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Gratitude is a burden, and every burden is made to be shaken off.

quote by Denis Diderot
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Gotham - Book I

Far off (no matter whether east or west,
A real country, or one made in jest,
Nor yet by modern Mandevilles disgraced,
Nor by map-jobbers wretchedly misplaced)
There lies an island, neither great nor small,
Which, for distinction sake, I Gotham call.
The man who finds an unknown country out,
By giving it a name, acquires, no doubt,
A Gospel title, though the people there
The pious Christian thinks not worth his care
Bar this pretence, and into air is hurl'd
The claim of Europe to the Western world.
Cast by a tempest on the savage coast,
Some roving buccaneer set up a post;
A beam, in proper form transversely laid,
Of his Redeemer's cross the figure made--
Of that Redeemer, with whose laws his life,
From first to last, had been one scene of strife;
His royal master's name thereon engraved,
Without more process the whole race enslaved,
Cut off that charter they from Nature drew,
And made them slaves to men they never knew.
Search ancient histories, consult records,
Under this title the most Christian lords
Hold (thanks to conscience) more than half the ball;
O'erthrow this title, they have none at all;
For never yet might any monarch dare,
Who lived to Truth, and breathed a Christian air,
Pretend that Christ, (who came, we all agree,
To bless his people, and to set them free)
To make a convert, ever one law gave
By which converters made him first a slave.
Spite of the glosses of a canting priest,
Who talks of charity, but means a feast;
Who recommends it (whilst he seems to feel
The holy glowings of a real zeal)
To all his hearers as a deed of worth,
To give them heaven whom they have robb'd of earth;
Never shall one, one truly honest man,
Who, bless'd with Liberty, reveres her plan,
Allow one moment that a savage sire
Could from his wretched race, for childish hire,
By a wild grant, their all, their freedom pass,
And sell his country for a bit of glass.
Or grant this barbarous right, let Spain and France,
In slavery bred, as purchasers advance;
Let them, whilst Conscience is at distance hurl'd,
With some gay bauble buy a golden world:
An Englishman, in charter'd freedom born,
Shall spurn the slavish merchandise, shall scorn

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Lay It All Down

Written by bob welch.
Let me retell
A story of old
About a man named moses
Who lived long ago
He prophicied good
He prophicied bad
And now that prophecys
Coming to pass
Let all your sons, and your daughters
Of the golden calf
Lay down your burden of sorrow
Lay down your burden of hurt
Lay it all down, for paradise here on earth
A whole lot of people, including myself
Thought the story of moses was just a tall tale
But all of the things that we see going on
Are just what moses set down
Let all your sons, and your daughters
Of the golden-yeah
Lay down your burden of sorrow
Lay down your burden of hurt
Lay it all down, for paradise here on earth
Let me retell
A story I know
About a man named moses
Who lived long ago
He prophicied good
He prophicied bad
And now that prophecys
Coming to pass
Let all your sons, and your daughters
Of the golden-yeah
Lay down your burden of sorrow
Lay down your burden of hurt
Lay down your burden of sorrow
Lay down your burden of hurt
Lay down your burden of sorrow
Lay down your burden of hurt
I just cant imagine a reason for sorrow
Just cant imagine the hurt
Youve got to lay it down
Youve got to lay it down
Youve got to lay it down
Youve got to lay it down
I said lay down your burden of sorrow
Lay down your burden of hurt
Lay down your burden of sorrow
Theres just no reason to hurt
Youve got to lay down your burden of sorrow

[...] Read more

song performed by Fleetwood Mac
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Magpie, My Keeper, Is Flying - Upon Freeing the Gift of Creativity Turned Inward

.
for Elaine Bellezza, Beloved Anima-as-Fate

'There is only one real deprivation, I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one's gift to those one loves most...The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.' - May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

This afternoon while still somewhat hungover from last night's rich meal and several glasses of strong red wine, I stumbled as one does when hungover, only today without feet but with eyes, upon the above quote by May Sarton. I had awakened this morning with fragments of a dream, repetitive of other dreams the past few months, where I am carrying something precious and just cannot put it down in any old place or upon just any available surface. I cannot put it down until I find the right surface and location.

