Continuity is at the heart of conservatism: ecology serves that heart.
quote by Garrett Hardin
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Serves You Right
1st verse
La, da, da, da,
Oooh, oh.
You and I were so in love.
You were all I was thinkin of.
There was so much magic in your eyes.
Then one day you said we were through.
You said you found somebody new.
And then you turned and you walked right out the door.
Baby I told you his love wasnt true.
You didnt hear me, so now I say these words to you..
Chorus:
Serves you right for sayin good-bye.
Now you say youre sorry.
Serves you right for sayin good-bye.
Baby.
Serves you right for sayin good-bye.
Now you see whos sorry now.
Oooh, oh,oh.
2nd verse.
I remember you standin there, sayin to me you didnt care.
And I was begging baby, please dont go.
Now youre crying, telling me what went wrong.
Girl you stayed away too long,
Cant you see Ive got you off my mind.
(change)
Thinkinbout the pain that you put me through.
I cant help you-because it feels good telling you....
Chorus:
Serves you right for sayin good-bye.
Now you say youre sorry.
Serves you right for sayin good-bye.
Baby.
Serves you right for sayin good-bye.
Now you see whos sorry now.
Oooh, oh,oh.
(rap) see mama, what Im tryinto say.
To you is that, Im ,you know, I love ya,
But ya - yaa hurt me so bad, I cant take it no more girl,
I just cant take it, no.....hell no
No! no, no, I dont wanna hear it,
Dont say it anymore, dont talk
No more, Im tired of youre lyin,
Im tired of your cryin girl, tell
Me....dont tell me.
(change)
Thinkin bout the pain that you put me through,
I cant help you-because it feels good telling you....
Chorus:(repeat twice)
Serves you right for sayin good-bye.
[...] Read more
song performed by Lionel Richie
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Ecology II
Ecology II
Cycles some would modify
could cull all promise from the future,
kill aqua flora, fin and feather.
Supersonic trails in sky –
a risk one cannot quantify -
distorting winds and weather.
Climates change and cultures die,
currents warm mankind defy
as seas rise to highest levels ever
and livid coral reefs bone dry.
Watershed threat carbon di!
On politicians who’d rely?
Pollutions [sp]ills some fools deny
when lobbies rich requalify
risks in an endeavour
to twist statistics you and I
investigate as tension high
takes us beyond all tether.
Dangers dire as any lie
upon mankind which turns blind eye
to threats that all together
should meet before too late to cry.
The question is not whether
but when much land today still dry
will seasink beneath leaden sky –
beware tomorrow’s weather!
© Jonathan ROBIN robi3_1006 written 6 August 1977
Ecology
Pollution and spillage,
plunder, rape, pillage,
Earth’s face is turned.
Earth’s beauty burned
Earth’s shame discerned
in climatic warning...
In city and village,
factory, tillage,
Man’s pride is spurned,
Man’s ashes urned,
Man dust returned
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ecology III
Ecology III
Pelagic Complaint The Gull’s Reply
Petrel’s plumes in air, Detergent curd, vile sea,
petrol’s fumes on sea; tern turning through the air;
a letter, here or there, - submergent bird I’ll be, -
what difference to me? all to you, I do swear!
Petrol pours on sea, Erne, earnest, swoops from sky,
petrel soars in sky; soiled Skuas slick-stick sea;
a vowel, ‘O’ or ‘E’, - Oiled Fulmars homeward fly, -
mmall difference! I sigh! All difference to me!
Petrel flying high, Thick petrol rings I spy,
oil on ocean water; seep from listing tanker;
for any shoaling fry slick sickening squid and I, -
the odds on life grow shorter! Eternity, remember!
© Jonathan ROBIN robi3_1007 written 6 August 1977
Ecology
Pollution and spillage,
plunder, rape, pillage,
Earth’s face is turned.
Earth’s beauty burned
Earth’s shame discerned
in climatic warning...
In city and village,
factory, tillage,
Man’s pride is spurned,
Man’s ashes urned,
Man dust returned
with climactic mo[u]rning.
© Jonathan ROBIN Poem robi3_0049 13 December 1975
Ecology II
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Memory Pain
It serves me right to suffer
It serves me right to be alone
It serves me right to suffer
It serves me right to be alone
You see i'm living in the memory
Of a day that has passed and gone
Everytime i see a woman
You know it makes me think about mine
Everytime i see a woman
You know it makes me think about mine
You see i'm living in the memory
Of a woman i've left behind
It serves me right to suffer
It serves me right to be alone
It serves me right to suffer
It serves me right to be alone
Now i'm living in the memory
Of a woman that has passed and gone
song performed by Thin Lizzy
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This Wheels On Fire
(dylan)
This wheels on fire
This wheels on fire
This wheels on fire
If your memory serves you well
Were gonna meet again and wait
So Im gonna pack all my things
And sit there for it gets to late
No my ? ? ? will come to you
With another tale to tell
And you know that we shall meet again
If your memory serves you well
Wheels on fire
Rollin down the road
Lets notify my next of kin
This wheel shall explode
If your memory serves you well
I was gonna confiscate your lace
And wrap it up in a sailors knot
And hide it in your case
If I knew for sure that it was yours
But it was so hard to tell
And you know that we shall meet again
If your memory serves you well
Chorus
This wheels on fire
This wheels on fire
This wheels on fire
If your memory serves you well
Youll remember youre the one
That called on me to call on them
To get your favours done
And after every ? ? ? I failed
And there was nothin more to tell
You knew that we should meet again
If your memory serves you well
This wheels on fire
This wheels on fire
This wheels on fire
song performed by Hollies
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]
POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
POEMS
1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song
[...] Read more
poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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This Wheels On Fire
If your memry serves you well,
We were goin to meet again and wait,
So Im goin to unpack all my things
And sit before it gets too late.
