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Very simply, the culture of another people does not have to be accepted when it is subhuman!

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It Does Not Have To Be This Way

Every culture tries to control, manipulate, shame, dominate the other culture, the dominate cultures today where the so called inferior cultures of the past, the so called inferiors to day where the dominate cultures of the past in many or most cases, in their region or in their portion of their continent. This is what individuals do to one another. This is how we are habituated on many levels, but it does not have to be this way. Believe in your self, face this tendency of humanity that we need to grow out of, defend your self from this, rise without putting others down. Weed out dysfunctional patterns of relating, of being that you picked up from your family.

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A Poem Does Not Have to Rhyme

There are those who think in order for a poem to have rhythm it must rhyme, but a poem does not have to rhyme to have rhythm.
The rhythm comes for the poet’s soul not the rhyming of words.
The rhythm is in emotions that the poet’s poem evokes.
From a soulful cry to feeling of love and from the passion of hate to the awakening of understanding this is the beat, the rhythm of a poem. Now don’t get me wrong if a poem rhyme and has soul it is cool too, but I just wanted everyone to know that a poem does not have to rhyme.

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Most People Will Not Have A Poem In Their Name

Most people will not have a poem in their name
No one will tell their story-
Their Remembrance will be with their family
For a generation or two or three-

Most people will die without a poem in their name-

How many people do I know
I should have written a poem for?
And how few and poor
Those I have tried to write.

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The middle-class people

In the pages of magazines & story-lines of TV channels,
I have always heard about the middle class people

What we are and where we belong (?)
disco & pop are replacing folk song
we talk about globalization at the cost of identity
while chasing endless dreams, meet harsh reality

In efforts to achieve esteem ambitions
people are forgetting culture & traditions
rich people do not have value for it,
& poor do not have time
it's the middle-class that carry weight of expectations

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What She Does Not Know

she thinks
he is sissy

he does not
mind her
advances

she touches
his

he looks at
the moon

she kisses him
he turns his face
down

she is mad
for his evasions

what she does not
know

he already
erupted

when she gazes
on him
that very first moment.

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Hate Works But Love Does Not

I have seen the love
In the eyes around me
Caring and hugging my feelings
As the root of the tress
I know the warmness of the arms
The soft touch of the palms
But love is lazy and lethargic
Seldom it can be found energetic
The promptness it does lack
It never works back to back
But the hate works very ferociously
With red eyes it acts very quickly
A full pack of energy
Blitzkrieg and scorching
Swashbuckling and blistering
It cuts very deeply and burns very badly
It works havoc but love does not.

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The Future Is In Deep Sleep And Does Not Bother....

i look back
(with minor regrets)
a life unedited
asking for some
corrections

i look back again and again
i can do more than this and that
it could have been something else
i could have been someone
more enlightened

i look back
it has become one bad habit for me
until i bump
a wall and it hurts my face
awakens me

it is this present this wall
this soundless pain
this complacency

too much of the past
i know, emaciates the present
on slipping hours
on hands with leaks
on dimming lights
on lazy afternoons and
colder nights

the future in deep sleep
does not bother.

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Separate From Me

“Separate from me, ” said Abraham to Lot,
“our people cannot coexist with one another.”
Lot chose to live in Sodom, where it’s very hot,
and said to Abraham: “It really doesn’t bother
me that all the people there are dreadful sinners.”
Its nightlife influenced him to be the city’s chooser.
Some people do not have a knack for picking winners,
but do not pity Lot. Although he was a loser
who nearly fried to death and lay with both his daughters,
he ended up the ancestor of Israel’s kings,
when Ruth the Moabite caught up with Boaz, tortoise
that breaks its safety shell and flies with wifely wings.
This is a story that we learn in Aesop’s fables,
relating how the tortoise overtook the hare;
Boaz was a hare who didn’t care for labels,
thought anti-Ruth discrimination wasn’t fair.
In ancient Athens ostracism was ten-yearly,
a ritual that allowed return, recalling Lot’s
descendant who returned to Abraham sincerely,
by tying nuptial knots while cutting Gordian knots.

3/14/06

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A Mother Does Not

A mother does not raise her child for to fight and die in war
Or to kill another Human Being in a Country from home far
That her son or her daughter should at someone else shoot to kill
A person they have never known or who have never bore them ill.

Picasso's 'Screaming Woman' is for all woman kind
The mother weeps for her dead child with grief 'out of her mind'
Mothers do not raise their children for to be remembered on War Memorial Day
For to fight in war for war mongering non combatants and throw their lives away

A mother raises her son or daughter so her seed of life will live on
That her genes will still be around when she herself has gone
From the World of the living to be numbered amongst the dead
I wish for my children to outlive me that's what the mother said.

