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Modern societies march towards morality in proportion as they leave religion behind.

quote by Paul Bert
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They March Towards the Sun

Fall with the drizzle and watch
The myriad of sunsets
Like the ubiquitous mist, and
Wade through the mud
To create the ripples that
Would whisk the stark portrait
Of the striding demise

One by one, footsteps fell
Like raindrops on the eaves
With the same alacrity
And magnitude, and mass,
Outnumbering the silence
Of my sojourning breath
And the gushing rivers
Pummeling the latticed walls
Of my abashed lashes
From my gaze they thawed
Into bodies, into silhouettes,
Into shadows treading
The paths towards the sun

These soldiers armed for wars
Heads held like wards,
Arms folded like barricades,
Eyes like sentries watching,
And souls like battlefields
Before the war, silent but
Brazenly shunning disaster
They held their married guns
Close to the fathom's of the viscera
Like a crying child, some
Like a dead wife, and
Loaded them with bullets
Fear clouted and nil dodged
For the patios never quaver
Safe within their turrets

The sanguinary epistles
Invoked by anticipation
Dissipates with their cloaks
As they knocked through the gloaming
And rummage for virgin grounds
Safeguarded by an intangible
And invisible strength and valor
Whilst I careen closer,
Like curious spectator
Blinding the storm's eye and
Becoming the scull and temper
Of this modest typhoon;
Emotions on a violent vertigo
Behind the marching thirty seconds
Towards the small sun
Feigning my own bastion.

poem by Norman Santos
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Book Twelfth [Imagination And Taste, How Impaired And Restored ]

LONG time have human ignorance and guilt
Detained us, on what spectacles of woe
Compelled to look, and inwardly oppressed
With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts,
Confusion of the judgment, zeal decayed,
And, lastly, utter loss of hope itself
And things to hope for! Not with these began
Our song, and not with these our song must end.
Ye motions of delight, that haunt the sides
Of the green hills; ye breezes and soft airs,
Whose subtle intercourse with breathing flowers,
Feelingly watched, might teach Man's haughty race
How without Injury to take, to give
Without offence; ye who, as if to show
The wondrous influence of power gently used,
Bend the complying heads of lordly pines,
And, with a touch, shift the stupendous clouds
Through the whole compass of the sky; ye brooks,
Muttering along the stones, a busy noise
By day, a quiet sound in silent night;
Ye waves, that out of the great deep steal forth
In a calm hour to kiss the pebbly shore,
Not mute, and then retire, fearing no storm;
And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is
To interpose the covert of your shades,
Even as a sleep, between the heart of man
And outward troubles, between man himself,
Not seldom, and his own uneasy heart:
Oh! that I had a music and a voice
Harmonious as your own, that I might tell
What ye have done for me. The morning shines,
Nor heedeth Man's perverseness; Spring returns,--
I saw the Spring return, and could rejoice,
In common with the children of her love,
Piping on boughs, or sporting on fresh fields,
Or boldly seeking pleasure nearer heaven
On wings that navigate cerulean skies.
So neither were complacency, nor peace,
Nor tender yearnings, wanting for my good
Through these distracted times; in Nature still
Glorying, I found a counterpoise in her,
Which, when the spirit of evil reached its height,
Maintained for me a secret happiness.

This narrative, my Friend! hath chiefly told
Of intellectual power, fostering love,
Dispensing truth, and, over men and things,
Where reason yet might hesitate, diffusing
Prophetic sympathies of genial faith:
So was I favoured--such my happy lot--
Until that natural graciousness of mind
Gave way to overpressure from the times
And their disastrous issues. What availed,
When spells forbade the voyager to land,
That fragrant notice of a pleasant shore
Wafted, at intervals, from many a bower
Of blissful gratitude and fearless love?
Dare I avow that wish was mine to see,
And hope that future times 'would' surely see,
The man to come, parted, as by a gulph,
From him who had been; that I could no more
Trust the elevation which had made me one
With the great family that still survives
To illuminate the abyss of ages past,
Sage, warrior, patriot, hero; for it seemed
That their best virtues were not free from taint
Of something false and weak, that could not stand
The open eye of Reason. Then I said,
'Go to the Poets, they will speak to thee
More perfectly of purer creatures;--yet
If reason be nobility in man,
Can aught be more ignoble than the man
Whom they delight in, blinded as he is
By prejudice, the miserable slave
Of low ambition or distempered love?'

