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As order exponentially increases, time exponentially speeds up.

quote by Ray Kurzweil
Added by Lucian Velea
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Quickened Endings Speeds The Change

Quickened endings speeds the change.
And games played once reliable...
No longer,
Remain the same.

Quickened endings speeds the change.
Knock down those blocks,
And...
Open up what's been locked.

Quickened endings speeds the change.
Don't try to cease them.
Hoping to keep...
Whole and complete in one piece,
A picture wanted perfect...
But,
Soon from you to leave.
Soon you will believe!

Quickened endings speeds the change.
Let what was known go!
And....
Don't try to cease this speed.

Quickened endings speeds the change.
And games played once reliable...
No longer remain.
So...
Knock down those blocks,
And...
Open up what's been locked.
It's futile to keep clinging,
To meanings coming to a stop!

Quickened endings speeds the change.
And...
Don't try to cease them,
With a picture held to keep.

Quickened endings speeds the change.
And...
Don't try to cease them,
With a picture held to keep.

Quickened endings speeds the change.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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A Time To Feel Forlorn and Reconstruct What's Torn

There's a designated time in the universe for everything:

A time to limit, a time to expand.
A time to rise, time to lower and lend a hand.

A time to maintain, a time to abandon.
A time to develop, a time to rest at random.

A time to communicate, a time for silence.
A time to kiss your enemy, a time to concede wins.

A time to spite, a time to please.
A time for respite, a time to tease.

A time to process, a time to confess.
A time to do more. A time to do less.

A time to dominate. A time to captivate.
A time to plunge. A time to resurface straight.

A time to maximise. A time to minimise.
A time to diminish. A time to optimise.

A time to sacrifice. time to insist on rights.
A time to be selfish. A time to be concerned about plights.

A time to be big. A time to be small.
A time to care for a special one. A time to love all.

A time to add dimension. A time to simplify.
A time to advocate egalitarianism.
A time to exult.
A time to default.
A time to be accepting of imperfect humanism.

A time to enhance. A time to simplify.
A time to criticise. A time to dignify.

A time to produce. A time to use.
A time to relent. A time to refuse.

A time to demand. A time to give.
A time to die. a time to live.

A time to survive. A time to admit defeat.
A time to lie. A time to walk on your feet.

A time to compete. A time to not.
A time to remember. A time to concede you forgot.

[...] Read more

poem by Hercolena Oliver
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

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poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Orlando Furioso Canto 12

ARGUMENT
Orlando, full of rage, pursues a knight
Who bears by force his lady-love away,
And comes where old Atlantes, by his sleight
Had raised a dome, Rogero there to stay.
Here too Rogero comes; where getting sight
Of his lost love, the County strives in fray
With fierce Ferrau, and, after slaughter fell
Amid the paynim host, finds Isabel.

I
Ceres, when from the Idaean dame in haste
Returning to the lonely valley, where
Enceladus the Aetnaean mountain placed
On his bolt-smitten flanks, is doomed to bear,
Her girl she found not, on that pathless waste,
By her late quitted, having rent her hair,
And marked cheeks, eyes, and breast, with livid signs,
At the end of her lament tore up two pines,

II
And lit at Vulcan's fire the double brand,
And gave them virtue never to be spent;
And, afterwards, with one in either hand,
Drawn by two dragons, in her chariot went,
Searching the forest, hill, and level land,
Field, valley, running stream, or water pent,
The land and sea; and having searched the shell
Of earth above, descended into hell.

III
Had Roland of Eleusis' deity
The sovereign power possessed no less than will,
He for Angelica had land and sea
Ransacked, and wood and field, and pool and rill,
Heaven, and Oblivion's bottom: but since he
Had not, his pressing purpose to fulfil,
Her dragon and her car, the unwearied knight
Pursued the missing maid as best he might.

