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We've been raised to compete, to want more! More! More! It's a way of life. It's about greed.

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Greed and Selflessness

Greed indiscriminately penalizes,
Selflessness is the ultimate panacea; for uniting all
innocuously harmonious; for centuries immemorial and
alike….

Greed baselessly tyrannizes,
Selflessness is an Omnipotent fabric; which
irrefutably transcends you above the resplendent
heavens; to be the unequivocal favorite of the
divine….

Greed ruthlessly snatches,
Selflessness is the only road to everlasting
prosperity; coalescing even the most salaciously
treacherous with the scent of the bountifully
bestowing soil….

Greed manipulatively stagnates,
Selflessness is the most priceless core of enthralling
existence; enlightening unassailable beams of hope; in
all those dwellings miserably impoverished; without
optimism and light….

Greed horrendously massacres,
Selflessness is an Omnisciently miraculous ointment;
which heals the most bizarre wounds of the
overwhelming rich and pathetically destitute; alike…

Greed uncouthly divests,
Selflessness is a enchantingly silken flower; which
disseminates the true spirit of mankind; to even the
most infinitesimal parts; of this fathomless globe….

Greed lethally poisons,
Selflessness is a grandiloquently mesmerizing sky;
which relentlessly showers the blessings of the
Almighty; upon all philanthropically benign….

Greed pulverizes beyond recognition,
Selflessness is a unendingly radiating horizon; which
brilliantly sparkles all night and day; with the
rainbow of unconquerable righteousness….

Greed maliciously obfuscates all truth,
Selflessness is the most Omnipresent harbinger of
celestial peace; unstoppably heading towards the
paradise of scintillating success….

Greed insidiously cripples,
Selflessness is a majestically flapping bird that

[...] Read more

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Ill Compete

Ill be your promotional copy in this here number one band
Take your business beyond your furthest dreams sounds
Sounds great sounds really grand but wait
Let us hurry now time is catching up
And it looks like the music hall race has caught me up
But Ill compete (yeah yeah)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (with the rest of the pack)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (on the beat)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (with a full deck)
For all that Im worth
Ill be your popswop, come floppy disc, race you along the upper deck
Retrieve from you my with-held treasure,
Then watch you sink with you sunken rotting wreck,
Let us hurry now, time is running out,
Lets not forget time is money said the business man to his faithful scout.
But Ill compete (in the national press)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (with the back chat)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (on the beat)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (international)
For all that its worth
We must hurry now time is closing in
And Im getting no younger in fact
Im five years closer to my pension scheme
But Ill compete (yeah yeah)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (for the ratings)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (on the beat)
For all that its worth
Ill compete (with the rest of the pack)
For all that Im worth
C-c-c-c-compete
C-c-c-c-compete

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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

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Urgent

Urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
It's urgent...
That we all now see,
Dependency on others we must all heed.
Yes it's urgent...
That a greed and gluttony be released.
So urgent...
Is the writing on the wall,
No one must ignore at all!

It's urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
It's urgent...
That we all now see,
Dependency on others we must all heed.
So urgent...
That a greed and gluttony be released,
The writing's on the wall for all to see!
The writing's on the wall for all to see!

It's urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
It's urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
So urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
And we must leave philosphies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
While others are starving as we feed greed.
While others are starving as we feed greed.
Thinking of others is the urgency!

Urgent IS the emergency,
That we START to think of others...
And STOP our greed.

Urgent IS the emergency,
That we START to think of others...
And STOP our greed.

Urgent IS the emergency,
That we START to think of others...
And STOP our greed.

[...] Read more

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The Need And The Greed

Need is a desire; greed is a desire.
Desires denied, sufferings surface.
Need is met at ease but not the greed
Which is boundless with sufferings profound.

Need and greed aren’t in water tight cells.
Need might restrict to physical wants.
Greed is for ego’s gratification.
Possessiveness is the sign of the greed.

To earn by wrongful means is from greed.
To exploit and hoard is an act of greed.
To garner and flaunt all you have is greed.
Greedless, though penny-less, you’re loveable.

To sedate the pride is to tame the greed.
To kindle the pride is to fuel the greed.
Having got money, power and possession,
As the result of greed, you will lose peace.

