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They keep extending these unemployment benefits to the point where people are afraid to go out and get a job, because the job doesn't pay as much as the unemployment benefit does.

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For the Young Who Want To

Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don't have a baby,
call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.'s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else's mannerisms

is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you're certified a dentist.

The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.

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Better, Deeper, More Intelligent

Better, deeper, more intelligent,
and sensitive than us, Jane Austen
provides a literary environment
in which we all, by getting lost in
admiration for her heroines,
feel so diminished we conclude
whichever of the many heroes wins
their heart is an unlucky dude.

Riding with her, dressed by Abercombie
and Fitch is not the sort of way
I’d like to spend my time. I’m not a zombie.
Perhaps because I am not gay
I can’t relate to all the topics Jane
obsesses on, and in Northanger
Abbey heroines would all complain
I was a crashing bore and wanker.

“Why couldn’t all these heroines go out
and get a job? ” was asked by Emma––
not Jane’s, Ms. Thompson’s Emma, without doubt
a heroine who’s not a femi-
nist––oh horrid word––but understands
how prejudice which is their pride
lands nearly all of them in Jane’s badlands
composed of English countryside.

Who needs a woman who is deeper than
themselves, far better, surely, and
far more intelligent? I’m not that man.
Although I think I understand
what all her heroines are saying, I
don’t look for girls who're good or deep.
I’m merely looking for the sort who’ll lie
with me before I fall asleep.

Inspired by an article by Jennifer Schuessler on “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, ” by Seth Grahame-Smith (“I Was a Regency Zombie, ” NYT, February 22,2009) :

The classic examples of that would be any speech by Judi Dench — her accent certainly helps — or Emma Thompson’s understated, wryly funny acceptance speech at the 1996 Oscars, when she won the award for best adapted screenplay for “Sense and Sensibility.”
“Before I came, I went to visit Jane Austen’s grave in Winchester Cathedral to pay my respects, you know, and tell her about the grosses, ” she said. She also thanked Sidney Pollack “for asking the right questions, like, ‘Why couldn’t these women go out and get a job? ’ ” Ms. Thompson — who accepted another award, at the Golden Globes, with a speech in the style of Jane Austen herself — then did what cool British award winners do: she put the Oscar in her guest bathroom.

These days, America is menaced by zombie banks and zombie computers. What’s next, a zombie Jane Austen? In fact, yes. Minor pandemonium ensued in the blogosphere this month after Quirk Books announced the publication of “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, ” an edition of Austen’s classic juiced up with “all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie mayhem” by a Los Angeles television writer named Seth Grahame-Smith. (First line: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”) … In fact, “Pride and Prejudice” may already be a zombie novel, contends Brad Pasanek, a specialist in 18th-century literature at the University of Virginia. “The characters other than the protagonist are so often surrounded by people who aren’t fully human, like machines that keep repeating the same things over and over again, ” Professor Pasanek said. “All those characters shuffling in and out of scenes, always frustrating the protagonists. It’s a crowded but eerie landscape. What’s wrong with those people? They don’t dance well but move in jerky fits. Oh, they are headed this way! ” While the vast industry of Austen sequels and pastiches runs heavily toward the romance-novel end of the literary spectrum - see “The Private Diary of Mr. Darcy” by Maya Slater, to be published in the United States in June - scholars have long emphasized the mean-girl side of Jane’s personality. Professor Pasanek, who has collaborated on a project that uses spam-detection software to analyze Austen fan fiction, cites the psychologist D. W. Harding’s 1940 essay “Regulated Hatred, ” which sounds more like a death-metal band than a piece of influential Austen scholarship.“Most people try to ignore the fact that Austen’s novels are sort of acid baths, ” Professor Pasanek said. “She’s so much better, deeper, more sensitive and intelligent than everyone around her that she has to regulate her own misanthropy. Her novels are hostile environments.”


