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An obituary should be an exercise in contemporary history, not a funeral oration.

quote by Peter Utley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Knyghthode and Bataile

A XVth Century Verse Paraphrase of Flavius Vegetius Renatus' Treatise 'DE RE MILITARI'

Proemium.
Salue, festa dies
i martis,
Mauortis! auete
Kalende. Qua Deus
ad celum subleuat
ire Dauid.

Hail, halyday deuout! Alhail Kalende
Of Marche, wheryn Dauid the Confessour
Commaunded is his kyngis court ascende;
Emanuel, Jhesus the Conquerour,
This same day as a Tryumphatour,
Sette in a Chaire & Throne of Maiestee,
To London is comyn. O Saviour,
Welcome a thousand fold to thi Citee!

And she, thi modir Blessed mot she be
That cometh eke, and angelys an ende,
Wel wynged and wel horsed, hidir fle,
Thousendys on this goode approche attende;
And ordir aftir ordir thei commende,
As Seraphin, as Cherubyn, as Throne,
As Domynaunce, and Princys hidir sende;
And, at o woord, right welcom euerychone!

But Kyng Herry the Sexte, as Goddes Sone
Or themperour or kyng Emanuel,
To London, welcomer be noo persone;
O souuerayn Lord, welcom! Now wel, Now wel!
Te Deum to be songen, wil do wel,
And Benedicta Sancta Trinitas!
Now prosperaunce and peax perpetuel
Shal growe,-and why? ffor here is Vnitas.

Therof to the Vnitee 'Deo gracias'
In Trinitee! The Clergys and Knyghthode
And Comynaltee better accorded nas
Neuer then now; Now nys ther noon abode,
But out on hem that fordoon Goddes forbode,
Periurous ar, Rebellovs and atteynte,
So forfaytinge her lyif and lyvelode,
Although Ypocrisie her faytys peynte.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The History Of Tomorrow

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame

© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob

Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.

poem by Adegbenro Adekunle
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems

March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan

Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.

Sincerely,

George W. Bush

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.

They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.

The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.

They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.

The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.

[...] Read more

poem by Tom Zart
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Contemporary Freedom

I am who I am
Because of what I am

I ask for freedom from love
I ask for freedom from slavery
I ask for freedom from hunger
I ask for freedom from desire

You know and I know
That not all seeds you sow
Will eventually grow

This is contemporary poem
Seeking for freedom with my pen

I read there was an old man
Who bade farewell to his only son
At the hands of his own gun
Where his actions contemporary?
Was his anger or concern temporary?

This is contemporary poem
Seeking for freedom with my pen

Vivid imagination leads to frustration
It could trigger a chain-reaction
Hence the concept of mass-killing
Is born out of an over-reacted feeling
There is no cure or process of healing
Once death is the meal we are dealing

This is contemporary poem
Seeking for freedom with my pen

We drink with intention to forget
We drink but later on regret
And the people are walking
And the people are talking

Talking about freedom, freedom
Talking about a heavenly kingdom
Talking about their great grandfathers and their moms
Talking about freedom in any shape or form

This is contemporary poem
Seeking for freedom with my pen

And it does not make any sense
Why we always speak first in defense
And it does not make any sense

[...] Read more

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Black History Month

In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.

But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!

Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...

*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~

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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Makin History