Remove the greed; jealousy is gone.
Remove the greed; no feeling of revenge.
Hail the poor and condemn the greedy.
Then the tendency to grow rich will wane.

Live simple; live humble; then need is less.
Be proud to own a bicycle, not a car.
Value one who owns a bicycle, not a car.
You will have saved energy and the nature.

Don’t embrace comforts, which will weaken you.
Don’t enthuse with ego, which will make loss big.
Unlike the cheat, being poor is not a shame.
Less wants; less sufferings, more happiness.

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Vision of Columbus – Book 3

Now, twice twelve years, the children of the skies
Beheld in peace their growing empire rise;
O'er happy realms, display'd their generous care,
Diffused their arts and soothd the rage of war;
Bade yon tall temple grace the favourite isle.
The gardens bloom, the cultured valleys smile,
The aspiring hills their spacious mines unfold.
Fair structures blaze, and altars burn, in gold,
Those broad foundations bend their arches high,
And heave imperial Cusco to the sky;
From that fair stream that mark'd their northern sway,
Where Apurimac leads his lucid way,
To yon far glimmering lake, the southern bound,
The growing tribes their peaceful dwellings found;
While wealth and grandeur bless'd the extended reign,
From the bold Andes to the western main.
When, fierce from eastern wilds, the savage bands
Lead war and slaughter o'er the happy lands;
Thro' fertile fields the paths of culture trace,
And vow destruction to the Incan race.
While various fortune strow'd the embattled plain,
And baffled thousands still the strife maintain,
The unconquer'd Inca wakes the lingering war,
Drives back their host and speeds their flight afar;
Till, fired with rage, they range the wonted wood,
And feast their souls on future scenes of blood.
Where yon blue summits hang their cliffs on high;
Frown o'er the plains and lengthen round the sky;
Where vales exalted thro' the breaches run;
And drink the nearer splendors of the sun,
From south to north, the tribes innumerous wind,
By hills of ice and mountain streams confined;
Rouse neighbouring hosts, and meditate the blow,
To blend their force and whelm the world below.
Capac, with caution, views the dark design,
From countless wilds what hostile myriads join;
And greatly strives to bid the discord cease,
By profferd compacts of perpetual peace.
His eldest hope, young Rocha, at his call,
Leaves the deep confines of the temple wall;
In whose fair form, in lucid garments drest,
Began the sacred function of the priest.
In early youth, ere yet the genial sun
Had twice six changes o'er his childhood run,
The blooming prince, beneath his parents' hand,
Learn'd all the laws that sway'd the sacred land;
With rites mysterious served the Power divine,
Prepared the altar and adorn'd the shrine,
Responsive hail'd, with still returning praise,
Each circling season that the God displays,

[...] Read more

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The Golden Age

Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.

Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.

Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,-
Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.

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The Troubadour. Canto 3

LAND of the olive and the vine,
The saint and soldier, sword and shrine!
How glorious to young RAYMOND'S eye
Swell'd thy bold heights, spread thy clear sky,
When first he paused upon the height
Where, gather'd, lay the Christian might.
Amid a chesnut wood were raised
Their white tents, and the red cross blazed
Meteor-like, with its crimson shine,
O'er many a standard's scutcheon'd line.

On the hill opposite there stood
The warriors of the Moorish blood,--
With their silver crescents gleaming,
And their horse-tail pennons streaming;
With cymbals and the clanging gong,
The muezzin's unchanging song,
The turbans that like rainbows shone,
The coursers' gay caparison,
As if another world had been
Where that small rivulet ran between.

And there was desperate strife next day:
The little vale below that lay
Was like a slaughter-pit, of green
Could not one single trace be seen;
The Moslem warrior stretch'd beside
The Christian chief by whom he died;
And by the broken falchion blade
The crooked scymeter was laid.

And gallantly had RAYMOND borne
The red cross through the field that morn,
When suddenly he saw a knight
Oppress'd by numbers in the fight:
Instant his ready spear was flung,
Instant amid the band he sprung;--
They fight, fly, fall,--and from the fray
He leads the wounded knight away!
Gently he gain'd his tent, and there
He left him to the leech's care;
Then sought the field of death anew,--
Little was there for knight to do.