2/22/09

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Witches Trap

the one that used to keep me sane
is the one who destroyed my fragile brain
thoughs that twirl in my head are strange
for people around me they sound derange

is this how it's suppose to be
that people are afraid of me
whenever i get close or near
there eyes show nothing but fear

but not her she doesn't fear me
close to me is where she wants to be
the one that is messing with my brain
and keep causing nothing but pain

again i picked her out of a ditch
damned am i cursed by this witch
no matter what i do or say
she won't let me go away

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The happy Person

In a World where many have ulcers due to worry and stress
And where people are judged by material success
And since everyone answers to the reaper's call
The happy one is the most successful of all.

For the top job the happy one does not compete
And the happy one never feels sad in defeat
Not to be a hero or catch the big fish
Just to be happy in life is the happy one's wish.

The happy one can be a he or a she
But to find such a person do not look for me
Since like many others i feel weighed down by care
Though people like me they have never been rare.

The happy one everyone wishes to know
And the friends of the happy one in numbers grow
One who is not tainted by conceit or guile
And one who finds it easy to laugh and to smile.

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The Happy Person

In a World where many have ulcers due to worry and stress
And where people are judged by material success
And since everyone answers to the reaper's call
The happy one is the most successful of all.


For the top job the happy one does not compete
And the happy one never feels sad in defeat
Not to be a hero or catch the big fish
Just to be happy in life is the happy one's wish.


The happy one can be a he or a she
But to find such a person do not look for me
Since like many others i feel weighed down by care
Though people like me they have never been rare.


The happy one everyone wishes to know
And the friends of the happy one in numbers grow
One who is not tainted by conceit or guile
And one who finds it easy to laugh and to smile

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Fatal Consequences

Finding others to ridicule,
Because of the way they speak.
Walk and present themselves,
With a dignity commonly found in places...
Where people make no excuses for being themselves,
Is...
An environment where people are accustomed,
To belittling others and kept in practice.

With a choosing to see them conform to a mediocrity,
Many accept and enforce others to be...
Stereotyped and useless.
Illiterate in social skills.
Baffoons and fools.

And conditioned to perceive an ignorance lived,
Is the best quality of life to have.
With a feeding of this to generations that grow,
Worthless with no contributions to make...
But to be laughed at to add,
More suffering to their own fatal consequences.
And begging for an assistance to keep what they value,
Supported as if a sport to play and a self hatred as a goal.

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The Simple life I live

An afternoon walk
Seeing the white birds again
On these green ricefields
And the carabaos wallowing
Refreshing their skins in mud holes

It is the beginning of the
Planting season again
The weeds are uprooted
The plows run again
To make this land arable
The rain comes and too
The sun and the wind

The hills are greener
The trees are blooming
And so are the flowers
Along the footpaths

My dog walks with me
And his friend dog too walks with us
The wind so cool touches my face

The man nearby pastures his carabao
The woman washes some clothes in the river
The waters are still clear reflecting bluer skies
There are no sounds of buses in here

Far from the city in this little village
Where people are still innocent about greed
And grief and self-made confusions
The complications, the sophistications

I can live on a cup of rice, this mudfish,
This glass of water from the rock’s spring
This big banana leaf on my head
And the moon above everything else
And some stars lighting this lovely darkness

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Gloom And Doom

it was when your excitement was only the strong wind from the forest
the ripe mangoes fall for
you to pick them up
you run for excitement, the thrill of ripe fruits falling to your hands

it was when your sadness was only about a failing grade
on a math quiz

it was when your happiness was the carabao ride
from your nipa hut to the public school

it was when your sweet face was kissed by your mama
your hair caressed by a friend
simple memories

it was when your escape was the plunge in the river
with your naked friends


it was when your conversations are about fairies and princesses
and frogs and lost shoes


it was when the coolness was the thick grasses spreading
on the plains

it was when joy was the playing and bathing under the rain
on the month of November

now these changes have made things more complicated
people are hard to deal with and
a self that is deeper, darker
and difficult to really understand

now there are more severances, dreams that do not come true
failures keep coming, alienation of the self, the soul from the body

reverses, and uncertainties, longer nights,
without the stars,
a moon covered by thick clouds,
the heavy rain promising another big flood

gloomy crystal balls, smokes of fire, and
misfortunes of the mind

that earthquake is not the last.
when will this bad karma ever end?