Tonight theres a magic that I cant explain
Tune-up and start the show all set now ready to go
This bands gonna really rock tonight
Steppin out upon the stage
Under those lights again
Were gonna shake the place tonight
They gotta new song high in the charts you know
You must have heard them play it on the radio
When that flat top starts that picking
Hear the bass drum start that kicking
The joint is really jumpin now
Ooh mama its so exiting to feel
That tension rising when they turn the house lights down
Its a strange kinda magic that never seems to age
Makin history
Makin history
Adding a new leaf to the story that is rocknroll
Makin history
Makin history
Playing a new beat to the glory
That is rocknroll
Rock on
They gotta new song
High in the charts you know
You must have heard them play it on the radio
Hear the start and the jumbo gibson
You dont know what youre missing if youre not
Painting the town tonight
Ooh mama its so exiting to feel
That tension rising when they turn the house lights down
Makin history
Makin history
Adding a new leaf to the story that is rocknroll
Makin history
Makin history
Playing a new beat to the glory
That is rocknroll
Makin history
Makin history
Adding a new leaf to the story that is rocknroll
Makin history
Makin history
Playing a new beat to the glory that is rocknroll
Mama its so exiting-oh oh
Dont you find the beat exiting

song performed by Cliff Richard
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The History of Now

The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.

The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.

It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.

Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.

We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.

The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.

The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.

It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.

poem by David SmithWhite
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History Stones People.

History stones people.

They stoned Moses, David and Linclon,
history did that for all to see

Marbel and cement,
that's all it leaves behind
of a long changing life.

Great heroes of time,
fall under the mercy
of the sculptor's knife.

History stones faces,
in a way that would make
ecclestias cringe.
History stones feet,
in a way that would make
piligrims cry.

History stones life
to always stay fresh,
yet, what is life without
the sins of the flesh.

All the radical kids
get stoned
and never change
or even move a muscle.

All the sword raising warriors
history stoned
without blood in their veins.

You can see all the victims
that history stoned
when you walk in the park,
they got kings
and queens
hell, they even got Gods.

They are there captive

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Katz
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On Passing Cromwell Street

In Melbourne streets named in his honour though he does not warrant such fame
For he lived a life of dishonour yet he never felt any shame
For his crimes against the poor of Ireland the winners write the history they say
And historians are too kind to Cromwell the one who did awful things in his day.

He evicted the poor of rural Ireland those who only knew of poverty
And put them on the hard road to Connacht the victims of crimes against humanity
His army were thugs and not soldiers for they did things that soldiers ought not do
The winners always write the history though their version of history is often not true.

In Cromwell's time the winners wrote the history and the winners still write the history today
But for any crimes against humanity the winners too should be made to pay
But Cromwell and his army honoured for their crimes in Ireland against the poor defenceless poor
'Tis sad to think that one so unworthy of a place in history is secure.

To hell or to Connacht his catch cry he forced thousands of poor families on the road
To people who were penniless and innocent not one scrap of mercy he showed
Thousands of them died in the harsh Irish Winter when homelessness on them took it's toll
Because they were poor they were punished though their life circumstances beyond their control.

I think of the untruths of history each time I drive by Cromwell street
The history written by winners their history of lies and deceit
I say to myself they honour a tyrant and I struggle for to understand
Why they name a street after somebody who oppressed the poor of Ireland.

Andrew Marvell in verse glorified Cromwell but he was one who would not know
What Cromwell and his army got up to in Ireland in those bleak times centuries ago
But he only believed what they told him and they told him what he wanted to hear
History often written by unworthy people those who rule by terror and fear.

In Melbourne streets named in his honour his poor victims long forgotten and gone
Into the World of the forgotten but Cromwell's fame is living on
And the lessons we should have learned from history did not lead to a fair go for all
And the winners only write the story though the real truth they never recall.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Ten Words Circularly

History is ‘Nothing to be done’; and Time passes circularly.
Nothing passes circularly: History and Time is to be done.
Time is circularly Nothing and History passes to be done.
History circularly passes Time and Nothing is to be done.
To be Nothing, Time passes and History is circularly done.
Nothing is to be done: Time and History circularly passes.
Nothing is History and, to be done, Time circularly passes.
To be is History; and Time done circularly passes Nothing.
Time is to be; and Nothing circularly done passes History.
Nothing passes History and Time to be done circularly is.
To be is: Nothing done circularly passes History and Time.

poem by Alex Hamilton
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The Funeral Song

Who will sing the funeral songs of mine?
O my dear heart
Think and observe all the elements
Than answers the question truly
Who will sing the songs of funeral for you?
Who will congratulate you on your ultimate success.