In such strange passion, if I may once more
Review the past, I warred against myself--
A bigot to a new idolatry--
Like a cowled monk who hath forsworn the world,
Zealously laboured to cut off my heart
From all the sources of her former strength;
And as, by simple waving of a wand,
The wizard instantaneously dissolves
Palace or grove, even so could I unsoul
As readily by syllogistic words
Those mysteries of being which have made,
And shall continue evermore to make,
Of the whole human race one brotherhood.

What wonder, then, if, to a mind so far
Perverted, even the visible Universe
Fell under the dominion of a taste
Less spiritual, with microscopic view
Was scanned, as I had scanned the moral world?

O Soul of Nature! excellent and fair!
That didst rejoice with me, with whom I, too,
Rejoiced through early youth, before the winds
And roaring waters, and in lights and shades
That marched and countermarched about the hills
In glorious apparition, Powers on whom
I daily waited, now all eye and now
All ear; but never long without the heart
Employed, and man's unfolding intellect:
O Soul of Nature! that, by laws divine
Sustained and governed, still dost overflow
With an impassioned life, what feeble ones
Walk on this earth! how feeble have I been
When thou wert in thy strength! Nor this through stroke
Of human suffering, such as justifies
Remissness and inaptitude of mind,
But through presumption; even in pleasure pleased
Unworthily, disliking here, and there
Liking; by rules of mimic art transferred
To things above all art; but more,--for this,
Although a strong infection of the age,
Was never much my habit--giving way
To a comparison of scene with scene,
Bent overmuch on superficial things,
Pampering myself with meagre novelties
Of colour and proportion; to the moods
Of time and season, to the moral power,
The affections and the spirit of the place,
Insensible. Nor only did the love
Of sitting thus in judgment interrupt
My deeper feelings, but another cause,
More subtle and less easily explained,
That almost seems inherent in the creature,
A twofold frame of body and of mind.
I speak in recollection of a time
When the bodily eye, in every stage of life
The most despotic of our senses, gained
Such strength in 'me' as often held my mind
In absolute dominion. Gladly here,
Entering upon abstruser argument,
Could I endeavour to unfold the means
Which Nature studiously employs to thwart
This tyranny, summons all the senses each
To counteract the other, and themselves,
And makes them all, and the objects with which all
Are conversant, subservient in their turn
To the great ends of Liberty and Power.
But leave we this: enough that my delights
(Such as they were) were sought insatiably.
Vivid the transport, vivid though not profound;
I roamed from hill to hill, from rock to rock,
Still craving combinations of new forms,
New pleasure, wider empire for the sight,
Proud of her own endowments, and rejoiced
To lay the inner faculties asleep.
Amid the turns and counterturns, the strife
And various trials of our complex being,
As we grow up, such thraldom of that sense
Seems hard to shun. And yet I knew a maid,
A young enthusiast, who escaped these bonds;
Her eye was not the mistress of her heart;
Far less did rules prescribed by passive taste,
Or barren intermeddling subtleties,
Perplex her mind; but, wise as women are
When genial circumstance hath favoured them,
She welcomed what was given, and craved no more;
Whate'er the scene presented to her view
That was the best, to that she was attuned
By her benign simplicity of life,
And through a perfect happiness of soul,
Whose variegated feelings were in this
Sisters, that they were each some new delight.
Birds in the bower, and lambs in the green field,
Could they have known her, would have loved; methought
Her very presence such a sweetness breathed,
That flowers, and trees, and even the silent hills,
And everything she looked on, should have had
An intimation how she bore herself
Towards them and to all creatures. God delights
In such a being; for, her common thoughts
Are piety, her life is gratitude.