These dreams are full of torrential flood waters, or backed up, stagnant water, toilets full of filth and pungent bright orange dark urine days old and fermenting. I cannot unhand the burden even though the urge to pee or flee or drive a car away or into flood waters is strong. I must not put down the burden odd as it is; it is my laptop carrying case made of canvas. It is large enough to carry not only my laptop but also many books with which I cannot, will not be parted from as they are the must-have-with-me-always 'bread', my staple and stability in a given to me world out of balance.

I have understood the dreams only a little - something within the psyche is flooding up, over-spilling or has already, has not been adequately canalized, channeled, streamed and guided, shaped and formed. Or flushed. I knew that eventually, as dreams do when one sits consciously, patiently, persistently with them, they would yield their messages to me, and upon revelation these must be obeyed, brought out into the world, Carl Jung having said that one has a moral responsibility to dreams once they are kenned and must be conscientiously acted upon in the outer world. Just dreaming is not enough. Everyone dreams but not very many know to dream them out into the world, to let their messages unfurl, flood and flow to bring forth new consciousness, to reshape old forms no longer adequate to self, place and time into symbol and their sense, usually not literal.

And thus, only just now, upon opening up haphazardly in a book about Dostoevsky and his struggle with addictions which mirror the profound compulsion to create at any cost perhaps beyond one's capacities to renew oneself, I find May Sarton's quote and suddenly the dreams clarify and sharpen into focus; I understand them as the burden of creativity too long turned inward, the burden of writing, the burden of poetry which I have carried heavily for most of my life since middle school when I was 11 or 12 years old when books became my lifeline, my link to existence that I could live on in spite of not wanting to do so. Written words, books, kept me from disappearing though I was and remain a mostly invisible word.

And thus the floods. One cannot ignore them. Alphabets tumble and roil. One dare not ignore them. One must see them without a choice to not see them. In them I am suddenly made visible, bright orange p*ss pots and all. I am both appalled and pleased. My burden is upon my knees.

The backed up water, the urine, is creativity. A somewhat odd symbol of creativity, there is more than enough evidence that urination is symbolic of self expression which is creativity. In ancient Rome the highly valued dirt from the urinals of boys' schools was collected to be used as a cosmetic in order to restore youthful energy and looks. A young boy, or puer in Latin, is an archetypal symbol of ongoing creativity and inspiration, the puer aeternas, the eternal youth, well springs of ongoing creativity still imaged in solid fountains of the world where eternal waters flow from the peni of cherubic youth.

I have struggled my entire life with a strong urge to create, to write, to express in words that creative daemon within which torments no matter the completion of a poem or essay, a lecture, a psalm. And now my dreams have had me consciously, urgently seeking a place to put the burden down, to perhaps come to it anew. I imagine that landing the burden means bringing it down to earth, manifesting creativity all the more by bringing my efforts to others for the strongest part of the compulsive urge in my creativity has been to contribute one good thing, one good poem or piece of writing which in some way might further the culture even if only by a flea's leg length.

The dreams urge me to let the urine flow, to let the flood waters indeed flood over, to be less self conscious of what I write and say but to have at it all and to say my say. And to let whatever waves there are crest and break upon ever receptive banks and shores whose duty it is to allow what may come from motion without complaint, the more compliant toward as yet to be fully formed purposes as yet to be scored.

Synchronistically, a few days ago I listened to a lecture by poet Allen Ginsberg about Walt Whitman and his imitators, those who were goodly influenced by his effulgent, self indulgent style, his garrulous poems which presumed to express the very expansiveness of the North American continent over-flooded by a plague of itinerant, persistent poachers and prophets from Europe to Eastern disembarkation and then inland and Westward, compelled to overtake land and native peoples in their possessed, pushed wake. Ginsberg imagined himself to be a timely extension of this unruly school, as savage as the projected upon land and justly-resistant, resident humanity stretched beyond known bounds and sounds. Blood drowned and pounded the god-hounded land even now is flooded by unleashed mighty rivers seeking, if rivers seek at all, to undo and renew in horse shoe and other shapes the crimes of consciousness compelled to overtake while leaving it up to human souls to repent and repair, to prepare for more powerful insurgencies of land and Self ever seeking new and nower expressions of dirt and deity. There's enough history beneath layers to support the scarp and scrape of momentary yet monumental motions finally given mouths to utter what lies both beneath and within the heaping huzzahs of here here here full and deep. As in my dream, it is hard to steer in such surpassing tides and currents. Still, I am searching for holy campground that I may lay my burden down.