I sing the song of love,
The songs of my heart,
The ultimate pronounce for the sake of love.
Then who will sing the songs of my innocence heart
When all the songs of mine will stop for ever.

Lives comes, lives goes,
Death gives birth of new souls.
Behold the history of the love
The heart which processes the love
Acquire the immortality of heart.

Behold the history of love,
The heart which can love like those
Achieves the immortality of soul.
Only for the ability to worship the heart of love
Those can’t attain by any eternal senses.

Only the nominated, elected and selected souls
By the mercy of Heaven
Can have the power to love.

Love, earnestly love thy souls
And in return you will have the love.
The love will as sanctified as the love of you,
The love will concern with heart
As much as concern with your heart.
The heart will sing the funeral song for you,
The love will sing the love song for you,
The love will make you alive
In the mortal days of lives,
Worship your heart,
Remember your songs,
Nothing else nor the others
But only love, only love.

Only the love can survive you
After the thousands years of your death.
Though died, possesses a newer mortal life
I perceive the fact, I do perceive of fact.
The love will sing for you
I do confidently declare by the Lord’s name
The love will congratulate at your conquer

[...] Read more

poem by Md. Moniruzzaman
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The Funeral Of Hearts

Love's the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you
She was the sun
Shining upon
The tomb of your hopes and dreams so frail
He was the moon
Painting you
With it's glow so vulnerable and pale
Love's the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you
She was the wind, carrying in
All the troubles and fears you for years tried to forget
He was the fire, restless and wild
And you were like a moth to that flame
The heretic seal beyond divine
a prayer to a god who's deaf and blind
The last rites for souls on fire
Three little words and a question -why?
Love's the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you

song performed by H.I.M.
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The Funeral Of Hearts

Loves the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you
She was the sun
Shining upon
The tomb of your hopes and dreams so frail
He was the moon
Painting you
With its glow so vulnerable and pale
Loves the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you
She was the wind, carrying in
All the troubles and fears here for years tried to forget
He was the fire, restless and wild
And you were like a moth to that flame
The heretic seal beyond divine
Pray to God whos deaf and blind
The last nights the souls on fire
Three little words and a question why
Loves the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you

song performed by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Added by Lucian Velea
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Night Funeral in Harlem

Night funeral
In Harlem:

Where did they get
Them two fine cars?

Insurance man, he did not pay--
His insurance lapsed the other day--
Yet they got a satin box
for his head to lay.

Night funeral
In Harlem:

Who was it sent
That wreath of flowers?

Them flowers came
from that poor boy's friends--
They'll want flowers, too,
When they meet their ends.

Night funeral
in Harlem:

Who preached that
Black boy to his grave?

Old preacher man
Preached that boy away--
Charged Five Dollars
His girl friend had to pay.

Night funeral
In Harlem:

When it was all over
And the lid shut on his head
and the organ had done played
and the last prayers been said
and six pallbearers
Carried him out for dead
And off down Lenox Avenue
That long black hearse done sped,
The street light
At his corner
Shined just like a tear--
That boy that they was mournin'
Was so dear, so dear
To them folks that brought the flowers,

[...] Read more

poem by Langston Hughes
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I had a thought on your funeral...

Eighty years of life
on this Earth
Was it worth?
I had a thought on your funeral.

Eighty years ago in heaven
when you were just the soul
and wanted to forever become
a part of this whole
You urged God to grant you a life
And promised
you would this time achieve your goal
But did you keep your promise at all?
I had a thought on your funeral.

The aim of your taking birth was
Service, contribution and asceticism
You instead chose
Hoarding, platitude and hedonism
God prescribed
Love, joy and compassion
On your life you inscribed
Jealousy, gloom and repression
I had a thought on your funeral.