Even like this maid, before I was called forth
From the retirement of my native hills,
I loved whate'er I saw: nor lightly loved,
But most intensely; never dreamt of aught
More grand, more fair, more exquisitely framed
Than those few nooks to which my happy feet
Were limited. I had not at that time
Lived long enough, nor in the least survived
The first diviner influence of this world,
As it appears to unaccustomed eyes.
Worshipping them among the depth of things,
As piety ordained, could I submit
To measured admiration, or to aught
That should preclude humility and love?
I felt, observed, and pondered; did not judge,
Yea, never thought of judging; with the gift
Of all this glory filled and satisfied.
And afterwards, when through the gorgeous Alps
Roaming, I carried with me the same heart:
In truth, the degradation--howsoe'er
Induced, effect, in whatsoe'er degree,
Of custom that prepares a partial scale
In which the little oft outweighs the great;
Or any other cause that hath been named;
Or lastly, aggravated by the times
And their impassioned sounds, which well might make
The milder minstrelsies of rural scenes
Inaudible--was transient; I had known
Too forcibly, too early in my life,
Visitings of imaginative power
For this to last: I shook the habit off
Entirely and for ever, and again
In Nature's presence stood, as now I stand,
A sensitive being, a 'creative' soul.

There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence--depressed
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial occupations, and the round
Of ordinary intercourse--our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired;
A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount,
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.
This efficacious spirit chiefly lurks
Among those passages of life that give
Profoundest knowledge to what point, and how,
The mind is lord and master--outward sense
The obedient servant of her will. Such moments
Are scattered everywhere, taking their date
From our first childhood. I remember well,
That once, while yet my inexperienced hand
Could scarcely hold a bridle, with proud hopes
I mounted, and we journeyed towards the hills:
An ancient servant of my father's house
Was with me, my encourager and guide:
We had not travelled long, ere some mischance
Disjoined me from my comrade; and, through fear
Dismounting, down the rough and stony moor
I led my horse, and, stumbling on, at length
Came to a bottom, where in former times
A murderer had been hung in iron chains.
The gibbet-mast had mouldered down, the bones
And iron case were gone; but on the turf,
Hard by, soon after that fell deed was wrought,
Some unknown hand had carved the murderer's name.
The monumental letters were inscribed
In times long past; but still, from year to year
By superstition of the neighbourhood,
The grass is cleared away, and to this hour
The characters are fresh and visible:
A casual glance had shown them, and I fled,
Faltering and faint, and ignorant of the road:
Then, reascending the bare common, saw
A naked pool that lay beneath the hills,
The beacon on the summit, and, more near,
A girl, who bore a pitcher on her head,
And seemed with difficult steps to force her way
Against the blowing wind. It was, in truth,
An ordinary sight; but I should need
Colours and words that are unknown to man,
To paint the visionary dreariness
Which, while I looked all round for my lost guide,
Invested moorland waste and naked pool,
The beacon crowning the lone eminence,
The female and her garments vexed and tossed
By the strong wind. When, in the blessed hours
Of early love, the loved one at my side,
I roamed, in daily presence of this scene,
Upon the naked pool and dreary crags,
And on the melancholy beacon, fell
A spirit of pleasure and youth's golden gleam;
And think ye not with radiance more sublime
For these remembrances, and for the power
They had left behind? So feeling comes in aid
Of feeling, and diversity of strength
Attends us, if but once we have been strong.
Oh! mystery of man, from what a depth
Proceed thy honours. I am lost, but see
In simple childhood something of the base
On which thy greatness stands; but this I feel,
That from thyself it comes, that thou must give,
Else never canst receive. The days gone by
Return upon me almost from the dawn
Of life: the hiding-places of man's power
Open; I would approach them, but they close.
I see by glimpses now; when age comes on,
May scarcely see at all; and I would give,
While yet we may, as far as words can give,
Substance and life to what I feel, enshrining,
Such is my hope, the spirit of the Past
For future restoration.--Yet another
Of these memorials:--
One Christmas-time,
On the glad eve of its dear holidays,
Feverish, and tired, and restless, I went forth
Into the fields, impatient for the sight
Of those led palfreys that should bear us home;
My brothers and myself. There rose a crag,
That, from the meeting-point of two highways
Ascending, overlooked them both, far stretched;
Thither, uncertain on which road to fix
My expectation, thither I repaired,
Scout-like, and gained the summit; 'twas a day
Tempestuous, dark, and wild, and on the grass
I sate half-sheltered by a naked wall;
Upon my right hand couched a single sheep,
Upon my left a blasted hawthorn stood;
With those companions at my side, I watched
Straining my eyes intensely, as the mist
Gave intermitting prospect of the copse
And plain beneath. Ere we to school returned,--
That dreary time,--ere we had been ten days
Sojourners in my father's house, he died;
And I and my three brothers, orphans then,
Followed his body to the grave. The event,
With all the sorrow that it brought, appeared
A chastisement; and when I called to mind
That day so lately past, when from the crag
I looked in such anxiety of hope;
With trite reflections of morality,
Yet in the deepest passion, I bowed low
To God, Who thus corrected my desires;
And, afterwards, the wind and sleety rain,
And all the business of the elements,
The single sheep, and the one blasted tree,
And the bleak music from that old stone wall,
The noise of wood and water, and the mist
That on the line of each of those two roads
Advanced in such indisputable shapes;
All these were kindred spectacles and sounds
To which I oft repaired, and thence would drink,
As at a fountain; and on winter nights,
Down to this very time, when storm and rain
Beat on my roof, or, haply, at noon-day,
While in a grove I walk, whose lofty trees,
Laden with summer's thickest foliage, rock
In a strong wind, some working of the spirit,
Some inward agitations thence are brought,
Whate'er their office, whether to beguile
Thoughts over busy in the course they took,
Or animate an hour of vacant ease.