I have no wish to imitate Whitman nor Ginsberg - though both are easily imitated since they did so themselves, an occupational hazard for writers - but only to be obedient to the daemon, that urgent, emergent, creative force within. It rushes within and against me. No matter whether derived of the grandiose American continent and the even more grandiose sky or not, I have all too successfully braced against it in fear of failure, reprisal or, worse, complete indifference from others. My dreams now urge floods and resultant coagulations, they bring creative splurges to ground from hand to the hard world. And Nature, too, is indifferent but begs none the less and all the more to be given utterance and response.

Respondeo ergo sum. I respond, therefore I am. I respond, therefore the other, earth, all her ants, is as long as there are eyes, ears, and scanning minds to acknowledge and touch, wrestle, caress, shape - some in scansions - outer from inner, inner from outer, landscapes to be all too quickly discarded in time for what is sung just ahead. And seen. Or hoped, all praise to telescopes. We would be they, so addicted to horizons, to bring them close.

Something there is needs completion via coagulation, forming, shaping, and sharing with whomever may be open to clods delivered. If not, rivers will, as they will without reason, continue to overrun their banks and insist upon covering designated previous cultivations. Let then excess of creativity have its say, play out, and leave the critical post-considerations to others. I will surely sit and ponder spent what spills forth, to shape, to edit, to discard. And watch my little yard sink beneath needed and needy floods.

I will have done with deprivation and bring myself, what I have shaped and misshapen, to the world. These things, this burden, have I most loved and felt responsible for, have born the shame of. I have fought and have failed utterly again and again though my attempts have been, and still are, sincere though not blameless. Fear has been my encampment, a longing beneath knowing feet in secret cellars just beyond reach of contracted hands forever spelling hunger. I know open bastion doors and windows to now fling beyond embankments what has been wrung out of my floes and woes though hands wither from too much turning against and inward. What a relief to burst beyond boundaries too long successfully restraining.

I recently wrote a poem about much too too solid bastions of self, of forceful puer energy ramming through and over and into long buried storms and petrified forms, of passion mangling the delusion of 'norms' ignoring too sensitive alarms. Given May Sarton's May revelation this morning I now understand that the poem is about more than eros, it is about that powerful creative/destructive force, the daemon/tyro that ever urges outward intent on making and staking Self in new land and at least one aging man wrenched and rendered from dried and calcified encrustations. I am, to borrow from the insistent dream image, beginning to leak. And to break open.

Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover'

That this old ground yields to plow stuns.
What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.

Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.

All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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Power Of My Love

(words & music by b. giant - b. baum - f. kaye)
Oh break it, burn it, drag it all around
Twist it, turn it, you cant tear it down
Cos every minute, every hour youll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Crush it, kick it, you can never win
I know baby you cant lick it
Ill make you give in
Every minute, every hour youll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Baby I want you, youll never get away
My love will haunt you yes haunt you night and day
Touch it, pound it, what good does it do
Theres just no stoppin the way I feel for you
Cos every minute, every hour youll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Yeh, yeh, baby I want you, youll never get away
My love will haunt you yes haunt you night and day
Touch it, pound it, what good does it do
Theres just no stoppin the way I feel for you
Cos every minute, every hour youll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
I said every minute, every hour youll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Every minute, every hour youll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Power Of My Love (Alternate Take 3)

Oh break it, burn it, drag it all around
Twist it, turn it, you can't tear it down
Cos' every minute, every hour you'll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Crush it, kick it, you can never win
I know baby you can't lick it
I'll make you give in
Every minute, every hour you'll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Baby I want you, you'll never get away
My love will haunt you yes haunt you night and day
Touch it, pound it, what good does it do
There's just no stoppin' the way I feel for you
Cos' every minute, every hour you'll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Yeh, yeh, baby I want you, you'll never get away
My love will haunt you yes haunt you night and day
Touch it, pound it, what good does it do
There's just no stoppin' the way I feel for you
Cos' every minute, every hour you'll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
I said every minute, every hour you'll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love
Every minute, every hour you'll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Ballad of Burdens

A Ballad of Burdens

The burden of fair women. Vain delight,
And love self-slain in some sweet shameful way,
And sorrowful old age that comes by night
As a thief comes that has no heart by day,
And change that finds fair cheeks and leaves them grey,
And weariness that keeps awake for hire,
And grief that says what pleasure used to say;
This is the end of every man's desire.