No man alive will come to you
With another tale to tell,
But you know that we shall meet again
If your memry serves you well.
This wheels on fire,
Rolling down the road,
Best notify my next of kin,
This wheel shall explode!
If your memry serves you well,
I was goin to confiscate your lace,
And wrap it up in a sailors knot
And hide it in your case.
If I knew for sure that it was yours . . .
But it was oh so hard to tell.
But you knew that we would meet again,
If your memry serves you well.
This wheels on fire,
Rolling down the road,
Best notify my next of kin,
This wheel shall explode!
If your memry serves you well,
Youll remember youre the one
That called on me to call on them
To get you your favors done.
And after evry plan had failed
And there was nothing more to tell,
You knew that we would meet again,
If your memry served you well.
This wheels on fire,
Rolling down the road,
Best notify my next of kin,
This wheel shall explode
song performed by Bob Dylan
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Three Women
My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.
Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.
Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.
Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.
1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.
Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Pharsalia - Book VII: The Battle
Ne'er to the summons of the Eternal laws
More slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds,
Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven,
With gloomier presage; wishing to endure
The pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse;
And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames,
But lest his light upon Thessalian earth
Might fall undimmed.
Pompeius on that morn,
To him the latest day of happy life,
In troubled sleep an empty dream conceived.
For in the watches of the night he heard
Innumerable Romans shout his name
Within his theatre; the benches vied
To raise his fame and place him with the gods;
As once in youth, when victory was won
O'er conquered tribes where swift Iberus flows,
And where Sertorius' armies fought and fled,
The west subdued, with no less majesty
Than if the purple toga graced the car,
He sat triumphant in his pure white gown
A Roman knight, and heard the Senate's cheer.
Perhaps, as ills drew near, his anxious soul,
Shunning the future wooed the happy past;
Or, as is wont, prophetic slumber showed
That which was not to be, by doubtful forms
Misleading; or as envious Fate forbade
Return to Italy, this glimpse of Rome
Kind Fortune gave. Break not his latest sleep,
Ye sentinels; let not the trumpet call
Strike on his ear: for on the morrow's night
Shapes of the battle lost, of death and war
Shall crowd his rest with terrors. Whence shalt thou
The poor man's happiness of sleep regain?
Happy if even in dreams thy Rome could see
Once more her captain! Would the gods had given
To thee and to thy country one day yet
To reap the latest fruit of such a love:
Though sure of fate to come! Thou marchest on
As though by heaven ordained in Rome to die;
She, conscious ever of her prayers for thee
Heard by the gods, deemed not the fates decreed
Such evil destiny, that she should lose
The last sad solace of her Magnus' tomb.
Then young and old had blent their tears for thee,
And child unbidden; women torn their hair
And struck their bosoms as for Brutus dead.
But now no public woe shall greet thy death
As erst thy praise was heard: but men shall grieve
[...] Read more
poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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The Georgics
GEORGIC I
What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom
Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes,
The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power,
Thy native forest and Lycean lawns,
Pan, shepherd-god, forsaking, as the love
Of thine own Maenalus constrains thee, hear
And help, O lord of Tegea! And thou, too,
Minerva, from whose hand the olive sprung;
And boy-discoverer of the curved plough;
And, bearing a young cypress root-uptorn,
Silvanus, and Gods all and Goddesses,
Who make the fields your care, both ye who nurse
The tender unsown increase, and from heaven
Shed on man's sowing the riches of your rain:
And thou, even thou, of whom we know not yet
What mansion of the skies shall hold thee soon,
Whether to watch o'er cities be thy will,
Great Caesar, and to take the earth in charge,
That so the mighty world may welcome thee
Lord of her increase, master of her times,
Binding thy mother's myrtle round thy brow,
Or as the boundless ocean's God thou come,
Sole dread of seamen, till far Thule bow
Before thee, and Tethys win thee to her son
With all her waves for dower; or as a star
Lend thy fresh beams our lagging months to cheer,
Where 'twixt the Maid and those pursuing Claws
A space is opening; see! red Scorpio's self
His arms draws in, yea, and hath left thee more
Than thy full meed of heaven: be what thou wilt-
For neither Tartarus hopes to call thee king,
[...] Read more
We have among us a class of mammon worshippers, whose one test of conservatism or radicalism is the attitude one takes with respect to accumulated wealth. Whatever tends to preserve the wealth of the wealthy is called conservatism, and whatever favors anything else, no matter what is called socialism.
quote by Richard T. Ely
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Conservatism
Conservatism is the process
That admits not anything first.
