A heap of emeralds, and steel.
Here was a gem, there was a wheel.
And glasses lay like limpid lakes
Shining and still, and there were flakes
Of silver, and shavings of pearl,
And little wires all awhirl
With the light of the candle. He took the watch
And wound its hands about to match
The time, then glanced up to take the hour
From the hanging clock.
Good, Merciful Power!
How came that shadow on the wall,
No woman was in the room! His tall
Chiffonier stood gaunt behind
His chair. His old cloak, rabbit-lined,
Hung from a peg. The door was closed.
Just for a moment he must have dozed.
He looked again, and saw it plain.

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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The Challenge

I had a dream
To challenge a scheme
And with my scheme
I shattered my dream
I had a scheme
To challenge a dream
And with my dream
I shattered my scheme
The scheme the brain and the dream
They challenged my self-esteem
I had a brain that conceived the dream
That challenged the scheme
That shattered the dream
That challenged my self-esteem
I had a brain that conceived the scheme
That challenged the dream
That shattered the scheme
That challenged my self-esteem
The brain the scheme and the dream
They challenged my self-esteem
With my self-esteem,
I challenge my scheme
To challenge my brain
To conceive the dream
That shattered the scheme
With my, scheme
I challenge my self-esteem
To challenge my brain
To conceive the dream
That shattered my self-esteem
With my, dream
I challenge my self-esteem
To challenge my brain
To conceive the scheme
That shattered the dream
My self-esteem the brain and the dream
They challenged the scheme

6/20/07

poem by Jim Milks
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His Writings On The Wall

when he was writing about
walls
he wrote the words on the walls
and they were arranged
like walls
from wall to wall his description
about the wall was
consistently like a wall
walling in all the walls
around the wall
where he was writing
consistently and
uniformly the word

wall, wall, wall, wall
and then nothing but a train of walls like this

wallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallw allwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwallwall
of course, he did notn add any smoke from steam engine
neither did he add any children and women and even men riding on the
train of walls
there was no driver even
or wheels

what he stressed was just a wall, a wall train, a wall nothing but a wall
walling him in
but what he really wanted at the end was something that should wall him out

something however that until now he is still trying to figure out

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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History teaches us...

A stone's throw, just, from Chelsea's football ground,
-skinhead territory long before any silverware -
there's a barber whose window decorations indicate
they're stylists in that tricky, ingrowing black hair;
I dropped in there one day; and as the one white face
in that busy, proud salon (I took the last spare seat with some relief)
spent half an hour or so as a 'minority',
as images of identity played out some tennis game of mind
across the net of what - division or harmony?
was I the face of hated white supremacy, now
the hated white minority? Covert glances on both sides...

Eventually I settled down, to then enjoy the novel ritual to me:
when you're finished, dusted down - rise from the chair,
and pause a second or two upon the barber's dais there
and face the audience; to be admired for sharp new style
which is by implication, tribute to the barber's skill;
there's palpably the sound of silent, proud applause
(I even dared, now shorn and bolder, to acquiesce, with respect,
in just a hint of this attractive ritual...) .
And here's the crowning glory of this escapade:
they charged me less than for that difficult black hair...

'History teaches us...'
...not to trust too much the lessons of history;
but rather, learn from how it's working out:
emigrate to seek a better life somewhere
where faiths and customs are so different
and you're the proud, hardworking, strange minority.

But then, beware - your children will not want
the birthmark of 'minority'; and maybe seek
some other pride than that of family,
a new identity, some wilder faith
than football's common touch, or cricket green;

the hosts and guests of history must learn
to seek to learn the lessons both must earn.

The Romans, empire-builders, had a phrase for this:
'lacrymae rerum' - which so gladly, sadly, means
the tears of things...

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Part Of The Wall

I know you just don't fit in,
I know no one likes you,
I know what you are going through.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Do I fit into the human race?
Or will I be part of the wall?

You were born with superpowers,
The ones that make you invisible girl,
You look at your self and say ugly,
But when I do I see beauty.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Do I fit into the human race?
Or will I be part of the wall?

You just love your self,
Cause you don't fit in,
Yeah, I know what that fells like.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Do I fit into the human race?
Or will I be part of the wall?

Close your eyes,
And think of the friends you have,
Laughing with you,
You are popular in my eyes.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Do I fit into the human race?
Or will I be part of the wall?

You are the wall paper,
Reds, green, and blue,
You might never fit in,
But don't worry,
I'll be friends with you.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Do I fit into the human race?
Or will I be part of the wall?

Ohhhhhhh
La, la, la, la, la

Ohhhhhhh

La, la, la, la, la

[...] Read more

poem by Brianna King
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