poem by William Wordsworth
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You can never reach the promised land. You can march towards it.

quote by James Callaghan
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The whole order of nature evinces a progressive march towards a higher life.

quote by H.P. Blavatsky
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Lest those islands still seem to you too remote in space and time to be relevant to our modern societies, just think about the risks... of our increasing globalization and increasing worldwide economic interdependence.

quote by Jared Diamond
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Modern Day Slavery

Human trafficking, most unsavory,
Still practiced in the world today!
Evil men engaged in modern day slavery,
On innocent women n' children they prey

ROTMS

http: //www.ted.com/talks/view/lang/en//id/1541

View ROTMS writings, images and video at;

rotms.blogspot.com

poem by Ray Lucero
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Showering

Drowned in darkness, designed isolation
Icy knives assault my back
Descending to the iron floor
With a gentle pitter-pat
Where like soldier ants they march
Towards some home-called, destined hole
Bearing up upon their backs
Discarded filfth and aged happiness
Purged of being and
Such existence drained
A man stands taller
To face the same assaults
So that he might drown himself again

poem by Matt Greenblatt
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Tiny Feelings 05

Tiny Feelings 05
(Dedicated to Poet Priyanka Bhowmick)

Sick moon upon head
Pale senior lady
Alone blue bed

Body- sick
Mind- sick
Society- sick

Tube-light
Depends on switch
Bliss less life

Tiny ant
March towards infinity
Silent event

Rolling black marble
Dark night crawling
Dynamic sorrow

Cheap or expensive- vital
Win-win economy
Profit loves exploitation

Cool senior night
Melody of silence
Unkind babyhood

poem by Ashraful Musaddeq
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Out Of Temptations And Trails

Out of temptations and out of trails,
Worn out and reducing them to ashes;
They indulged in the lust of polluting passion,
And the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah came down into ashes.

Self-willed and self-loving creatures,
There shall be no whore of the daughters of Israel!
Nor a sodomite on the sons;
So step out of the darkness and turn towards morality,
And be like the glorious ones with a conscious choice.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Offspring Blessings Opposes Barren Desires

votive faces eyes ears see hear appear ever attentive guardians?
terracotta votive offerings amass phalli breasts uteri fascinates?
possibilities pre Viagra Greco Roman Bacchantes desires orgies?
offspring blessings opposes barren cursed shame couples childless?
votive offerings reasoned fixation items pepper ancient societies?
feature throughout diverse modern societies evil eye luck beads
patron saints crucifixes prayer beads ritualistic in varied religions?
an assortment of rites head coverings adorn male female devotees?
all share desires respect given gains favor with supernatural forces?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Remember

Fresh breeze awash with meadows scent
Enhanced by natures rhythm
Through broken silence voices heard
Respond to orders given

The call to arms it's time to go
Strikes fear borne straight from hell
To march towards their foreign foe
The prize... to live and tell.