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Haley Joel Osment

I like normal stuff people fear - like spiders and heights. I'm frightened by the unknown, by things that are hard to figure out and get a grip on.

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Cat Stevens

In a World where people are surrounded by darkness, ignorance and fear, it is a sign of hope to be celebrating Islam's message of peace and light, and the last great Messenger, born and chosen to deliver them to all mankind.

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I Write My Poems/They Keep Me Alive In Writing Now

I write my poems
They keep me alive in writing now
I can't write as I once did
I have the poems
These I can still do
I have to think what will be
When I lose them
The poems that keep me alive now
And one day will stop also.

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They Keep To Themselves Exclusively

The only ones who advocate wars and fighting,
Are those who seek images of being victorious...
To ignore the ones who leave their blood,
Left to be forgotten on foreign battlefields.

While those who charade their greatness,
Choose to use their expertise...
In dividing people and also those who have enlisted,
To serve in the military...
With choices to feed their own greeds.
That leaves them deciding who is entitled...
To share a feast they did not earn,
They keep to themselves exclusively.

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Deficiencies They Keep To Protect

Too often she has chosen to lie,
At the expense of others.
As she defended with protection,
Her insecurities she needs to correct.
But they have not been set,
As her priorities.
Just yet.

Too often he makes excuses,
For not making advances.
Towards that which will enhance his life.
And nothing suggested,
Will be okay or considered as right.
To him it is the environment he lives in,
That feeds his appetite all day and night.

They both have the same thing in common.
They both believe they should be bestowed,
Gift wrapped packages.
With their names on them in bold solid gold.

They both have the same thing in common.
They are both getting old.
With preferences they wish respected.
And a keeping of fears,
They can not see defects their steps.
Deficiencies they keep to protect.

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These People Are Never the First

Too often...
Those who use common sense,
Are punished for being correct.
In fact,
Some sarcastically call them smart.
As if they are using some exclusive part of the brain...
Others do not have membership to address or obtain.

It's just another excuse to sound off their laziness,
With a customary abuse of their existence.

You need not ask for them to give an opinion.
It will be there in the atmosphere!
Along with a judgement passed...
As to who made the wrong or right decision.
And why...
If it was up to them,
They would have made another choice.
And these people are never the first,
To make their voices heard!

It's just another excuse to sound off their laziness,
With a customary abuse of their existence.

And it makes one wonder why...
God has blessed certain creatures with wings to fly.
And some creatures with brains...
Never to be used for long periods of time.
Or,
Very little.
If at all.

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It Would Take the Enjoyment Out of Doing It

You can dress a dog in a suit.
Pedicure its nails.
Shampoo its hair and get it cut.
And put booties on it,
To keep its paws clean.

But a dog,
Not spayed, neutured or...
Tied to a tree in the woods,
Will definitely express it is in heat!

And if man's 'best' friend
Has no problem in exposing that publicly...
Why do parents find it hard to believe,
Their children are having sex?
Didn't they have it,
To produce these creatures...

Huh?

There are too many folks,
Being rehabilitated in prisons...
To fit into a society,
That treats having sex like it does its racism.

'Uh...er...we have no problem here'a with those 'peeple'.
Why we's got a few livin' ova there'a back yonder! '

~Excuse me,
I'm new here.
Has the year two thousand and nine arrived here, yet? ~

People are afraid to talk about it,
Because it would take the enjoyment out of doing it.
Therefore,
It is denied!

Clearly done!
But denied,
By everyone who does it!
And if you are reading this...
Your mama and daddy did 'it' too!
Get over yourselves...
All of you!