IV
Through France he sought her, and will seek her through
The realms of Italy and of Almayn,
And thence through the Castiles, both old and new,
So passing into Libya out of Spain.
While bold Orlando has this plan in view,
He hears, or thinks he hears, a voice complain:
He forward spurs, and sees on mighty steed
A warrior trot before him on the mead;

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Canto 13

Kung walked
by the dynastic temple
and into the cedar grove,
and then out by the lower river,
And with him Khieu Tchi
and Tian the low speaking
And "we are unknown," said Kung,
"You will take up charioteering?
"Then you will become known,
"Or perhaps I should take up charioterring, or archery?
"Or the practice of public speaking?"
And Tseu-lou said, "I would put the defences in order,"
And Khieu said, "If I were lord of a province
"I would put it in better order than this is."
And Tchi said, "I would prefer a small mountain temple,
"With order in the observances,
with a suitable performance of the ritual,"
And Tian said, with his hand on the strings of his lute
The low sounds continuing
after his hand left the strings,
And the sound went up like smoke, under the leaves,
And he looked after the sound:
"The old swimming hole,
"And the boys flopping off the planks,
"Or sitting in the underbrush playing mandolins."
And Kung smiled upon all of them equally.
And Thseng-sie desired to know:
"Which had answered correctly?"
And Kung said, "They have all answered correctly,
"That is to say, each in his nature."
And Kung raised his cane against Yuan Jang,
Yuan Jang being his elder,
For Yuan Jang sat by the roadside pretending to
be receiving wisdom.
And Kung said
"You old fool, come out of it,
"Get up and do something useful."
And Kung said
"Respect a child's faculties
"From the moment it inhales the clear air,
"But a man of fifty who knows nothng
Is worthy of no respect."
And "When the prince has gathered about him
"All the savants and artists, his riches will be fully employed."
And Kung said, and wrote on the bo leaves:
If a man have not order within him
He can not spread order about him;
And if a man have not order within him
His family will not act with due order;
And if the prince have not order within him

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poem by Ezra Pound
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Canto XIII: Kung Walked

Kung walked
by the dynastic temple
and into the cedar grove,
and then out by the lower river,
And with him Khieu Tchi
and Tian the low speaking
And ``we are unknown," said Kung,
``You will take up charioteering?
``Then you will become known,
``Or perhaps I should take up charioterring, or archery?
``Or the practice of public speaking?''
And Tseu-lou said, ``I would put the defences in order,''
And Khieu said, ``If I were lord of a province
``I would put it in better order than this is.''
And Tchi said, ``I would prefer a small mountain temple,
``With order in the observances,
with a suitable performance of the ritual,''
And Tian said, with his hand on the strings of his lute
The low sounds continuing
after his hand left the strings,
And the sound went up like smoke, under the leaves,
And he looked after the sound:
``The old swimming hole,
``And the boys flopping off the planks,
``Or sitting in the underbrush playing mandolins.''
And Kung smiled upon all of them equally.
And Thseng-sie desired to know:
``Which had answered correctly?''
And Kung said, ``They have all answered correctly,
``That is to say, each in his nature.''
And Kung raised his cane against Yuan Jang,
Yuan Jang being his elder,
For Yuan Jang sat by the roadside pretending to
be receiving wisdom.
And Kung said
``You old fool, come out of it,
``Get up and do something useful.''
And Kung said
``Respect a child's faculties
``From the moment it inhales the clear air,
``But a man of fifty who knows nothng
Is worthy of no respect.''
And "When the prince has gathered about him
``All the savants and artists, his riches will be fully employed.''
And Kung said, and wrote on the bo leaves:
If a man have not order within him
He can not spread order about him;
And if a man have not order within him
His family will not act with due order;
And if the prince have not order within him

[...] Read more

poem by Ezra Pound
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Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Turn! Turn! Turn!

Pete seeger
To everything, turn, turn, turn
There is a season, turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain from embracing
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of peace, I swear its not too late
Original source
To every thing there is a season, and a time
To every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time
To plant, and a time to pluck up that which is
Planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to
Break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time
To mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to
Gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a
Time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to
Keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to
Keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of
War, and a time of peace.

song performed by Nina Simone
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Orlando Furioso Canto 16

ARGUMENT
Gryphon finds traitorous Origilla nigh
Damascus city, with Martano vile.
Slaughtered the Saracens and Christians lie
By thousands and by thousands heaped this while;
And if the Moor outside of Paris die,
Within the Sarzan so destroys each pile,
Such slaughter deals, that greater ill than this
Never before has been exprest, I wiss.