We asked so much of just so few
Words spoken now by many
A throw-away that hides such pain
The few will know, If any.

Fierce battle raged in sky so blue
God's canvas spoilt by hatred
They fought this hell for me and you
As families watched and waited

So here's to fragrant meadow's thus,
That once knew so much sorrow
To those that gave their last today
So we may have tomorrow.

poem by Dave James
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Sonnet: Modern Doesn’t Mean the Best

All modern things are not always the best,
Be they in thoughts or acts or in approach!
The modern Man is so differently dressed,
But unlike Man, same way stays the Cockroach.

The Wheel of Time will turn, bringing back old;
If change is good, Man goes to childhood-years;
Like Gold that stays always the metal Gold,
’Tis best to cry and shed but natural tears.

Sometimes, Man forgets what he keeps doing;
He’s safe as long as he stays near Nature;
But shocks, calamities keep Man thinking;
He checks his works, habits in the future.

Some change must come but it must be for good;
But who would like deteriorated food?

6-26-2001

poem by John Celes
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Rigor Mortis

Watch slowly drying up
Her eyeballs sink in deep
Pale-colored cheek cups shrink
As the body rests in sleep.

No rising of the chest to breathe
No movement of the arms
Stiffness envelops it with
A darkening of her charms.

Color slowly fades the hands
Darkened fingers stiffen
Legs straight in a mute stand
Death forcefully had taken.

All men will fall in a salute
To the Conqueror of finite things
Eternal sentence to commute
Unwelcomed, but he is coming.

No choices made, we all but follow
And march towards the grave
Our naked destiny for tomorrow
For rich, for poor, and for the brave.

'To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.'

December 2,2009

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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A Summer Night

A Summer Night.

A Bergman movie had an old man running in
the hall senseless, gripped by an irrational fear
of death. I sat by the bed pearls of sweat ran
down my butter coloured body, summer, but
all can hear is the ticking of the kitchen clock,
to witness a day’s passing gave me no pleasure
this insistent march towards timelessness and
there is nothing to hold on, a moment’s respite,
or love to assuage the vortex’s relentless terror.
Dog awakes, hears steps too light for my ears,
a night visitor and I’m alone and without a god.
No, not here, the cur loses interest goes back to
sleep. Night is an enemy; the shift is nearly over,
I walk out on the terrace and wait for the day.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mosquito March

when they march
when they march over fields of green
when they march
when they march over fields of green
when they march
when they march over fields of green
walking in the wilderness
no future to the question
you might get a simple answer
get a simple answer
walking in the wilderness
you're naked now just skin and sand
you'll get a smile answer
get a smile answer
see the king see the king of happiness
see the king
see the king of happiness in the light
in the light you can see him crawl
see the king
see the king of happiness
walking in the wilderness
no future to the question
you might get a simple answer
get a simple answer
walking in the wilderness the endless distance
you don't need to get a smile answer
get a smile answer
past the point of no return
your like a dog without a bone
so get a simple answer
get a simple answer

song performed by Midnight Oil
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Modern Love

Hey, Im feeling so dirty, youre looking so clean
All you can give is a spin in your washing machine
I fly off to rome to my prima bella
She leaves me in the rain with telescopic umbrella
Ooh the pain -- modern love can be a strain
I trusted my venus was untouched in her shell
But the pearls in her oyster were as tacky as hell
For lady godiva I came incognito
But her driver had stolen her red hot magneto
Ooh the pain -- modern love can be a strain
I dont know why they leave me in the lurch
To carry on the search
Its driving me up the wall
Pity when I have so much passion
Romance is out of fashion
Cant handle modern love at all
So I worship diana by the light of the moon
When I pull out my pipe she screams out of tune
In paris my heart sinks when I see the mona lisa
She gives me the wink, then she shows me the freezer
Ooh the pain
Modern love can be a strain

song performed by Peter Gabriel
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Clasp

