The surest guide to the correctness of the path that women take is joy in the struggle. Revolution is the festival of the oppressed.
quote by Germaine Greer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Bug
Mother Earth, can you feed us now?
Feed me now, feed me now
Mother Earth, can you see us now?
Hold me down, hold me down
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Mother Earth, can you feed us now?
Burst the bug, be forever loved
Hold me down, you can't hold me down
Break the bones, throw your stones
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
You gotta fight it, you can fight it, no one else will
Feed me now, see me now
Mother Earth, can you see us now?
Throw the stones, throw the stones
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
Revolution
song performed by Feeder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Joy To The World (feat. Brian Mcknight)
(feat. Brian McKnight)
Joy is the gift He brings
Joy is the song we sing
Joy may cover everything
Joy, joy to the world
Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing.
[Brian]
Joy to the world, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.
Talking 'bout joy, joy, joy, joy
Said, joy, joy, joy, joy
Joy to the world
I'm talking 'bout joy is the gift He brings
Joy is the song we sing
Joy let the church bell ring
Joy to the world
Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah bring some joy
He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove, oh yeah
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, and wonders of His love.
Wonders of His love
Talking 'bout joy is the gift He brings
And joy is the song we sing
Joy may cover everything
Joy to the world, yeah
Joy joy (talkin' 'bout joy)
Joy joy (joy)
Joy joy
Joy to the world
Talking 'bout joy
Talking 'bout joy
Talking 'bout the joy
Talking 'bout that joy
Talking 'bout joy
Joy
Joy
Joy
Joy, joy, joy
song performed by Vanessa Williams
Added by Lucian Velea
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Love Revolution
This is gettin old baby
Time for a real change
Time to turn our whole world around
cause I been getting restless now
Wondering whats up between you and me
Is gettin me down
Weve been hangin on for far too long
Somehow everything went wrong
Were in a place we dont belong anymore
You know that its true baby
So Ill see you around
Just walk away until you can make
A love revolution (love revolution)
And come back to me
Just do whatever it takes
Whatever you need to make
A love revolution (love revolution)
For you baby, for me baby
I said love, love revolution
I said love, love revolution
Hey Im not afraid to change
Inside and out baby
With or without you by my side
Its time to scream and shout
Let all these feelings out
Find out whats happening inside
Take away the borders inside your head
And youll see other things instead
Realize the life weve led is all over now
You know that its true baby
So Ill see you around
Just walk away until you can make
A love revolution (love revolution)
And come back to me
Just do whatever it takes
Whatever you need to make
A love revolution (love revolution)
For you baby, for me baby
I said love, love revolution
I said love, love revolution
If were gonna turn the world around
Its time that we get down to it
If were gonna turn the world around
Its time that we get down to it
Now I know that theres another way
And Im not waiting one more day
To make love revolution
For you baby, for me baby
And I wanna be around
When your walls come tumbling down
[...] Read more
song performed by Belinda Carlisle
Added by Lucian Velea
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One Star In The Dirty Window
for the occupiers of Wall Street
One star in the window and that’s enough to see me through the darkness for another night. Trying to weave a flying carpet out of a snakepit. Toxic wavelengths of mind. Poison arrowheads that make it worse to be wounded than killed outright. And all over Perth tonight I imagine there are bruised hearts like mine and yours turning cyanotically blue from having drunk from the same tainted wellsprings of life like fish that have no choice. The apples of October have been laced with the razorblades of Halloween by the psychopathic tree that hands them out like treats to the children in the doorway of an upright coffin. And the leaves are burning up in a fever of arsenic. Spiders work the loom like the strings of the system that hooks us by our gills in its seine nets until the great wild seas of our awareness and the dangerous freedom to look for new ungovernable continents within us so we can flee the corporate corruption of this one is reduced to the neurotic dimensions of a fish farm. If you are poor. If you’re