A mother does not raise her child for to meet with an early death
Not for her War Memorial Day or the words 'Lest we forget'
She wants her son and daughter for to grow old and gray
And she does not wish to hear of War and War Memorial Day.

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How I Wish The World Does Not Have A Hundred Eyes To See Me Naked

how i wish the world is blind to see me naked and broken
they always say
ever since i was small
this little girl is ugly
she will not have a promising future

(did they think that i better be thrown
to the sea and be eaten by sharks
or to the forest so i can be the prey
to those predators?)

they let me live, however,
thanks, nonetheless, and i have grown to be what i am
ugly
learning to live this way
ugly
time however has told me a different story
about the ugliness that lies only on the surface of
things, and living memories have grown in me
the seeds

some possibilities
for beauty

like i can grow a mind of my own
like i can be cultivated like a beautiful flower
of my choosing
in my own garden

like i can have the possibility of
a sweet scent
or i can be a slender plant that will bear
some luscious fruits
to feed the world and make it feel
that i can
quench its thirst
or satisfy its hunger

i have learned patiently
how to be a better possibility and long time ago
when i undressed myself
removing some layers of sadness
and confusion
skin upon skin upon skin

i was once afraid of everything
the windows
the cracks and the crevices
i was once afraid of the hundred eyes of this world
those walls barring me
those writings on the fences of my existence
shouting that

i am ugly
(that i do not have the right to live
or anything to live with)

i go naked again
time places another mirror at the center of my
thoughts,

to see another me
i am beautiful
in my nakedness

now, i do not wish anymore a blind world
so it can see the unfolding
the coming of my
thousand possibilities like some kind winds
white sea caps and gentle sands,

i am beautiful and i really know it now
by heart

this confident soul undressed and still so beautiful.

that you, my lovely world, must start to see.

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Federico García Lorca

City That Does Not Sleep

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this morning cried so much
it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.

Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead
dahlias.
But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist;
flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a thicket of new veins,
and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever
and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders.

One day
the horses will live in the saloons
and the enraged ants
will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the
eyes of cows.

Another day
we will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the dead
and still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats
we will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue.
Careful! Be careful! Be careful!
The men who still have marks of the claw and the thunderstorm,
and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the invention
of the bridge,
or that dead man who possesses now only his head and a shoe,
we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakes
are waiting,
where the bear's teeth are waiting,
where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting,
and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder.

Nobody is sleeping in the sky. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is sleeping.
If someone does close his eyes,
a whip, boys, a whip!
Let there be a landscape of open eyes
and bitter wounds on fire.
No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one.
I have said it before.

No one is sleeping.
But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during the
night,
open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlight
the lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theaters.

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Change the pair to get flair.

The rays of sun fall on the blades of leaves.
The leaves are excited, and undergo
Chemical changes with warmth of the sun.
Yesterday, and before, it happened.
Those rays were different, though of the Sun.
The rays of each day feel they are the first
And woo the leaves to the guile of the leaves.
As though the leaves are virgin

The law of diminishing utility
Does not operate in love making
When the pair is altered and instead,
Ensures optimum eroticism.
26.05.2001, Pmdi

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All that is Gold does not glitter

All that is Gold does not glitter
The sultriest of beauties carry thorns
The humblest little soft petalled jasmine
A feast for afternoon tea and sweet perfume
The best cut diamonds that glitter and shine
A molten rock culled from blackest coal
And the girl who just walked away with the first trophy
For best vocal, someone you would have thought a nobody

by john tiong chunghoo
inspired b y


All That is Gold Does Not Glitter
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

JRR Tolkien

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He Feels The Time Is Ripe

Where many do live for local renown
The ageing fringe dweller in the old country town
Has never played football with the local club
And always drinks on his own when he is in the pub.

Since he does not talk about the local club's latest loss or win
He remains an outsider and does not fit in
Though he has lived here for ten years as an outsider he remain
The status of a local he has yet to attain.

He feels a decade of his life enough to have spent here
He will move to the bigger town early next year
This not a town for one such as he an artist and a talented man
More suited to a footballer or a football fan.

In the old country town he does not have a friend
And his stay in the place is coming to an end
In his early to mid fifties his best days long gone
And he feels the time is ripe for him to move on.

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Perplexity

Time changes
Changes every thing
From truth to beauty
Every thing is moving
From love to morality,

Love is now a butterfly
From this flower to that flower to flatter by
This flower does not have
That flower might have the desired pleasure
This cave does not have surprises
That cave might have the wonder!


Morality is now
A make up box, a mask
A means to meet the selfish end
A weapon man made
Twist and turn to suit the whimsical trade.
In the periphery of divinity now men is the guide
The car of the morality men now drive.