The burden of bought kisses. This is sore,
A burden without fruit in childbearing;
Between the nightfall and the dawn threescore,
Threescore between the dawn and evening.
The shuddering in thy lips, the shuddering
In thy sad eyelids tremulous like fire,
Makes love seem shameful and a wretched thing.
This is the end of every man's desire.

The burden of sweet speeches. Nay, kneel down,
Cover thy head, and weep; for verily
These market-men that buy thy white and brown
In the last days shall take no thought for thee.
In the last days like earth thy face shall be,
Yea, like sea-marsh made thick with brine and mire,
Sad with sick leavings of the sterile sea.
This is the end of every man's desire.

The burden of long living. Thou shalt fear
Waking, and sleeping mourn upon thy bed;
And say at night "Would God the day were here,"
And say at dawn "Would God the day were dead."
With weary days thou shalt be clothed and fed,
And wear remorse of heart for thine attire,
Pain for thy girdle and sorrow upon thine head;
This is the end of every man's desire.

The burden of bright colours. Thou shalt see
Gold tarnished, and the grey above the green;
And as the thing thou seest thy face shall be,
And no more as the thing beforetime seen.
And thou shalt say of mercy "It hath been,"
And living, watch the old lips and loves expire,
And talking, tears shall take thy breath between;
This is the end of every man's desire.

The burden of sad sayings. In that day
Thou shalt tell all thy days and hours, and tell
Thy times and ways and words of love, and say

[...] Read more

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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God Is My Refuge

We invite you God to this place.
God is my refuge,
My refuge and my strength.
I will not be shaken all of my days.
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken, no
All of my days.
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken all of my days
And I wont move from your presents of your holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
And I will move from your presence of your holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength I will not be shaken all of my days
Sing it again church
God is my refuge my refuge and my strength
I will not be shaken all of my days
And I wont move from your presence of you holiness I will sing
I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
In the shadow of your wings
You are great god
Oh you are great
You are great god
You are great

song performed by Lifehouse
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shaken

Your shaken with grief
Your shaken by death
Your shaken with horror
Your shaken with the cold
But no matter how you feel, life must go on
The word will not stop and wait for you
After all you are human
You are afraid you will be laughed at
Remember that everyone is entitle to there opinion
And you to yours
Move on and don’t look back in the darker days when you were shaken by grief, death, horror, and cold
Death, horror, and grief you have no control of it
But you have control of your emotions, feelings, and fears
Put a little laughter in your life
Learn to laugh from the inside out
Behind the mask you hide your face so no one can see how you feel
You are afraid of your fears and don’t want other people to know how You feel
It’s okay to feel the way you feel
Remove the mask from your face and let your fears and feelings be shown

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Thank God I Found You

I would give up everything
Before i'd separate myself from you
After so much suffering
I've finally found a man that's true
I was all by myself for the longest time
So cold inside
And the hurt from the heart it would not subside
I felt like dying
Until you saved my life
Chorus
Thank god i found you
I was lost without you
My every wish and every dream
Somehow became reality
When you brought the sunlight
Completed my whole life
I'm overwhelmed with gratitude
Cause baby i'm so thankful
I found you
I would give you everything
There's nothing in this world i wouldn't do
To ensure your happiness
I'll cherish every part of you
Because without you beside me i can't survive
I don't wanna try
If you're keeping me warm each and every night
I'll be all right
Cause i need you in my life
Thank god i found you (i'm begging you)
I was lost without you (so lost without you)
My every wish and every dream (every dream, every dream)
Somehow became reality
When you brought the sunlight (brought the sunlight)
Completed my whole life
I'm overwhelmed with gratitude
Cause baby i'm so thankful
I found you
See i was so desolate
Before you came to me
Looking back i guess it shows
That we were destined to shine
After the rain to appreciate
And care for what we have
And i'd go through it all over again
To be able to feel this way
Thank god i found you
I was lost without you (lost without you baby)
My every wish and every dream
Somehow became reality
When you brought the sunlight