worried about how to pay the rent this month. If it’s winter and there are harpies and sprites and ghouls threatening to turn the gas, the lights, the elements of life off like trolls under the bridge your money built to bilk you until it collapses from lack of repair. If you don’t how you’re going to manage to buy your kid a birthday present this year and you’re even more afraid of Christmas. If you’re poor and your prospects are as bleak as this deserted street tonight now all the ladys-in-waiting, princes, jesters, and warring kings have called it a night and emptied their street court like a bar. If you’re chronically tortured by the rags of dignity with the blood of a lost cause upon them like something that cost your mother and father their lives to fight for. And you’re ashamed of the straitjacket you’ve been forced to wear in order to have some overseer raise a spoon to your lips three exact times of the day like banking hours and GST cheques. If you smoulder with rage like a underground cedar fire burning in your roots like fuses of lightning afraid to explode. If you’re poor. If the weight of the world is on your back heavier than any cross the spiritual spin doctors of the complicit church and their political henchmen encourage you to carry like a virtue all the way to a fabricated heaven on the installment plan, but you can’t bear the load as a volunteer stretcher-bearer anymore, carrying your own corpse to the grave, while they rave in the wealth of what they have deprived you of here and now. If you’re poor. If you feel like a subliminal archetype of guilt in the collective unconscious of a society of quisling theosophists and weight-concscious c.e.o.’s sitting down to salads of money they eat out of the skulls of the children they’ve starved to death. If you don’t make enough money in Oregon to appeal to hypocritic oaths that sit on decisive committees to see if your son is worthy of a kidney transplant. An education. Piano lessons. A future that isn’t always an echo worse than the voices we heard yesterday protesting to the vampires that without a free blood bank they didn’t stand a chance of surviving the contributions they’re expected to make at night. If you’re poor in a chilly apartment in Perth tonight and you’re being eaten alive by the eggs that have been laid on your forehead like the living host to sustain the young of the killer bees that have sewn their nettles in the honey of life like the military-industrial complex of the hive. If you’re poor and you don’t get one year’s free subscription to satellite radio on the bus you have to take to work every morning surrounded by ads for the latest Ford-150 pick up truck ready to do a man’s work at the dropp of a hard hat and then go hunting in the country, and the new black paint is trying to imitate the skin of a naked woman, because your sex life depends on what you drive, and the sumptuary laws of the lies you’re allowed to wear like a Roman triumph are too stringent to get the dirt out of the dowdy greens and browns of your serfdom long enough to get laid by the calendar girls who sit like mermaids on a brand new truck, but have never sung to you. If you’re the poor wretch sitting in the doorway of the Bank of Nova Scotia across Foster Street in the small hours of the morning like a bird that gets to pick the parasites off the back of the hippopotamus that keeps rolling over on you in your sleep. For a fee. To hold up your end of a symbiotic relationship whereby you’re expected to eat shit and call it your daily bread. Eat humiliation, a ration of rat meat, and call it a just portion. Eat your education like bitter food for thought when you see how the fascistic ignorance of antediluvian fat men and their gold-digging wives are dignified by the juke-box of the news as if the point of view of a maggot on how to turn base metal into a gold butterfly it will never become were worthy of the same air time they give to eagles. One hundred news outlets with the same six slug lines like the top hits of the day. Catastrophe du jour. With rescued puppy stories for the trimmings. Eat information like the news. It’s Chinese food of the mind. Not very filling. With a fortune-cookie and a fat tape worm of better things to come wrapped around your bowels like the noose of a downed powerline that spared the cost of the rope to lynch you by your large intestine. If you’re poor and you’re always the falling leaf and never the apple. If you’re poor and it’s always autumn to judge by the banks of junkmail and bills that are swept up on your doorsill at all times of the year. If you’re poor and you’re punished for being out on the streets after curfew for having dropped through the cracks of your caste