That field was strewn with dead and dying;
And mark'd he there DE VALENCE lying
Upon the turbann'd heap, which told
How dearly had his life been sold.
And yet on his curl'd lip was worn
The impress of a soldier's scorn;

[...] Read more

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Bad Side Of The Moon

(bernie taupin/elton john)
Published by songs of polygram international - bmi
Seems as though Ive lived my life on the bad side of the moon
To stir your dregs, and sittin still, without a rustic spoon
Now come on people, live with me, where the light has never shone
And the harlots flock like hummingbirds, speakin in a foreign tongue
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
It seems as though Ive lived my life on the bad side of the moon
To stir your dregs, and sittin still, without a rustic spoon
Now come on people, live with me, where the light has never shone
And the harlots flock like hummingbirds, speakin in a foreign tongue
Im a light world away, from the people who make me stay
Sittin on the bad side of the moon
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
There aint no need for watchdogs here, to justify our ways
We lived our lives in manacles, the main cause of our stay
And exiled here from other worlds, my sentence comes to soon
Why should I be made to pay on the bad side of the moon
Im a light world away, from the people who make me stay
Sittin on the bad side of the moon
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life
This is my life, this is my life, this is my life, my life

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The Columbiad: Book III

The Argument


Actions of the Inca Capac. A general invasion of his dominions threatened by the mountain savages. Rocha, the Inca's son, sent with a few companions to offer terms of peace. His embassy. His adventure with the worshippers of the volcano. With those of the storm, on the Andes. Falls in with the savage armies. Character and speech of Zamor, their chief. Capture of Rocha and his companions. Sacrifice of the latter. Death song of Azonto. War dance. March of the savage armies down the mountains to Peru. Incan army meets them. Battle joins. Peruvians terrified by an eclipse of the sun, and routed. They fly to Cusco. Grief of Oella, supposing the darkness to be occasioned by the death of Rocha. Sun appears. Peruvians from the city wall discover Roch an altar in the savage camp. They march in haste out of the city and engage the savages. Exploits of Capac. Death of Zamor. Recovery of Rocha, and submission of the enemy.


Now twenty years these children of the skies
Beheld their gradual growing empire rise.
They ruled with rigid but with generous care,
Diffused their arts and sooth'd the rage of war,
Bade yon tall temple grace their favorite isle,
The mines unfold, the cultured valleys smile,
Those broad foundations bend their arches high,
And rear imperial Cusco to the sky;
Wealth, wisdom, force consolidate the reign
From the rude Andes to the western main.

But frequent inroads from the savage bands
Lead fire and slaughter o'er the labor'd lands;
They sack the temples, the gay fields deface,
And vow destruction to the Incan race.
The king, undaunted in defensive war,
Repels their hordes, and speeds their flight afar;
Stung with defeat, they range a wider wood,
And rouse fresh tribes for future fields of blood.

Where yon blue ridges hang their cliffs on high,
And suns infulminate the stormful sky,
The nations, temper'd to the turbid air,
Breathe deadly strife, and sigh for battle's blare;
Tis here they meditate, with one vast blow,
To crush the race that rules the plains below.
Capac with caution views the dark design,
Learns from all points what hostile myriads join.
And seeks in time by proffer'd leagues to gain
A bloodless victory, and enlarge his reign.

His eldest hope, young Rocha, at his call,
Resigns his charge within the temple wall;
In whom began, with reverend forms of awe,
The functions grave of priesthood and of law,

In early youth, ere yet the ripening sun
Had three short lustres o'er his childhood run,
The prince had learnt, beneath his father's hand,
The well-framed code that sway'd the sacred land;
With rites mysterious served the Power divine,
Prepared the altar and adorn'd the shrine,
Responsive hail'd, with still returning praise,
Each circling season that the God displays,

[...] Read more

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Greed

How much do you really want?
If you had it would it really solve your problems?
Do you realise the pain it causes
Struggling for something you may never get
How much would you sacrifice if I told you I could change your life?
You don't have to take on my advice
Don't do something that you might regret
How much do you really need?
Is it justified or is it greed?
If you satisfy your vanity
If you get to where you think you wanna go
How much is it gonna take?
Will you see it through or will you break?
Cos in the end what will you have to show?