I
Love's penalties are manifold and dread:
Of which I have endured the greater part,
And, to my cost, in these so well am read,
That I can speak of them as 'twere my art.
Hence if I say, or if I ever said,
(Did speech or living page my thoughts impart)
'One ill is grievous and another light.'
Yield me belief, and deem my judgment right.

II
I say, I said, and, while I live, will say,
'He, who is fettered by a worthy chain,
Though his desire his lady should gainsay,
And, every way averse, his suit disdain;
Though Love deprive him of all praised pay,
After long time and trouble spent in vain,
He, if his heart be placed well worthily,
Needs not lament though he should waste and die.'

III
Let him lament, who plays a slavish part,
Whom two bright eyes and lovely tresses please:
Beneath which beauties lurks a wanton heart
With little that is pure, and much of lees.
The wretch would fly; but bears in him a dart,
Like wounded stag, whichever way he flees;
Dares not confess, yet cannot quench, his flame,
And of himself and worthless love has shame.

IV
The youthful Gryphon finds him in this case,
Who sees the error which he cannot right;
He sees how vilely he his heart does place
On faithless Origille, his vain delight:
Yet evil use doth sovereign reason chase,
And free will is subdued by appetite.
Though a foul mind the lady's actions speak,
Her, wheresoe'er she is, must Gryphon seek.

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Time's Arrow Arrested

Dusky shadows hide under the leafy boughs of the lanky trees.
Beyond the dark sky the sun carries the bright promise of
a lustrous morning. But it is merely a promise. For, the experience
of the past is not evidence of future events.

And how perturbing can be the obvious. This ever present and
precisely dissected substance that we break to exact hours,
minutes and seconds, and call it time. How mind-boggling is
this historian’s palette, Newton’s infinite attribute, Einstein’s finite
fourth dimension.

Astronomers say that a colossal firecracker called the Big Bang
exploded about fifteen billion years ago, marking the beginning
of time and the universe. Yet this sophisticated modern myth
does not really solve the enigma of time or the mystery of existence.
After all, why does the world exist, rather than not?

Newton viewed time as a mathematical duration, an absolute
temporal dimension in which time flows steadily without relation
to space, matter or human affairs. Many years later, Einstein
dropped the notion of absolute space and time. In the Theory
of Relativity he demonstrated that time slows down as velocity
increases. Clocks can run at different speeds.

Time became the fourth dimension. However, in the tiny world
of the atoms, quantum physicists discover a bizarre universe of
eleven dimensions. In Superstring theories higher dimensions are
curled up within the deep structure of space-time. Moreover,
the number of higher cosmic dimensions is not limited, because
scientists might invent as many dimensions as it takes for their
theories to work. Unfortunately, in relation to nature mathematical
propositions are uncertain.

Physicists nowadays conceive time as an asymmetrical arrow,
flying in one direction, from the past to the future, through
the present. They devise ingenious schemes to ride on the arrow
of time into the future; or to reverse its direction of flight and travel
back to the past.

I believe that time is an illusion. It does not really exists. The hands
of the clock does not really show us time but movement in space,
an artificial human invention of hours, minutes and seconds. And
what we measure with our objective instruments is not identical
with the subjective psychological experience of duration. External
time and internal time are not the same.

Now, if time really flows like a river without banks,
if it is indeed in a state of flux, then what is its speed? And since
we measure speed by the ratio of traveling distance to the periodic
motion of the clock, how are we supposed to measure the

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Hartal
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Pharsalia - Book V: The Oracle. The Mutiny. The Storm

Thus had the smiles of Fortune and her frowns
Brought either chief to Macedonian shores
Still equal to his foe. From cooler skies
Sank Atlas' daughters down, and Haemus' slopes
Were white with winter, and the day drew nigh
Devoted to the god who leads the months,
And marking with new names the book of Rome,
When came the Fathers from their distant posts
By both the Consuls to Epirus called
Ere yet the year was dead: a foreign land
Obscure received the magistrates of Rome,
And heard their high debate. No warlike camp
This; for the Consul's and the Praetor's axe
Proclaimed the Senate-house; and Magnus sat
One among many, and the state was all.