[...] Read more

song performed by 98 Degrees
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Thank God I Found You (feat. Mariah Carey)

I would give up everything
Before I'd separate myself from you
After so much suffering
I finally found the unvernished truth
I was all by myself for the longest time
So cold inside
And the hurt from the heart it would not subside
I felt like dying
Until you saved my life
Chorus:
Thank God I found you
I was lost without you
My every wish and every dream
Somehow became reality
When you brought the sunlight
Completed my whole life
I'm overwhelmed with gratitude
Cause baby I'm so thankful
I found you
I would give you everything
There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do
To ensure your happiness
I'll cherish every part of you
Because without you beside me I can't survive
I don't wanna try
If you're keeping me warm each and every night
I'll be all right
Cause I need you in my life
Chorus:
Thank God I found you (I'm begging you)
I was lost without you (so lost without you)
My every wish and every dream (every dream, every dream)
Somehow became reality
When you brought the sunlight (brought the sunlight)
Completed my whole life
I'm overwhelmed with gratitude
Cause baby I'm so thankful
I found you
See I was so desolate
Before you came to me
Looking back I guess it shows
that we were destined to shine
After the rain to appreciate
And care for what we have
And I'd go through it all over again
To be able to feel this way
Chorus:
Thank God I found you
I was lost without you (lost without you baby)
My every wish and every dream

[...] Read more

song performed by 98 Degrees
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Thank God I Found You

(featuring joe & 98 degrees)
(mariah)
I would give up everything
Before Id separate myself from you
After so much suffering
Ive finally found a man thats true
I was all by myself for the longest time
So cold inside
And the hurt from the heart it would not subside
I felt like dying
Until you saved my life
(chorus - all)
Thank God I found you
I was lost without you
My every wish and every dream
Somehow became reality
When you brought the sunlight
Completed my whole life
Im overwhelmed with gratitude
Cause baby Im so thankful
I found you
(joe)
I would give you everything
Theres nothing in this world I wouldnt do
To ensure your happiness
Ill cherish every part of you
Because without you beside me I cant survive
I dont wanna try
If youre keeping me warm each and every night
Ill be all right
Cause I need you in my life
(chorus - all)
Thank God I found you (Im begging you)
I was lost without you (so lost without you)
My every wish and every dream (every dream, every dream)
Somehow became reality
When you brought the sunlight (brought the sunlight)
Completed my whole life
Im overwhelmed with gratitude
Cause baby Im so thankful
I found you
-bridge- (mariah & joe)
See I was so desolate
Before you came to me
Looking back I guess it shows
That we were destined to shine
After the rain to appreciate
And care for what we have
And Id go through it all over again
To be able to feel this way

[...] Read more

song performed by Mariah Carey
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Carry You

Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child
Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child, my child
If I can walk on water
And calm a restless sea
I've done a thousand things you've never done
And I'm weary watchin'
While you struggle on your own
Call my name, I'll come
Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child
Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child, my child
I give vision to the blind
And I can raise the dead
I've seen the darker side of Hell
And I returned
And I see these sleepless nights
And I count every tear you cry
I know some lessons hurt to learn
Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child
Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child, my child
I will carry you, my child
I see these sleepless nights
And I count every tear you cry
And call my name, I'll come runnin'
Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child
Lay down your burden, I will carry you
I will carry you, my child, my child
I will carry you, my child, my child
I will carry you
Hey-Yeah-Hey-Yeah Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
Hey-Yeah-Hey-Yeah Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
Hey-Yeah-Hey-Yeah Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh
Hey-Yeah-Hey-Yeah Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh

song performed by Amy Grant
Added by Lucian Velea
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Burden To Carry

Every man has a burden to carry
And some seem to carry it very well
While others complain, about the burden and strain
And as their fall from grace to all they must tell.
They will blame all others for the life they live
And then brag and lie for pity and shame
They will tell themselves to halt, that it was never their fault
So they figure their loss will also be their gain.