by a neocon leper colony privatized by the messianic lobbyists of free enterprise with one finger on the scales of equal opportunity because there isn’t a feather’s worth of good in them when they go before the jackal god of death and their grubby hearts are found wanting. If you’re poor and you’re listening to the North Carolina state legislature discussing your extermination in the civic minded tones of the Pied Piper of Hamlin and you’re eating your self-respect like the plague rat of why the rich suffer. Because in their creationist myth your womb is the enemy of the state. And you the infectious carrier of the pestilence. If you’re poor and sitting by the window on a warped floor behind the heritage field stones of an upstairs ghetto apartment in Perth feeling like the second coming of the Irish potato famine with no where to emigrate this time to be third in line below the Scotch and English on the food chain. If you’re poor. Tattoo this on your forehead like an Egyptian destiny you and your eyes will live to see fulfilled. It’s not your fault. Even if you’ve given up. Even if you’re gaping like zero, like absolute nothing, between two hissing sibilants of a serpentine medical symbol unravelling. And the dragon’s lost its wings. And the physician doesn’t care enough to heal himself because he’s lost his faith in oaths. Or dangerous hope has given way to futile despair and they’re both siblings of the absurd. It’s not your fault that you were born into a society where even the mirages in this desert of stars are bundled and sold like real estate. That illusions and diseases apply for patents of ownership. That even the constellations have become the work of surveyors not shepherds on a hillside and the poor are being foreclosed and evicted from the signs of the zodiac because they can’t pay the rent or the mortgage on the house they were born into. Or the hydro on the stars. Even if your spinal cord tinkles like the burnt out filament of a dead lightbulb and the shining’s gone out. It’s not your fault if the universe that was airlifted to you at birth as your portion of life with nothing missing was intercepted and sold at prices that eat their own on the black market of free enterprise for the poor, or they couldn’t afford it, and socialism for the rich because they couldn’t survive without you. You might be like the sea in the lowest place of all but all things flow like rivers down into you. And the depth of the valley of shadows and death you’re walking through alone is a function of the height of the mountain that digs it like a grave it will be buried in. When all the grains of sand like stars come together they make a sea of waves where life thrives in the here and now spontaneously not a pyramid for the sake of a single capstone whose happy afterlife is founded on quicksand.
Saw a huge spiderweb once under a streetlamp at Carleton University thirty-six years ago. Six spiders, their abdomens obese as lightbulbs, six tumours ripening on the panicked cells and neural networks of more frenzied insects drawn to the light out of the dark than their webs were meant to accommodate. The webs were ripping under the weight of the horrified fruits of their gluttony stuck in the powerlines like kites and running shoes and treacherous parachutes. The dew spangled veils of the morning were being torn off like consumerist dream catchers to entice the mob to the artificial radiance of the light that drove them crazy. But the spiders were too satiate to move. And they were being pulled down along with their prey under the massive superflux of their immensely successful catastrophe. Pleonaxia. The disease of more and more and more. And all the insects had to do because the conglomerate spiders were too immobilized by the obscenity of their gigantism to stick an ice-pick in the back of Trotsky’s neck in Cuba was to keep a cool enough head to extricate themselves puppet string by puppet string, spinal cord by spinal cord, straitjacket by straitjacket, wing by wing from the web. But most were paralyzed by their own fear waiting for the fatal moment of the ruinous agenda to come like a budget cutting knife to end their nightmare. And after all these years that terrible insight still provides me with blood-freezing metaphors into the present economic system that preys upon the poor by beading the foodchain with black thoraxes as if they were the ninety-nine names of God and it were a rosary we could all say our novinas on pleading for more lifeboats and happier lifelines than the rigging of this ship of state that’s going down with all of us aboard as the captains of industry jump like rats in Genoa back into the year 1348 when there were corpses galore to feed on.