When all were silent, from his lofty seat
Thus Lentulus began, while stern and sad
The Fathers listened: 'If your hearts still beat
With Latian blood, and if within your breasts
Still lives your fathers' vigour, look not now
On this strange land that holds us, nor enquire
Your distance from the captured city: yours
This proud assembly, yours the high command
In all that comes. Be this your first decree,
Whose truth all peoples and all kings confess;
Be this the Senate. Let the frozen wain
Demand your presence, or the torrid zone
Wherein the day and night with equal tread
For ever march; still follows in your steps
The central power of Imperial Rome.
When flamed the Capitol with fires of Gaul
When Veii held Camillus, there with him
Was Rome, nor ever though it changed its clime
Your order lost its rights. In Caesar's hands
Are sorrowing houses and deserted homes,
Laws silent for a space, and forums closed
In public fast. His Senate-house beholds
Those Fathers only whom from Rome it drove,
While Rome was full. Of that high order all
Not here, are exiles. Ignorant of war,
Its crimes and bloodshed, through long years of peace,
Ye fled its outburst: now in session all
Are here assembled. See ye how the gods
Weigh down Italia's loss by all the world
Thrown in the other scale? Illyria's wave
Rolls deep upon our foes: in Libyan wastes
Is fallen their Curio, the weightier part
Of Caesar's senate! Lift your standards, then,
Spur on your fates and prove your hopes to heaven.

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poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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This Time

Lookin back on my life
Lookin back on my life
You know that all I see
You know that all I see
Are things I couldve changed
Are things I couldve changed
I should have done
I should have done
Where did the good times go?
Where did the good times go?
Good times so hard to hold
Good times so hard to hold
This time, this time
This time, this time
This time Im gonna find
This time Im gonna find
Lookin back on my life
You know that all I see
Lookin back on my life
Are things I couldve changed
You know that all I see
I could have done
Are things I couldve changed
No time for sad lament
I could have done
A wasted life is bitter spent
No time for sad lament
A wasted life is bitter spent
So rise into the light
In or out of time
Gonna rise straight through the light
So rise into the light
In or out of time
In or out of time
Gonna rise straight through the light
Woke up one other day
In or out of time
The pain wont go away
I am growing
In peculiar ways
Woke up one other day
Into a light I pass
The pain wont go away
Another dream, another trance
I am growing
This time, this time
In peculiar ways
This time Im gonna rise into the light
Into a light I pass
In or out of time

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song performed by Verve
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Oh! Oh! ...The Speed Increases

I want to touch.
I wish,
That you did too!
I get a 'rush'.
Thinking 'bout what we two,
Can do!

Smacking butts naked in the sack.
You say I say don't stop that!

Getting what we give right back.
And doing what we please...
Without the need for teasin'.

Oh! Oh! ...the speed increases.
Oh! Oh! ...the sighs release.
Oh! Oh! ...the sweat is sweetened.
Oh! Oh! ...the screams decrease to moans.

I want to touch.
I wish,
That you did too!
I get a 'rush'.
Thinking 'bout what we two,
Can do!

And,
Oh! Oh! ...the speed increases.
Oh! Oh! ...the sighs release.
Oh! Oh! ...the sweat is sweetened.
Oh! Oh! ...the screams decrease to moans.

And,
Oh! Oh! ...the speed increases.
Oh! Oh! ...the sighs release.
Oh! Oh! ...the sweat is sweetened.
Oh! Oh! ...the screams decrease to moans.

And we...
Smack butts naked in the sack.
You say I say don't stop that!

As we...
Get what we give right back.
And doing what we please...
Without the need for teasin'.

Oh! Oh! ...the speed increases.
Oh! Oh! ...the sighs release.
Oh! Oh! ...the sweat is sweetened.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There Is No Time

This is no time for celebration
This is no time for shaking heads
This is no time for backslapping
This is no time for marching bands
This is no time for optimism
This is no time for endless thought
This is no time for my country right or wrong
Remember what that brought
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
This is no time for congratulations
This is no time to turn your back
This is no time for circumlocution
This is no time for learned speech
This is no time to count your blessings
This is no time for private gain
This is no time to put up or shut up
It wont no time to come back this way again
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
This is no time to swallow anger
This is no time to ignore hate
This is no time to be acting frivolous
Because the time is getting late
This is no time for private vendettas
This is no time to not know who you are
Self knowledge is a dangerous thing
The freedom of who you are
This is no time to ignore warnings
This is no time to clear the plate
Lets not be sorry after the fact
And let the past become out fate
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
This is no time to turn away and drink
Or smoke some vials of crack
This is a time to gather force
And take dead aim and attack
This is no time for celebration
This is no time for saluting flags
This is no time for inner searchings
The future is at head
This is no time for phony rhetoric
This is no time for political speech