Every man has a burden to carry
And some need to carry that burden alone
As they don't seek help, from no one but themselves
And only GOD will feel their pain or hear them moan.
The burden they have is their right of passage
As they walk through life to become a man
Every step that they take, another worry they will forsake
And truly that a vigilante only he should understand.

Every man has a burden to carry
And so many carry it with a vigor and pride
As they head down the road, with their own life's load
While keeping a happiness and love and joy deep inside.
They live the life that was presented to them
And never once do they complain or quit
They take life in it's stride, they throw their chest forward in pride
And what they lost or will loose, they will never miss.

Every man has a burden to carry
And to see it just look upon a mans face
He will either be wearing a smile, like holding a child
Or else you'll see pain and sorrow and even disgrace.
Just walk in his footsteps at least one time
Take his journey as he run's or walks or even tarries
Then you will feel the weight, that man can't escape
As every man has a burden, that he must carry.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Lean On Me

Heavy burden on your shoulder
Lean on me
Heavy burden on your shoulder
Lean on me
Heavy burden on your shoulder
Everyday just a little bit harder
Heavy burden on your shoulder
Lean on me
Down and out without hope
Lean on me
Down and out without hope
Lean on me
Down and out without hope
Im right here, Ill help you cope
Down and out without hope
Lean on me
Grab a rope and pull me in
But lean on me
Everyday, youll have a friend
But lean on me
Grab a rope, pull me in
Everyday youll have a friend
Grab a rope
In the world, ? ?
And if youre looking for a rainy day friend
Well grab a rope, pull me in
Lean on me
Heavy burden cloudy skies
Lean on me
Ill be the ? ? of weeping eyes
But lean on me
If you always feels like rain
All youve got in life is pain
Heavy burden, go away
Oh... , goodbye
Heavy burden, on you shoulder
Lean on me

song performed by Housemartins
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fireflies

My fancies are fireflies, —
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.

he voice of wayside pansies,
that do not attract the careless glance,
murmurs in these desultory lines.

In the drowsy dark caves of the mind
dreams build their nest with fragments
dropped from day's caravan.

Spring scatters the petals of flowers
that are not for the fruits of the future,
but for the moment's whim.

Joy freed from the bond of earth's slumber
rushes into numberless leaves,
and dances in the air for a day.

My words that are slight
my lightly dance upon time's waves
when my works havy with import have gone down.

Mind's underground moths
grow filmy wings
and take a farewell flight
in the sunset sky.

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.

My thoughts, like spark, ride on winged surprises,
carrying a single laughter.
The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow
which yet it never can grasp.

Let my love, like sunlight, surround you
and yet give you illumined freedom.

Days are coloured vbubbles
that float upon the surface of fathomless night.

My offerings are too timid to claim your remembrance,
and therefore you may remember them.

Leave out my name from the gift
if it be a burden,
but keep my song.

[...] Read more

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The White Man's Burden

Take up the White man's burden --
Send forth the best ye breed --
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild --
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.

Take up the White Man's burden --
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times mad plain.
To seek another's profit,
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden --
The savage wars of peace --
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch Sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hope to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden --
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper --
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go make them with your living,
And mark them with your dead!

Take up the White man's burden --
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard --
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light: --
"Why brought ye us from bondage,
"Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden --
Ye dare not stoop to less --
Nor call too loud on freedom
To cloak your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Don't Let Go Love