Childhood’s dawn wiped out in dependence
Lust devoured on the morning of adolescence
Youth’s noon you squandered
due to fear and apprehension
Dusk of old age got totaled in
egotism, vanity and pretension
I had a thought on your funeral.

I asked myself
Was I any different from you?
Was I keeping my own promise to God?
The response from within came in negative
My heart did not give the nod
Seeing you sleeping in God’s lap
with a performance that was dismal
Your funeral appeared to me
as God’s signal
And I realized I had a chance to change
before I reached my own burial.
I had a thought on your funeral.

(30.08.2011; New Delhi; India)

poem by Anshul Gupta
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War Poet

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

The White House
Washington
Tom Zart’s Poems

March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.

Sincerely,

George W. Bush

ULTIMATE SACRIFICE

Our men and women give the ultimate sacrifice
When they pledge to defend our flag.
In hot spots throughout our world
They defeat our enemies who brag.

Most say their prayers to their own private God
To protect and bring them safely home.
It’s our job as patriots and Americans
To let them know we love them as our own.

Think of all of history’s heroes of freedom
And what they gave up for “Old Glory”.
Nothing has changed for over two hundred years
As our soldiers continue the story.

Those rows of white crosses in manicured fields
Tell the story of ultimate sacrifice and love.
Always remember all we treasure and enjoy
Are because of our soldiers and God above.

BRAVERY

Many brave souls lived before now

[...] Read more

poem by Tom Zart
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The Rose of England

'Twas a most solemn day
Of that most the world would say.
The Rose of England would pass
Her still form in a gun carriage alas.

Many called it the event of the years
As the cortege the Royal Standard bears.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on history the Princess leaves her mark.

John Bull's joie de vivre now diminished
It seemed to many that an era had finished.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on history the Princess leaves her mark.

Yet, even in dying she still lives on
In the heart of many, a love already born.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark.

They'd come from near and far
This massive crowd there'd been no par.
Bless you.Bless you.They cried
For the Queen of their hearts had died.

Many a funeral there had been
But nothing like this the world had seen.
The multitude weepingly lined the way
There was hardly anything you can say.

Two young princes with solemn look
Their precious mother the angels took.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark.

A day one could almost feel wintry's cold
Merry ole England had lost her gold.
Now the winsome princess to be seen no more
Her loving fans no more could adore!

The Queen, Her Majesty, stood at her Palace gate
Had her compassion and caring come too late?
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark!

And the bell at the abbey tolls
As the cortege bearing the fallen Rose rolls.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark!

[...] Read more

poem by Enoch John
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Dont Stop For No-one

Dont stop for no-one
And then it goes on
(repeat 3 times)
One day my father said to me
its time for you to leave,
But dont wait for me, its pre-destiny
Dont wait around for someone to believe in
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Just like moses waiting on the mountain
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Dont hang around in the babylonian gardens
You know, history dont stop for no-one
(? ) tourist attraction
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Dont stop for no-one
And then it goes on
(repeat)
Sometimes I told I must confess
To a life of tenderness
But I just repeat what he said to me:
dont close your eyes because seeing is believing
You know, history dont stop for no-one
(? ) child, fighting for a meaning
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Dont dream too long, its time to awake now
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Like sleeping lucy waiting for a kiss now
You know, history dont stop for no-one
I think you know the way its gonna go now
You know, history dont stop for no-one
From aztech kings to new york queens
And then it goes on

song performed by Heaven 17
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rest Is History

Saw you across the room
Felt somethin stir inside my soul
Knew Id never be the same
Now that love had taken hold
Then when you touched me
There was no doubt
You unterstood what my heart was all about
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
Before we spoke a word
My heart told me you were the one
When you pressed your hand to mine
I knew my life had just begun
Like some old movie
Music filled the night
Lost held each other tight.
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
History ...
The rest is history.
The rest is history.

song performed by LeAnn Rimes
Added by Lucian Velea
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