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song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 5

Columbus hail'd them with a father's smile,
Fruits of his cares and children of his toil;
With tears of joy, while still his eyes descried
Their course adventurous o'er the distant tide.
Thus, when o'er deluged earth her Seraph stood,
The tost ark bounding on the shoreless flood,
The sacred treasure claim'd his guardian view,
While climes unnoticed in the wave withdrew.
He saw the squadrons reach the rising strand,
Leap from the wave and share the joyous land;
Receding forests yield the heroes room,
And opening wilds with fields and gardens bloom.
Fill'd with the glance extatic, all his soul
Now seems unbounded with the scene to roll,
And now, impatient, with retorted eye,
Perceives his station in another sky.
Waft me, O winged Angel, waft me o'er,
With those blest heroes, to the happy shore;
There let me live and die–but all appears
A fleeting vision; these are future years.
Yet grant in nearer view the climes may spread,
And my glad steps may seem their walks to tread;
While eastern coasts and kingdoms, wrapp'd in night,
Arise no more to intercept the sight.
The hero spoke; the Angel's powerful hand
Moves brightening o'er the visionary land;
The height, that bore them, still sublimer grew,
And earth's whole circuit settled from their view:
A dusky Deep, serene as breathless even,
Seem'd vaulting downward, like another heaven;
The sun, rejoicing on his western way,
Stamp'd his fair image in the inverted day:
Sudden, the northern shores again drew nigh,
And life and action fill'd the hero's eye.
Where the dread Laurence breaks his passage wide,
Where Missisippi's milder currents glide,
Where midland realms their swelling mountainsheave,
And slope their champaigns to the distant wave,
On the green banks, and o'er the extended plain,
Rise into sight the happiest walks of man.
The placid ports, that break the billowing gales,
Rear their tall masts and stretch their whitening sails;
The harvests wave, the groves with fruitage bend,
And bulwarks heave, and spiry domes ascend;
Fair works of peace in growing splendor rise,
And grateful earth repays the bounteous skies.
Till war invades; when opening vales disclose,
In moving crouds, the savage tribes of foes;
High tufted quills their painted foreheads press,
Dark spoils of beasts their shaggy shoulders dress,

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poem by Joel Barlow
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Canto the Eighth

I
Oh blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds!
These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem,
Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds:
And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream
Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds
At present such things, since they are her theme,
So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars,
Bellona, what you will -- they mean but wars.

II
All was prepared -- the fire, the sword, the men
To wield them in their terrible array.
The army, like a lion from his den,
March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay, --
A human Hydra, issuing from its fen
To breathe destruction on its winding way,
Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vain
Immediately in others grew again.

III
History can only take things in the gross;
But could we know them in detail, perchance
In balancing the profit and the loss,
War's merit it by no means might enhance,
To waste so much gold for a little dross,
As hath been done, mere conquest to advance.
The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.

IV
And why? -- because it brings self-approbation;
Whereas the other, after all its glare,
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation,
Which (it may be) has not much left to spare,
A higher title, or a loftier station,
Though they may make Corruption gape or stare,
Yet, in the end, except in Freedom's battles,
Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles.

V
And such they are -- and such they will be found:
Not so Leonidas and Washington,
Whose every battle-field is holy ground,
Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone.
How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound!
While the mere victor's may appal or stun
The servile and the vain, such names will be
A watchword till the future shall be free.