If you’re poor. Come to the revolution but leave your guillotine at home. Come to the revolution but leave Lenin in Geneva. Come to the revolution like Wat Tyler but don’t believe the promises of the king. Come to the revolution like Spartacus but don’t put your faith in pirates to provide you with the means of escape. Come to the revolution like Toussaint L’Ouverture in Haiti but first drive the fer de lance out of your sugar-cane so that no innocent bystanders get bit as an off-handed matter of population control. Come to the revolution like Aung San Suu Kyi ready to sit down in the teahouses of Burma to pry the fingers of the junta off the throats of the people like the petals of a flower whose time has come to let go. Come to the revolution like Ghandi walking all the way to the sea to turn the pillars of British imperialism to salt without all the fire and brimstone of Sodom and Gomorrah. Come like him to the revolution as a leader who knew how to follow his people. Come to the revolution like Helen Keller who stood up to the Rupert Murdochs of the age who were more in need of signage than she was on behalf of the rights of the working people and declared Oh, ridiculous Brooklyn Eagle! What an ungallant bird it is! Socially blind and deaf, it defends a system that’s intolerable. The Eagle and I are at war. Come to the revolution like Nelson Mandela to an international rugby match in the uniform of a Springbok scrum half to show that over-rated hatred can’t make a comeback over the jubilation of people in play with one another in time enough to win. Come to the revolution like Victor Jara and the Chilean art brigades and bring that guitar and that voice he left us that you’ve been wanting to play for decades with a compassionate feel for the sorrows of others right down to the tips of your social democratic fingerprints as if you weren’t born too late to celebrate a lost cause with a Cinderella story right out the social pages of the mid-sixties into the front page slug lines of msnbc news today. And remember it’s better to sing sincerely than well when you’ve got Bob Dylan for a voice coach. Come to the revolution like Tuwakal Karman of Yemen like the first coffee flower of the Arab Spring to raise her voice against Ali Abdullah Saleh in the name of human rights and freedom of expression. Come to the revolution like Martin Luther to the church door in Wittenburg and post your thirty-three articles of protest but don’t think because you throw inkwells at the devil that’s the same as writing your name in blood on the marble of Wall Street or a war memorial for the dead of Vietnam. Come like George Washington to the American Revolution ready to lay your power down as a sign of complete victory over what satisfies the industrial complexity of the generals’ hearts. Come like Barack Obama to the wellsprings of a cleaner watershed than that which flowed like the corrupt ditches of the tainted bloodstreams of Eden like the four rivers of the running sores of the trickle down economics of the political food chain that ran before him for office by putting a carrot in front of a donkey and all your eggs in one basket in front of a rampaging elephant. Come to the revolution like Emmeline Pankhurst to a hunger strike in a game of cat and mouse with the government who’ll catch you and let you go to fatten you up and keep you from being force fed before they arrest you again for throwing your weight around like Emily Davison at the king’s horse in the name of wanting to run like a candidate at the same race track without the handicap of not being able to vote. Come to the revolution like Dolores Jiminez y Muro with a political plan to give Emiliano Zapata a Mexican classroom of political reform worth dying for. If you’re poor, as Kurt Cobain said, come as you are. And if Jesus doesn’t want you for a sunbeam then come as a cloud. Come as a mountain. Come as a full eclipse of the moon or a loveletter that someone sent back or come as seven come eleven and trust in your luck when the dice are not loaded like skulls with no eyes against you.
poem by Patrick White
Added by Poetry Lover
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Revolution Calling
For a price Id do about anything
Except pull the trigger
For that Id need a pretty good cause
Then I heard of dr. x
The man with the cure
Just watch the television
Yeah, youll see theres something going on
Got no love for politicians
Or that crazy scene in d.c.
Its just a power mad town
But the time is ripe for changes
Theres a growing feeling
That taking a chance on a new kind of vision is due
I used to trust the media
To tell me the truth, tell us the truth
But now Ive seen the payoffs
Everywhere I look
Who do you trust when everyones a crook?
Revolution calling
Revolution calling
Revolution calling you
[theres a] revolution calling
Revolution calling
Gotta make a change
Gotta push, gotta push it on through
Im tired of all this bullshit
They keep selling me on t.v.
About the communist plan
And all the shady preachers
Begging for my cash
Swiss bank accounts while giving their
Secretaries the slam
Theyre all in penthouse now
Or playboy magazine, million dollar stories to tell
I guess warhol wasnt wrong
Fame fifteen minutes long
Everyones using everybody, making the sale
I used to think
That only americas way, way was right
But now the holy dollar rules everybodys lives
Gotta make a million doesnt matter who dies
Revolution calling
Revolution calling
Revolution calling you
[theres a] revolution calling
Revolution calling
Gotta make a change
Gotta push, gotta push it on through
I used to trust the media
To tell me the truth, tell us the truth
[...] Read more
song performed by Queensryche
Added by Lucian Velea
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Z. Comments
CRYSTAL GLOW
Madhur Veena Comment: Who is she? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ....You write good!
Margaret Alice Comment: Beautiful, it stikes as heartfelt words and touches the heart, beautiful sentiments, sorry, I repeat myself, but I am delighted. Your poem is like the trinkets I collect to adorn my personal space, pure joy to read, wonderful! Only a beautiful mind can harbour such sentiments, you have a beautiful mind. I am glad you have found someone that inspires you to such heights and that you share it with us, you make the world a mroe wonderful place.