Life can be lonely
When all you have are your possessions
Greed becomes your main obsession
Just take it slowly
If what you want ain't what you need
You've become a victim of your greed

How much do you really feel?
Can you recognise when something's real?
Do you live your life by fake ideals?
Do you think that one day you will get the chance?
What happens if you don't achieve
Will it be enough if you believe
You can just rely on destiny
Don't you know your fate is in your hands
How much is enough for you?
When you reach the top what will you do?
Will you look around for something new?
Without the destination will you carry on?
Will you try day after day
Pretend you don't hear what they say?
What would you do if all your pride was gone?

Life can be lonely
When all you have are your possessions
Greed becomes your main obsession
Just take it slowly
If what you want ain't what you need
You've become a victim of your greed

Cos material possessions ain't the world
(Ain't the world)
Nobody ever bought you happiness with diamonds or pearls
(Diamonds or pearls)
You've gotta look at this for what they really are

[...] Read more

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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

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Greed

Greed

GREED
IT IS SUCH A TERRIBLE THING
HEARTS IT TEARS AND MAKES THEM BLEED
AT TIMES IT BURNS SO BAD WHAT A STING
SO MUCH EVIL IT NEVER LEADS TO A GOOD DEED
GREED SUCH A VICIOUS THING

GREED
IT DESTROYS MARRIGES AND LIFES
IT DESTROYS WHAT WE WORK SO HARD TO EARN
IN CASES LEAVING MEN WITHOUT WIFES
BUT YET WE NEVER LEARN
TRUE TOO WIFES WITHOUT MEN
THE WORST PAIN UNDER THIS HAT
ARE CHILDREN THAT STAY WITH NONE OF THEM
SO UNDERSTAND WHAT A BAD BREED
THIS MONSTER IS, THIS MONSTER THAT
WE OFTEN CALL GREED

GREED
IT MAKES FREINDS INTO FOES
IT TURNS BROTHERS AGAINST BROTHERS
IT BRINGS SO MUCH WOES
IT TURNS MOTHERS AGAINST FATHERS
AND STILL WE DONT CONTROL THE NEED
AND TRY AND GET RID OF THIS BEAST
THIS BEAST WE CALL GREED

GREED
IT LEAVES FAMILIES HOMELESS
AND CHILDREN WITHOUT HOPES AND DREAMS
IT MAKES ALL FEEL LIKE SO MUCH LESS
IT BREAKS HEARTS AND MANY TEAMS
THIS TEAMS THAT AT MANY TIMES
WERE BEATIFUL AND HAPPY FAMILIES
BUT DUE TO GREED, FELL FOR THEIR CRIMES
SUCH A BAD CREATURE THAT LIKES TO FEED
ON THE HORRIBLE AND TRAGIC
FOOD WE CALL GREED.
SO PLEASE UNITE AND PRAY
THAT YOU CAN HAVE THE MAGIC
AND HOPE YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE DAY
THAT YOU BECOME THIS THING
CALLED GREED.
GOD BLESS.
MARTIN JAIME GONZALEZ

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Byron

Lara

LARA. [1]

CANTO THE FIRST.

I.

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, [2]
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord —
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.

The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself; — that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest! —
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.

And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

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Byron

Lara. A Tale

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord--
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.
The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;--that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!--
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.
And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
'Yet doth he live!' exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place;
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome to that Gothic pile.

IV.
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess;

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Edgar Lee Masters

Ballad Of Jesus Of Nazareth

I.

It matters not what place he drew
At first life's mortal breath,
Some say it was in Bethlehem,
And some in Nazareth.
But shame and sorrow were his lot
And shameful was his death.

The angels sang, and o'er the barn
Wherein the infant lay,
They hung a star, for they foresaw
The sad world's better day,
But well God knew what thyme and rue
Were planted by his way.

The children of the Pharisees
In hymn and orison
Worshipped the prophets, whom their sires
To cruel death had done,
And said, 'had we been there their death
We had not looked upon.'