What's it gonna be 'cuz I can't pretend
Don't you want to be more than friends
Only time and don't let go
Don't let go
You have the right to lose control
Don't let go
I often told myself that we could be more than just friends
I know you think that we move to soon it would all end
I live in misery when you're not around
And I won't be satisfied till we're taken both vows
There'll be some love maken, heart breaken, soul shaken love
Love maken, heart breaken, soul shaken.....
What's it gonna be 'cuz I can't pretend
Don't you want to be more than friends
Only time and don't let go
Don't let go
You have the right to lose control
Don't let go
I often fanticised the stars above are watchen
They know my heart to speak to you as like only lovers do
If I could wear your clothes I'd pretend I was you and I lose control
There'll be some love maken, heart breaken, soul shaken love
Love maken, heart breaken, soul shaken.....
What's it gonna be 'cuz I can't pretend
Don't you want to be more than friends
Only time and don't let go
Don't let go
You have the right to lose control
Don't let go
Run a minute
I'm alive
Has got me so confused
You gotta make the sacrifice
Somebody's gotta chose
Will we make it if we try
For the sake of you and I
Together we can make it right
(Can't keep a running)
(I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive)
(You've got the right, you've got the right,)
(I said you've got the right to lose control)
What's it gonna be 'cuz I can't pretend
Don't you want to be more than friends
Only time and don't let go
Don't let go
You have the right to lose control
Don't let go
Don't let go
Don't let go
What's it gonna be 'cuz I can't pretend

[...] Read more

song performed by En Vogue
Added by Lucian Velea
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On Hearing Of The Intention Of A Gentleman To Purchase The Poet's Freedom

When on life's ocean first I spread my sail,
I then implored a mild auspicious gale;
And from the slippery strand I took my flight,
And sought the peaceful haven of delight.

Tyrannic storms arose upon my soul,
And dreadful did their mad'ning thunders roll;
The pensive muse was shaken from her sphere,
And hope, it vanish'd in the clouds of fear.

At length a golden sun broke thro' the gloom,
And from his smiles arose a sweet perfume--
A calm ensued, and birds began to sing,
And lo! the sacred muse resumed her wing.

With frantic joy she chaunted as she flew,
And kiss'd the clement hand that bore her thro'
Her envious foes did from her sight retreat,
Or prostrate fall beneath her burning feet.

'Twas like a proselyte, allied to Heaven--
Or rising spirits' boast of sins forgiven,
Whose shout dissolves the adamant away
Whose melting voice the stubborn rocks obey.

'Twas like the salutation of the dove,
Borne on the zephyr thro' some lonesome grove,
When Spring returns, and Winter's chill is past,
And vegetation smiles above the blast.

'Twas like the evening of a nuptial pair,
When love pervades the hour of sad despair--
'Twas like fair Helen's sweet return to Troy,
When every Grecian bosom swell'd with joy.

The silent harp which on the osiers hung,
Was then attuned, and manumission sung:
Away by hope the clouds of fear were driven,
And music breathed my gratitude to heaven.

Hard was the race to reach the distant goal,
The needle oft was shaken from the pole;

[...] Read more

poem by George Moses Horton
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I Am Quiet In Gratitude To God

I am quiet in gratitude to God
Saved again
Near tears in tears
Grateful to God
And trying within
To let the Gratitude be everything
And forget for a time
The fear that will return again-
Quiet in Gratitude to God
And wanting that Gratitude to be everything.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Gratitude dawning

Alarm clock. The sun rises.
The buses, railways, flights are running.
There’s a bottle of milk on the doorstep.

Facts of life. Except when they’re not there.
Who lives a life of continual gratitude for life?
Hey guys, the sun which disappeared last night
has turned up again today! Wow! Relief! Let’s get down
on our knees, raise hands, voices… and
while we’re about it, put your hands together for
all morning milkmen, where they still deliver milk…

Except – no milk this morning.
Shall you telephone – politely,
with a subtext of unpractised gratitude?

I only saw the current milkman once;
said to him, this is the first time I met you…
he said, well, you’re not around at 4 ay em are you?

So you telephone. A foreignish voice from
the land of holy cows replies from
a script I guess, …your previous milkman…
left the company… late…on his way…

Morning gratitude. The cow who gives you
the love for her calves, in liquid form;
yielding too, the butter for your toast;
the pig who gave her life for your bacon rasher;
the hen who parted with her offspring for you
to kill its life in sizzling frying pan…
they’re all female, you’ve just noticed; how about
the oranges whose liquid praise of the morning sun you drink?
tomatoes, mushrooms, anybody?

maybe you should write a note to the dairy,
say, please convey to the milkman
who has now left the company for
pastures new, hur hur, and we hope
a creamy, frothing future,
our gratitude for services rendered
which we would not ourselves
be easily persuaded to take on…
yes, maybe you should.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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