Truth remains not a truth at all
It keeps changing with time and place
Losing its beauty and divine grace
In the eyes and minds beauty is very restless
From the beginning permanently remains only the perplexity
In the life of bewilderment absolute is the paradoxical irony.

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For Friendships To Be Formed

They have so much in common they love to talk football
And big names of their favourite sport they do love to recall
Though not everyone in their drinking group barracks for the same club
Football the main topic of conversation when they meet in the pub,
Birds of a feather flock together as some do like to say
And that too applies to people or so 'twould seem that way
The one interested in art does not have one who loves sports as a friend
They would find each other boring why otherwise pretend,
For friendships to be formed there must be common ground
Amongst a group of football fans a tennis fan won't be found
'Tis out of common interests that the seeds of mateship are sown
Perhaps 'tis from there the saying was born that he or she is one of our own
If we all had the same hobby how boring we would be
Our different ways makes us more interesting or so 'twould seem to me.

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He Does Not Sleep That Well At Night

He does not sleep that well at night though his troubles are small
The possums walking on his roof the rats squeak in the wall,
The boobook owl is crying mopoke on the trees across the way
He used to sleep without once waking till after break of day.

He does not sleep that well at night his wife beside him snore
He lay beside her wide awake for three hours sometimes more
The moon shines through the window pane he hear the plover cry
And the hunting fox is barking in the old paddock nearby.


He does not sleep that well at night he lay in bed awake
And the voices of the nocturnal creatures he cannot mistake
The frogs are singing in the ponds to tell that rain is near
And occasionally the barking of the neighbourhood dogs he hear.

He goes to bed at ten o clock but he doesn't get to sleep till around two
Although he must get up to go to work at seven still his worries seem so few
Compared to some who do sleep well with him it used not to be this way
He often slept for ten hours straight till after break of day.

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Old Wooden Cradle

Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle
The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside.
No more to its motion o’er sleep’s fairy ocean,
Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide.

No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker,
Their sweet dreamy fancies are fostered and fed;
No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging –
The child of this era is put into bed.

Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,
It lent to the twilight a strange, subtle charm;
When bees left the clover, when play-time was over,
How safe seemed this shelter from danger or harm.

How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling,
How weird were the voices that whispered around,
What dreams would come flocking, as rocking and rocking,
We floated away into slumber profound.

Good-bye to the cradle, the old wooden cradle,
The babe of to-day does not know it by sight.
When day leaves the border, with system and order,
The child goes to bed and we put out the light.

I bow to Progression and ask no concession,
Though strewn be her pathway with wrecks of the past;
So off wit old lumber, that sweet ark of slumber,
The old wooden cradle, is ruthlessly cast.

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The School Of Life

The place were much was learned; The School Of Life.

A far different place than papers, books, and homework.
The School of Life, is a never ending, when it comes to lessons.

In The School Of Life, I have learned, that not
all, is ever learned, or comprehended.

The School Of Life, often teaches one, some bitter and
disappointing lessons.

This school, reveals much in the way of surprises. Many
that of a happy nature and some, devastating.

Somehow, The School Of Life, teaches one, to keep going.
To try...try and try again. We learn that much is gained
through tenacity. We learn it matters not how many times
one is knocked down, for it is how many times we get
up, that is the test in this school.

We learn of mans inhumanity to man. We learn that in
helping our fellow human beings, there is much reward.

We learn, that The School Of Life, has no graduating day.
We learn, that we remain, an ongoing student of education.

The School Of Life, does have its rewards; a diploma of
knowledge, understanding and wisdom.

The School Of Life, better than any college in the world.
The School of Life, where knowledge is ones ticket to
anyplace in the world.

Learn ye well, for in The School Of Life, one does not
have the opportunity to repeat a grade.

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The School Of Life...

The place were much was learned; The School Of Life.

A far different place than papers, books, and homework.
The School of Life, is a never ending, when it comes to lessons.

In The School Of Life, I have learned, that not
all, is ever learned, or comprehended.

The School Of Life, often teaches one, some bitter and
disappointing lessons.

This school, reveals much in the way of surprises. Many
that of a happy nature and some, devastating.

Somehow, The School Of Life, teaches one, to keep going.
To try...try and try again. We learn that much is gained
through tenacity. We learn it matters not how many times
one is knocked down, for it is how many times we get
up, that is the test in this school.

We learn of mans inhumanity to man. We learn that in
helping our fellow human beings, there is much reward.

We learn, that The School Of Life, has no graduating day.
We learn, that we remain, an ongoing student of education.

The School Of Life, does have its rewards; a diploma of
knowledge, understanding and wisdom.

The School Of Life, better than any college in the world.
The School of Life, where knowledge is ones ticket to
anyplace in the world.

Learn ye well, for in The School Of Life, one does not
have the opportunity to repeat a grade.


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