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Urban Time vs. Rural Time

3 am:
Urban time: Alarm clocks, hoots and toots
Rural time: Cocks crow, cows moo and weavers beaker

4 am:
Urban time: Whoever snoozed the alarm? Dress up… very scarcely
Rural time: Dust the mat; grab yesterday’s very hard ugali and into overall

5 am:
Urban time: Marikiti and Gikomba beat traffic – rush hour
Rural time: Milking and feeding; early bird catches the worm

6 am:
Urban time: Office not open, tarts hover at Koinange zonked with sleep
Rural time: Coffee farm supervisor calls out names – mine missing

7 am:
Urban time: Offspring sings national anthem in academy playfully
Rural time: Sibling barefoot sings “Yesu anipenda” without blasphemy

8 am:
Urban time: Yaaaawn! Hate work before it even begins – so monotonous
Rural time: Tea baskets at back, yard stick in hand, water jar on head

9 am:
Urban time: What took company tea so long? Was tea boy fired or what?
Rural time: Sing Mary oh, sing Mary oh… Market women return with empty baskets

10 am:
Urban time: Finally the tea is here… (Chit chat) I love this job!
Rural time: The sun’s scorching – take a breath beneath shade

11 am:
Urban time: Silence and whispered gossip, functional smiles and fake hugs
Rural time: Shout greeting from ridge to ridge and insults from bush to bush

12 pm:
Urban time: Yaaaaaawn! Bad date - fear the approach of the next hour
Rural time: Any one with a watch? The sun has hid beneath the cloud

1 pm:
Urban time: Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures – am dieting…
Rural time: Carry produce to factory, take a nap in the wilderness, and water the livestock

2 pm:
Urban time: Oh how I hate this! Parliament session on, but ethics dictate TV without volume
Rural time: Women plot today’s chama as men discuss the local barmaid’s “possessions”

3 pm:
Urban time: Who tampered with the office clock? I can see some hawkers outside…

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poem by David Munene wa Kimberly
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Hudibras: Part 1 - Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

The scatter'd rout return and rally,
Surround the place; the Knight does sally,
And is made pris'ner: Then they seize
Th' inchanted fort by storm; release
Crowdero, and put the Squire in's place;
I should have first said Hudibras.

Ah me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps
Do dog him still with after-claps!
For though dame Fortune seem to smile
And leer upon him for a while,
She'll after shew him, in the nick
Of all his glories, a dog-trick.
This any man may sing or say,
I' th' ditty call'd, What if a Day?
For HUDIBRAS, who thought h' had won
The field, as certain as a gun;
And having routed the whole troop,
With victory was cock a-hoop;
Thinking h' had done enough to purchase
Thanksgiving-day among the Churches,
Wherein his mettle, and brave worth,
Might be explain'd by Holder-forth,
And register'd, by fame eternal,
In deathless pages of diurnal;
Found in few minutes, to his cost,
He did but count without his host;
And that a turn-stile is more certain
Than, in events of war, dame Fortune.

For now the late faint-hearted rout,
O'erthrown, and scatter'd round about,
Chas'd by the horror of their fear
From bloody fray of Knight and Bear,
(All but the dogs, who, in pursuit
Of the Knight's victory, stood to't,
And most ignobly fought to get
The honour of his blood and sweat,)
Seeing the coast was free and clear
O' th' conquer'd and the conqueror,
Took heart again, and fac'd about,
As if they meant to stand it out:
For by this time the routed Bear,
Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear,
Finding their number grew too great
For him to make a safe retreat,

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poem by Samuel Butler
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La Bamba

(traditional - arranged by dusty springfield)
Para bailar la bamba
Para bailar la bamba
Se necesita una poco de gracia
Una poco de gracia
Pra mi pra ti
Ay arriba, arriba
Ay arriba, arriba
Por ti sere, por ti sere, por ti sere
In order to dance the bamba
In order to dance the bamba
You need a bit of grace
A bit of grace
For you I will be, for you I will be
Yo no soy marinera
Yo no soy marinera
Soy capitan
Soy capitan
Soy capitan
Im not a sailor
Im not a sailor
Im captain
Im captain
Baila la bamba
Baila la bamba, no, no, no
Baila la bamba
Baila la bamba
Dance the bamba
Dance the bamba, no, no, no
Dance the bamba
Dance the bamba
Para bailar la bamba
Para bailar la bamba
Se necesita una poco de gracia
Una poco de gracia
Pra mi pra ti
Ay arriba arriba
Ay arriba arriba
Por ti sere, por ti sere, por ti sere
In order to dance the bamba
In order to dance the bamba
You need a bit of grace
A bit of grace
For you I will be, for you I will be
Baila la bamba, no, no, no
Baila la bamba, no, no, no, no
Baila la bamba, hey
Baila la bamba
Dance the bamba, no, no, no
Dance the bamba, no, no, no, no

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song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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