We travellers on the endless wastes in single orbits dliding
Cold-eyed march towards the dawn behind hard-weather hoods-a-hiding
Meeting as the tall ships do, passing in the channel
Afraid to chance a gentle touch - afraid to make the Clasp.
In high-rise city canyons dwells the discontent of ages
On ring roads, nose to bumper crawl commuters in their cages
Criptic signals flash across from pilots in the fast lane
Double-locked and belted in - too late to make the Clasp.
Let's break the journey now on some lonely road
Sit down as strangers will, let the stress unload
Talk in confidential terms, share a dark unspoken fear
Refill the cup and drink it up. Say goodnight and wish good luck.
Synthetic shiefs with frozen smiles holdihg unsteady courses
Grip the reins of History, high on their battle horses
And meeting as good statesmen do before the TV eyes of millions
Hand to hand exchange the lie - pretend to make the Clasp

song performed by Jethro Tull
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The Clasp

We travellers on the endless wastes in single orbits,
Gliding cold-eyed march towards the dawn behind
Hard-weather hoods a-hiding.
Meeting as the tall ships do, passing in the channel
Afraid to chance a gentle touch ---
Afraid to make the clasp.
In high-rise city canyons dwells the discontent of ages.
On ring roads, nose to bumper crawl
Commuters in their cages. cryptic signals flash
Across from pilots in the fast lane. double-locked
And belted in --- too late to make the clasp.
Lets break the journey now on some lonely road.
Sit down as strangers will, let the stress unload.
Talk in confidential terms, share a dark unspoken fear.
Refill the cup and drink it up. say goodnight and
Wish good luck.
Synthetic chiefs with frozen smiles holding unsteady courses.
Grip the reins of history, high on their battle horses.
And meeting as good statesmen do before the t.v.
Eyes of millions, hand to hand exchange the lie ---
Pretend to make the clasp.

song performed by Jethro Tull
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Such, Silence Was Spiritual..

Such, silence was spiritual
Spirituality was so silent
Seated amidst 'Supremacy'
Highly high above me
Like a lotus above mire
Mind and soul somewhere apart
Eyes and ears all elsewhere...

My big-eyed gaze gazing..
His semi shut eyes tranced
Engrossed wholly of the limitless
Floating upon beyond earth's spheres
A great discovery he 's rejoicing..
Here, what am I, a tiny bit trivial
Drowned ever in tearful unsolved enigma...

So such, wonderment raised my soul
In inqusition to follow his march
A march towards the summit of silence
Upon the mounts and dawns of silence
Along the streams of silence
Along the scented florescence of silence
Along the immortal bliss of silence..

Could only be a watcher me silent
Watching my soul marching spiritful
On and on steady until someone nudged me..
Interrupted was me alone, not his vigil
For he was the Buddha teaching in silence
Succor and solace in huge silence
Such, silence was spiritual..

An experience at a buddhist monastery

poem by Indira Renganathan
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4 Against 1

4 against 1, the birth of a cynic
Enterprising through the laughter of the revolting pontificate
For little boys are wolves while being sheep's to their parents
They saviour blood on playgrounds against those who are different
Like the witches in Salem, and the Jew at Auschwitzw
They commence genocide to an introvert conscience

4 against 1 in a line up with guns
Unwavering malice surreptitious with slackened jaws acid tongues
It's a wall of fixed derision operating in unison
All psychically linked relaying intimidating medicine
To the one who dare smiled without showing vindication
Thus beginning the long march towards arrested passions

4 against 1, it was the end of all my fun
When the grass and the trees always seemed brightly green
And there was a special excitement in the taste of ice cream
But all of that suspend upon that long day in September
Once an eight year old grew wiser to the packs of human behaviour
And became an older man all stuffed up and embittered

4 against 1, I know because Ive won

poem by Kevin Patrick
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