Margaret Alice Comment: Within the context set by the previous poem, “Cosmic Probe”, the description of a lover’s adoration for his beloved becomes a universal ode sung to the abstract values of love, joy and hope personified by light, colours, fragrance and beauty, qualities the poet assigns to his beloved, thus elevating her to the status of an uplifting force because she brings all these qualities to his attention. The poet recognises that these personified values brings him fulfilment and chose the image of a love relationship to illustrate how this comes about; thus a love poem becomes the vehicle to convey spiritual epiphany.
FRAGRANT JASMINE
Margaret Alice Comment: Your words seem to be directed to a divine entity, you seem to be addressing your adoration to a divinity, and it is wonderful to read of such sublime sentiments kindled in a human soul. Mankind is always lifted up by their vision and awareness of divinity, thank you for such pure, clear diction and sharing your awareness of the sublime with us, you have uplifted me so much by this vision you have created!
Margaret Alice Comment: The poet’s words seem to be directed to a divine entity, express adoration to a divinity who is the personification of wonderful qualities which awakens a sense of the sublime in the human soul. An uplifting vision and awareness of uplifting qualities of innocence represented by a beautiful person.
I WENT THERE TO BID HER ADIEU
Kente Lucy Comment: wow great writing, what a way to bid farewell
Margaret Alice Comment: Sensory experience is elevated by its symbolical meaning, your description of the scene shows two souls becoming one and your awareness of the importance of tempory experience as a symbol of the eternal duration of love and companionship - were temporary experience only valid for one moment in time, it would be a sad world, but once it is seen as a symbol of eternal things, it becomes enchanting.
I’M INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU
Margaret Alice Comment: You elevate the humnan experience of longing for love to a striving for sublimity in uniting with a beloved person, and this poem is stirring, your style of writing is effective, everything flows together perfectly.
Margaret Alice Comment:
'To a resplendent glow of celestial flow
And two split halves unite never to part.'
Reading your fluent poems is a delight, I have to tear myself away and return to the life of a drudge, but what a treasure trove of jewels you made for the weary soul who needs to contemplate higher ideals from time to time!
IN CELESTIAL WINGS
Margaret Alice Comment: When you describe how you are strengthened by your loved one, it is clear that your inner flame is so strong that you need not fear growing old, your spirit seems to become stronger, you manage to convey this impression by your striking poetry. It is a privilege to read your work.
Obed Dela Cruz Comment: wow.... i remembered will shakespeare.... nice poem!
Margaret Alice Comment: The poet has transcended the barriers of time and space by becoming an image of his beloved and being able to find peace in the joy he confers to his beloved.
'You transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.'
Margaret Alice Comment: You are my peace and solace, I know, I am, yours too; A mere flash of your thoughts Enlivens my tired soul And fills me with light, peace and solace, A giant in new world, I become, I rise to divine heights in celestial wings. How I desire to reciprocate To fill you with light and inner strength raise you to divine heights; I must cross over nd hold you in arms, light up your soul, Fill you with strength from my inner core, Wipe away your tears burst out in pure joy How I yearn to instill hope and confidence in you we never part And we shall wait, till time comes right. the flame in my soul always seeks you, you transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.
RAGING FIRE
[...] Read more
poem by Praveen Kumar
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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
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Women
Women behind bars, women in fast cars, women in distress, women with no dress
Women in airplanes, women who play games
Women in uniform, see that woman with her clothes gone
Women who satisfy, women you cant buy
Like women in magazines, and women in a limousine
Women who sip champagne, women who feel no pain
Women in a disco, and women who dont wanna know, no no
Oh, women wanting sympathy, women feeling extacy
Women who live in fantasies, bringing man to his knees
Women who boil to love, women who need a shove
Women who cant be beat, get that woman in the back seat, yeah yeah
Women in the usa, those women steal your heart away
Women into rock n roll, women who steal the show, go go go
Women that you write songs about, women that turn around and kick you out
Women you dream about all your life
Women that stab you in the back with a switchblade knife
Oh women, oohoo, talking bout women, all round the world
Yeah women, all the naughty girls, talking bout women, come on baby
song performed by Foreigner
Added by Lucian Velea
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Revolution
More calm than a heartbeat that flat lines
Quiet like a dark street under the moonlight
A phrase of action that's been screamed from the guts of men
Ever since they're first experienced
Injustice, prejudice, discrimination
A word louder than a gunshot
And softer than a baby's laugh, it will pass
Just like it always has. Until it spits off the lips of
The next man who's had it up to here.