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The bond

The real bond has God's blessings
So much close feelings and nothing goes as missing
Two souls get together to fulfill the promises
Life is pulled on nicely with no label of miss

It is necessary to fill the holy bond
You may feel the life as pond
Though with limited world and aspirations
Simple solutions to the emerging challenges and questions

Is that what we aim for and finish the valuable destiny?
Do we go for completely for material gain and money?
If that is the only point for consideration
Then you will find many failures and abrasions

No doubt that may occupy majority of time with options
You may go through impossible ordeals and adoptions
Yet its basic instinct may centre on quick gain
Even though you may be worn out with complete drain

How much struggle you make for both ends to meet?
There is no enough space to secure the seat
There is always scuffle, struggle and burning desire
The consistent failure may subject you to satire

These are lovely stages and must be admired
They keep you tied until fully summarized
The outcome may be with either swing
You may stand victorious in the decorated ring

The name, fame and everything will come
You may have all praises and tumultuous welcome
Congratulations may pour from all the directions
It may strengthen your association with complete bond

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Fresh Fruits of the Spirit - Peace

Peace

Because we have sought the Lord our God, yearning for Him with all our desire, He has given us rest and peace on every side.
And even when we lie down to sleep, You alone, O Lord, will keep us safe.
2 Chronicles 14: 7; Psalm 4: 8, paraphrased

“When people are saying, all is well and secure, and there is peace and safety, then in a moment unforeseen destruction (ruin and death) will come upon them as suddenly as labor pains come upon a woman with child; and they shall by no means escape, for there will be no escape.” 1 Thessalonians 5: 3, AMP

Dear Lord,
These texts are at opposing ends of the spectrum.
Do we need a reality check?
You promise peace, but there is no peace in this world today…
far cry from it.
Yes, we hear peace phrases spoken by both preachers and politicians,
but according to the last text, there is no peace.
So if there is no peace, how do we get this fruit?

My Child,
The only peace you will ever have is in Me.
This world does not offer peace – though it promises you many things.
Some things are good, but most lead your mind far away
from Truth, and from Me.
Please lean on me. You will never be too heavy for Me to hold.
I have much to teach you; to share with you so you will
be strengthened for troublesome times ahead. Yes, many will cry “peace and safety” from now until I return,
but don’t be misled.
I, alone, Am the Way, the Truth and the Life.
And it is in these three that you will find the
fruit of perfect peace.

“You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast,
because he trusts in you.”
Isaiah 26: 3, NIV

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On The Burial Ground

Die by violence in this world
Is nothing strange for us
With all those chemicals, wars and destructions
We do not know mother nature has in store for us
The race for economy makes people forget
The lives around this planet
As men become more egoist
Pretty soon
there will be nothing in this world
For men to spare
[Pre-chorus:]
Stupidity, causing pain
And sickness
To our world
Suffer
[Chorus:]
On the burial ground
Is what this planet is all about
It's where we are right now
We might not have any future to be found
On this burial ground
We have nowhere to hide
Death is laughing at our cries
And now we are feeling the effects
That the forces of nature has brought
The droughts, Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions
It's gettin worse than even before
We can see the revenge of this planet upon us
As we keep hurting the sea
The soil and the air
Sometimes some catastrophic accidents happen
Causting death rate and we wounder from where
People are dying in civilization of different lands
Because of the drought
Occurences of flooding everywhere
Killing innocent people and leaving others in despair
Abomination because people fear that all these events
Happen without any warning killing unexpectedly
Men subjugate the forces of nature
But we don't know that it's destroying us slowly
The animals are becoming extinct
Seas and rivers polluted by toxic waste
Combustible smoke
Factories are creating acid rains
That is burning our skins
Damaging plantations
And soon it will bring us to death
Air pollution is disintegrating our atmosphere
Allowing the ultra-violet rays to burn the earth
And to provoke us fear
[Repeat chorus]
[Lead]
Soon some of the lives on this planet
Won't exist anymore
Because we won't be able to recreate
Some of the beauty thta we had before
Nobody seems to care
About the future of our children's civilizations
We better act now
So they won't have a life of torment and frustration
[Repeat pre-chorus, chorus]
Cursed by men this world has become
We are building our own tombs
By eliminating our source of life
When blindly we continue the destructions
There's no future
Day by day we are reaching the end of our lives

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Keep your windows open and get connected to the world

My job is to let in sunlight
And to keep inside ventilated
In the process dusts airborne
As vehicles move find their way in
And settle on things kept inside