While the star shone the angels saw
The tombs these children built
For those the world had driven out,
And smitten to the hilt,
God knew these wretched sons would bear
The self-same bloody guilt.

Always had he who strives for men
But done some other thing,
If he had not led a hermit life,
Or had not had his fling,
We would have followed him, they say,
And made him lord and King.

For John was clothed in camel's hair
And lived among the brutes;
But Jesus fared where the feast was spread
To the sound of shawms and lutes,
Where gathered knaves and publicans
And hapless prostitutes.

Like children in the market place
Who sullen sat and heard,
With John they would not mourn, nor yet
Rejoice at Jesus' word;
Had Jesus mourned, or John rejoiced,
He had been King and lord.

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Tannhauser

The Landgrave Hermann held a gathering
Of minstrels, minnesingers, troubadours,
At Wartburg in his palace, and the knight,
Sir Tannhauser of France, the greatest bard,
Inspired with heavenly visions, and endowed
With apprehension and rare utterance
Of noble music, fared in thoughtful wise
Across the Horsel meadows. Full of light,
And large repose, the peaceful valley lay,
In the late splendor of the afternoon,
And level sunbeams lit the serious face
Of the young knight, who journeyed to the west,
Towards the precipitous and rugged cliffs,
Scarred, grim, and torn with savage rifts and chasms,
That in the distance loomed as soft and fair
And purple as their shadows on the grass.
The tinkling chimes ran out athwart the air,
Proclaiming sunset, ushering evening in,
Although the sky yet glowed with yellow light.
The ploughboy, ere he led his cattle home,
In the near meadow, reverently knelt,
And doffed his cap, and duly crossed his breast,
Whispering his 'Ave Mary,' as he heard
The pealing vesper-bell. But still the knight,
Unmindful of the sacred hour announced,
Disdainful or unconscious, held his course.
'Would that I also, like yon stupid wight,
Could kneel and hail the Virgin and believe!'
He murmured bitterly beneath his breath.
'Were I a pagan, riding to contend
For the Olympic wreath, O with what zeal,
What fire of inspiration, would I sing
The praises of the gods! How may my lyre
Glorify these whose very life I doubt?
The world is governed by one cruel God,
Who brings a sword, not peace. A pallid Christ,
Unnatural, perfect, and a virgin cold,
They give us for a heaven of living gods,
Beautiful, loving, whose mere names were song;
A creed of suffering and despair, walled in
On every side by brazen boundaries,
That limit the soul's vision and her hope
To a red hell or and unpeopled heaven.
Yea, I am lost already,-even now
Am doomed to flaming torture for my thoughts.
O gods! O gods! where shall my soul find peace?'
He raised his wan face to the faded skies,
Now shadowing into twilight; no response
Came from their sunless heights; no miracle,
As in the ancient days of answering gods.

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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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With My Finger Up And Raised

Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of false faces that come.
Tired of those fixed smiles done.
Tired of the running by some...
Of those who say they care!

But not one woe I will do!

Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

But not a single woe I will do.
And....
Not a woe I will do will prove...
With my finger up and raised!

Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.

But not a single woe I will do.
And....
Not a woe I will do will prove.
Or a showing I have had it,
With attitude.
And my finger up and raised!

But not a single woe I will do.

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Ivy Leaguers Who Cheat

Ivy leaguers who cheat,
To increase their chances of feeding greed...
May deceive,
But...
Don't they reflect a society,
Promoting feasting greed?

Integrity...?
Where is at?
And honesty...?
Where is it at?
Respect has gone.
And that's a fact.
Thieving is on!
And...
Taught when one is born.

Integrity...?
Where is at?
And honesty...?
Where is it at?
Respect has gone.
And that's a fact.
Thieving is on!
And...
Taught when one is born.

Ivy leaguers who cheat,
To increase their chances of feeding greed...
May deceive,
But...
Don't they reflect a society,
Promoting feasting greed?

Thieving is on!
And...
Taught when one is born.

Ivy leaguers who cheat...
Are honored and promoted to feed greed.
This is success for those who seek the best.
No matter if a quality of life...
Bleeds.

Ivy leaguers who cheat...
Are honored and promoted to feed greed.
This is success for those who seek the best.
No matter if a quality of life...
Bleeds.

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