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head?
Is that what it takes to make a solution
solution
not the first or the last to imagine it
Acknowledge the concepts, question and grasp it
Rebel against the I, and bring down the self.
Mutiny me! overthrow you
Rebellion starts within, the time is now
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head?
Is that what it takes to make a solution, solution
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head?
Is that what it takes to make a solution
Your Revolution
Purple skies, Devil eyes, Hypnotize
Little lies, Compromise, Fireflies
Samurias, Parasite, Fly by night, After light, Materialize,
Look alive, Stereotype, Do with die, lullaby, black and white
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or is it all in my head? your revolution
Is that what it takes to make a solution, solution, your revolution
Did somebody say a Revolution?
Or at least it's been said, your revolution
Is that what it takes to make a solution?
Your Revolution
No resolution -Your Revolution
what's your solution? -Your Revolution
And no substitution -Your Revolution
And no resolution -Your Revolution
not your solution
song performed by P.O.D.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Women IV. a prise poem for women
Life without life it's not life
Almost every one will remember
Day and night is cycle of life
Life on its own is not matured
I reiterate well spoken words
Hence its admiral, the day i recognize the significant role of women
Some women can bless the day indeed
with their smiles
with their Assimilate of culture admiral
with high concentration of moral fiber
These are the women of integrity
I talk nothing else but
Women like Nthabiseng Mthethwa
Women like Mapaseka Dlamini
Women like Sebolelo Mokoena
Women like Elsie Moganedi
Look around they are there
To reconstitute norms and Values.
I call them women of integrity
As Harley barley, there are honorable women
Full of high concentration of moral fiber
They adhere to walk the walks
And talk the talks; they are extraordinary in every aspect
Women like Delsile Hlophe
Women like Nonhlanhla Ndlovu
Women like Ellah Ngomane
Women like Whitey Mahlangu
Chronically they remain transparent
I call them honorable women of integrity
Fair remain fair as long as it's fair
There are extraordinary women
They are living in their time
And they are in time with their integrity
They deserve honor as they live it
Perfectionism is not enough
They remain constant and consistent
Women like Mapule Tshabalala
Women like Sara Mahlangu
Women like Selina Madihlaba
They are extraordinary women they deserve their Honor
I fore one applaud them for inherent of their heredity
There are women who are making difference
Printing their footprints
[...] Read more
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)
Introduction
In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.
Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.
Prologue
The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain
mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact
that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals
becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,
who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight
in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.
Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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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
[...] Read more
poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Three Women
My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.
Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.
Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.
Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.
1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.
Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Revolution
Intro(bob marley)
Within 2000 years christ shall return and when I return I goin to be king of
Kings...
Marley brothers
Thats rev...thats rev...thats rev...thats rev...
Krayzie get up...my soldiers, ride...
Bob marley
Revolution in my heart/ oh, they tearin us apart/ we been wastin so much time/
Revolution on
My mind/ everyday problems in the world they maximize/ now tell me how much
Blood must be shed, oh realize things
And times get drastic; a revolution is the only way/ stop this internal warfare,
Yeah...
Marley brothers thats rev...thats for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob marley roll in a bomb-drop cry...soldiers all positions.
Krayzie
I wanna talk about a revolution/ should we talk about a revolution, a
Revolution? come on, I think its time
Its already 1999/ this is real; we ready for revolution/ we said that we tired,
We ready tonight, and we gon ride, ride, ride
With the warriors; we makin a push on babylon the great, better hurry up/ we
Doin it like that; combat on contact
So the police get bombed back/ that gunpowder from my gun got my palms black/ as
We roll and we hit up the rest we chase
The police; we done flipped the script and set a new record/ we send em to
Fire, to flames, we heat and we hot/ cussin
While they flossin shots/ marchin double barrels buckin/ mark the target,
Aint for talkin/ squashin every enemy walkin
And bomb em/ we need to suit up in boots/ recruit us some troops to start
Mashin/ Im packin my sawed off and Im called off
Im called off...