I am on a mud wall and
And overlooking the paddy field
Across the untopped road by the side
Women and men at home
Peep through me if they hear
Something odd from the road

I am a silent spectator to all that
Happen inside or outside this
Small well kept mud floored hut

At times I breathe air laden with
The fragrance of the paddy field in blossom
And the aroma of garlic
Fried in a corner of the hut
I overhear often the romantic whispers
Of the husband and wife inside
I am also used to the cries of the
Children and their quarrel
I see village folks carrying plough rods
And driving the pair of oxen
I hear the shrill call of a woman
Selling fish and vegetables
In the early morning hours
A number of times I get frightened
By the yells of the differently dressed
Village soothsayer and I pray within
Let him not have to predict something
Unwanted to the people of my hut

Rain water finds its way into the hut
Through me and I feel bad if someone
Shuts my doors hurriedly and with force

I may give an impression I am insensitive
But I only know I rejoice within when
People around are comfortable
And I cry within when they are in distress
I long for many good things to happen
To the family that my hut houses

I wish the children grow well
With enough skills and knowledge
Not only to take care of themselves
But also the community
Let them not stay innocent and starving
As their parents do
Let them be enlightened and evolved
With enough maturity to understand
People nearby and their ways of thinking
Let them have enough riches
And a mind to share the same with others
Let them grow considerate
And have commitment to uplift
Themselves and their kin

I am none other than the window
Of a village hut
People open me,
Get a fresh flow of cool breeze
And exclaim
“Oh, what a wind” and that is why
I am known as Window

Let the world understand
I am connecting this hut to the universe
I am an ambassador of this family
I am a well wisher to them
And to all for that matter

Keep your windows open
And get connected to the world

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Patrick White

The Reason Most People Are Unhappy

The reason most people are unhappy
is that they love their misery.
They cling to it
like a voodoo doll of themselves
they've been poking pins in since childhood.
They derive their identity from it.
They wouldn't know who they were without it.
They drive pins through its eyes in the mirror
to make things clear as rain
and then refusing to go along
with the flow of life
seek shelter in the pain
of never going anywhere.
They cast curses
on fate on God on life on love
on the impure selflessness of blue knowledge
but they're spitting into the wind
and their curses come back on them
like chapter and verse
of an infernal bible
that doesn't command them
to do anything but carry on as they are.
You can look up astonished at the stars
enraptured by a glimpse of the same mystery
that awes the gods themselves
into an unfamiliar silence
and lose the moment
like a butterfly on a chainsaw
as you hear the hiss and snarl of misery
dying and whining beside you
like a snowflake on a furnace
about being down to its last cigarette
in front of all these firing squads
gathered like constellations
against the innocent flame
of a solitary match
that refuses to go out
without fixing the blame
on everything else that shines.
Misery sees a waterlily opening in a swamp
transforming all that decay
like enlightenment
into something brief and beautiful
like earth's answer to the stars
and it's the swamp it remembers
in all its lurid details:
the spider sucking the life
out of the dragonfly
caught in a radiant web
among the treacherous cattails.
Misery holds a grudge against life
for sustaining itself on food
it grows for itself
and breaks like loaves among the poor
to keep things going
whether you taste honey
or bitter ashes on your bread
or brunch with the dead
by giving up hunger altogether
as a protest against
the lavishness of nature
squandering good water on wine.
I remember a poet
from the non-existent good old days
who could cut your throat like a razor
with a sharp dark phrase
and the birds would stop singing
and his girlfriend in the corner
would shudder to think
she would be his next blood-sacrifice
if he were ever to discover
how innocent she really was.
He ended the way he began
according to his own cosmic laws
with nothing left to eclipse
agreeing with Sophocles
that never to have been born is best.
He may have gotten the world off his chest
when he shot himself through the heart
like the last fang of wisdom he had to impart
like a crescent of the moon
that would never be full
like a sickle without a harvest
that cut down everything in sight
just to spite the flowers
but he had to point the gun
at his heart
not his brain
to do it.
And that was that.
He stayed true to his pointlessness
as if that were the point
he had been trying to make all along.
And then the birds broke back into song.

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