Religions are kept alive
Solely on conservatism.
21.04.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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However, I think the major opposition to ecology has deeper roots than mere economics; ecology threatens widely held values so fundamental that they must be called religious.
quote by Garrett Hardin
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Respect the doer of mean works
Respect them who do works
That demand no respects
More than them who do works
That command reverence.
Not prepared for such works
That are held low or mean,
You must at least respect
Them who do men works to you.
As a doctor serves you
A barber too serves you.
As a teacher serves you
A sweeper too serves you.
06.02.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ode
Inscribed to W.H. Channing
Though loath to grieve
The evil time's sole patriot,
I cannot leave
My honeyed thought
For the priest's cant,
Or statesman's rant.
If I refuse
My study for their politic,
Which at the best is trick,
The angry Muse
Puts confusion in my brain.
But who is he that prates
Of the culture of mankind,
Of better arts and life?
Go, blindworm, go,
Behold the famous States
Harrying Mexico
With rifle and with knife!
Or who, with accent bolder
Dare praise the freedom-loving mountaineer?
I found by thee, O rushing Contoocook!
And in thy valleys, Agiochook!
The jackals of the Negro-holder.
The God who made New Hampshire
Taunted the lofty land
With little men;--
Small bat and wren
House in the oak:--
If earth-fire cleave
The upheaved land, and bury the folk,
The southern crocodile would grieve.
Virtue palters; Right is hence;
Freedom praised, but hid;
Funeral eloquence
Rattles the coffin lid.
What boots thy zeal,
O glowing friend,
That would indignant rend
The northland from the south?
Wherefore? to what good end?
Boston Bay and Bunker Hill
Would serve things still;--
[...] Read more
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Ode To William H. Channing
Though loth to grieve
The evil time's sole patriot,
I cannot leave
My buried thought
For the priest's cant,
Or statesman's rant.
If I refuse
My study for their politique,
Which at the best is trick,
The angry muse
Puts confusion in my brain.
But who is he that prates
Of the culture of mankind,
Of better arts and life?
Go, blind worm, go,
Behold the famous States
Harrying Mexico
With rifle and with knife.
Or who, with accent bolder,
Dare praise the freedom-loving mountaineer,
I found by thee, O rushing Contoocook!
And in thy valleys, Agiochook!
The jackals of the negro-holder.
The God who made New Hampshire
Taunted the lofty land
With little men.
Small bat and wren
House in the oak.
If earth fire cleave
The upheaved land, and bury the folk,
The southern crocodile would grieve.
Virtue palters, right is hence,
Freedom praised but hid;
Funeral eloquence
Rattles the coffin-lid.
What boots thy zeal,
O glowing friend,
That would indignant rend
The northland from the south?
Wherefore? To what good end?
Boston Bay and Bunker Hill
Would serve things still:
Things are of the snake.
[...] Read more
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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A Dainty Thing's The Villanelle
A DAINTY thing's the Villanelle,
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A double-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
You must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime--
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And, filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Villanelle
A dainty thing's the Villanelle.
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A doublc-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
You must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime-
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And, filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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The Undying One- Canto III
'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?
If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!
'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!
'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Blot on humanity
It is darkest hour in our history,
Dark nights shrouded with mystery,
Keeping under heels and making mockery,
Liberty torch shine but under label of slavery,
We may hide cruel face under facial,
Abuses hurl and utterances very racial,
Delicate phase but survival very crucial,
Efforts needed nor normal but very special,
Colour cast, creed based on ethnic entity,
Human race can’t maintain proper continuity,
Change in attitude and mental state,
Can’t risk entire race to a dangerous fate,
Thousands of people flee homeland and live,
Constant fear for life and prepared to dive,
Decades of struggle not paying any result,
More poverty, inhuman treatment and insult,
Holocaust, partition and burning of homes,
Green pastures and forest reserve in flames,
Not sparing nature and still more blames,
Is it deliberate attempt to play dirty games?
Still we not miss a chance for double speak,
Invade on neighbours, who are feeble and weak,
Impose terms so as to strangulate and muffle,
Win a war without bloodshed and scuffle,
Is it simple fight between black and white?
We still can understand it is mere a fight,
Still we can see ray of hope and light,
Solve the mystery even with wrong or right,
Destruction everywhere to impose ideology,
Unbalancing act to disturb core and ecology,
Forcing millions to accept the domain,
Count more dead or sub duly remain,
On each day of passing we will witness,
Arrogance more and vanishing politeness,
Harshness more and little softness,
Still lies hope for ascending goodness
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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