Bob marley
Revolution on my mind(krayzie yeah) we been wastin so much time/ revolution in
My heart/ they been tearin us apart
Everyday problems in the world they maximize/ and tell me how much blood must be
Shed, oh realize things and times get
Drastic/ a revolution is the only way/ stop this internal warfare, yeah...
Marley brothers thats rev...thats for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob marley soldiers all positions...green beret cover formation....roll in a
Bomb-drop cry and bomb down that institution
Krayzie get up...my soldiers, ride...
Marley brothers thats rev...thats for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob marley soldiers all positions...green beret cover formation
song performed by Krayzie Bone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Revolution (feat. The Marley Brothers)
Intro(Bob Marley)
Within 2000 years Christ shall return "and when I return I goin' to be king of
kings...
Marley Brothers
That's rev...that's rev...that's rev...that's rev...
Krayzie Get up...my soldiers, ride...
Bob Marley
Revolution in my heart/ Oh, they tearin' us apart/ We been wastin' so much time/
Revolution on
my mind/ Everyday problems in the world they maximize/ Now tell me how much
blood must be shed, oh realize things
And times get drastic; A revolution is the only way/ Stop this internal warfare,
yeah...
Marley Brothers That's rev...That's for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob Marley Roll in a bomb-drop cry...Soldiers all positions.
Krayzie
I wanna talk about a revolution/ Should we talk about a revolution, a
revolution? Come on, I think it's time
It's already 1999/ This is real; we ready for revolution/ We said that we tired,
we ready tonight, and we gon' ride, ride, ride
With the warriors; We makin' a push on Babylon The Great, better hurry up/ We
doin' it like that; combat on contact
So the police get bombed back/ That gunpowder from my gun got my palms black/ As
we roll and we hit up the rest we chase
the police; we done flipped the script and set a new record/ We send 'em to
fire, to flames, we heat and we hot/ Cussin'
while they flossin' shots/ Marchin' double barrels buckin'/ Mark the target,
ain't for talkin'/ Squashin' every enemy walkin'
And bomb 'em/ We need to suit up in boots/ Recruit us some troops to start
mashin'/ I'm packin' my sawed off and I'm called off
I'm called off...
Bob Marley
Revolution on my mind(Krayzie Yeah) We been wastin' so much time/ Revolution in
my heart/ They been tearin' us apart
Everyday problems in the world they maximize/ And tell me how much blood must be
shed, oh realize things and times get
drastic/ A revolution is the only way/ Stop this internal warfare, yeah...
Marley Brothers That's rev...That's for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob Marley Soldiers all positions...Green Beret cover formation....Roll in a
bomb-drop cry and bomb down that institution
Krayzie Get up...my soldiers, ride...
Marley Brothers That's rev...That's for the revolution {repeatedly}
Bob Marley Soldiers all positions...Green Beret cover formation
song performed by Krayzie Bone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Orlando Furioso Canto 20
ARGUMENT
Guido and his from that foul haunt retire,
While all Astolpho chases with his horn,
Who to all quarters of the town sets fire,
Then roving singly round the world is borne.
Marphisa, for Gabrina's cause, in ire
Puts upon young Zerbino scathe and scorn,
And makes him guardian of Gabrina fell,
From whom he first learns news of Isabel.
I
Great fears the women of antiquity
In arms and hallowed arts as well have done,
And of their worthy works the memory
And lustre through this ample world has shone.
Praised is Camilla, with Harpalice,
For the fair course which they in battle run.
Corinna and Sappho, famous for their lore,
Shine two illustrious light, to set no more.
II
Women have reached the pinnacle of glory,
In every art by them professed, well seen;
And whosoever turns the leaf of story,
Finds record of them, neither dim nor mean.
The evil influence will be transitory,
If long deprived of such the world had been;
And envious men, and those that never knew
Their worth, have haply hid their honours due.
III
To me it plainly seems, in this our age
Of women such is the celebrity,
That it may furnish matter to the page,
Whence this dispersed to future years shall be;
And you, ye evil tongues which foully rage,
Be tied to your eternal infamy,
And women's praises so resplendent show,
They shall, by much, Marphisa's worth outgo.
IV
To her returning yet again; the dame
To him who showed to her such courteous lore,
Refused not to disclose her martial name,
Since he agreed to tell the style be bore.
She quickly satisfied the warrior's claim;
To learn his title she desired so sore.
'I am Marphisa,' the virago cried:
All else was known, as bruited far and wide.
[...] Read more
poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Women Are Smarter
Let us put men and women together
See which one is smarter
Some say men, but I say no
Women run the men like a puppet show
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right
Little boy sit on the corner and cry
Big man come and he asked him why
He said, "I can't do what the big boys do"
The man sat down and he cried too
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
The women are smarter
That's right, that's right
Ever since the world began
Women been banned from the ways of man
Listen boy cuz I've got a plan
Give it up, don't try and understand
It ain't me
It's the people that say
Men are leading the women astray
But I say, it's the women today
Smarter than the man in every way
Chorus:
That's right
The women are smarter
That's right
The women are smarter
[...] Read more
song performed by Grateful Dead
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Joy In Repetition
{crowd noise same as for alphabet street}
He like to frequent this club down up on 36th
Pimps and thangs like 2 hang outside and cuss for kicks
Talking 2 no one in particular, they say the baddest I am tonight
4 letter words are seldom heard with such dignity and bite.
All the poets and the part time singers always hang inside
Live music from a band plays a song called soul psychodelicide.
The songs a year long and had been playing 4 months when he
Walked into the place.
No one seemed to care, an introverted this-is-it look on most of their faces.
Up on the mic repeating 2 words, over and over again
Was this woman he had never noticed before he lost himself in the
Articulated manner in which she said them.
These 2 words, a little bit behind the beat.
I mean just enough 2 turn u on.
4 everytime she said the words another one of his doubts were gone.
Should he try 2 rap with her? should he stand and stare?
No one else was watching her, she didnt seem 2 care.
So over and over, she said the words til he could take no more, (no more)
He dragged her from the stage and together they ran through the back door
In the alley over by the curb he said tell me whats your name
She only said the words again and it started to rain (rain, rain, rain)
2 words falling between the drops and the moans of his condition
Holding someone is truly believing theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
Theres joy in repetition.
She said love me, love me, what she say?
She say love me, love me.
Joy, why dont u love me baby, joy, why cant u love me baby
Joy, come on and love me baby, joy in repetition
Alright, joy in repetition,
Alright, joy in repetition,
Alright, joy in repetition,
Alright, joy, all my wishes add up to one
Love me, joy, love me, joy, love me, joy
Love me, love me, joy, joy, joy in repetition
Joy, joy in repetition,
Joy, joy (love me) in repetition,
Love me, love, joy, joy, joy in repetition
Joy, and Im gonna say it again, joy, joy, and Im gonna say it again,
Joy, Id like 2 go way up high and say, love me, joy
Ill say love me, joy
Joy, joy in repetition, joy in repetition
Theres joy in repetition
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tear Off Your Own Head (It's A Doll Revolution)
Who dries your eyes when you cry real tears?
Who knows or cares what imitation is?
Only you do
You can paint his nails
Make him wear high heels
Why waste time altering the hemline?
Or do you?
Tear of your own head
Tear of your own head
It's a doll revolution
You can bat your lashes
You can cut your strings
Pull out his hair with your moveable fingers
It looks so real
But one won't do, so collect the set
Dress him in pink ribbons
Put him in a kitchenette
How does this feel?
Tear of your own head
Tear of your own head
It's a doll revolution
What's that sound?
It'll turn you around
It's a doll revolution
They're taking over
And they're tearing it down
It's a doll revolution
You can pull and pinch him
'Til he cries and squeals
You can twist his body
'Til it faces backwards
Plastic features
Could make somebody a pretty little wife
But don't let anybody tell you
How to live your life
Broken pieces
Tear off your own head
Tear off your own head
It's a doll revolution
Tear off your own head
Tear off your own head
It's a doll revolution
What's that sound?
It'll turn you around
It's a doll revolution
They're taking over
And they're tearing it down
It's a doll revolution
It's a doll revolution
Revolution (revolution)
[...] Read more
song performed by Bangles
Added by Lucian Velea
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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:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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