Vox populi, vox humbug.
quote by William Tecumseh Sherman
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The voice of the people is the voice of God.
(Vox Populi, Vox Dei)
quote by Alcuin
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What The People Say
Vox populi vox dei
God is there where there is people
Come to the people and hear
What the people say
That is God's saying.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Vox Humana
Early mornin lookin tired and worn
And lookin out for the enemy
You made all the way to hudson bay
But youre right back here with me
Tryin to run away
Your lips are sealed
A runaway
So tell me baby
What youre wantin me to do
Givin my love to you
Mama dont you know
Now youre livin like a runaway
Sunday dawn you met a gypsy woman
On a road to tennessee
She told you a lot about the world to come
But did she tell you
Why you couldnt tell me
Like a runaway
How one by one you run away
Now tell me baby
What you want me to do
Givin all my love to you
Mama dont you know
(chorus)
Its gonna be a hard leavin
Youre gonna need a strong reason
cause I aint gonna start believin
That youre out of my life
You bet you better do your fast talkin
Before you do your last walkin
Its gonna be a hard hard leavin (talk to me)
Vox humana
I wanta feel the power of speech
Vox humana
Sounds so right so real to me
Vox humana
You gotta say
What you oughtta say
Dont try to run away
Darlin Im lettin you know
song performed by Kenny Loggins
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Vox populi
Congratulation, Arvind kejriwal.
I congratulate you on behalf of all
Honest and sincere committed people
Who dare to oen their mouth and
To speak the truth openly and flatly.
Life is nothing when truth is there
Before us and to speak the truth
Is the birth right of all that
We are not enjoying so far
You are truly our star.
Truth is eternal not our life
Motherland is sacred with the mass
Not the parliament where the murderers
Looters rapers assembled by
Hook or crook by money and muscles.
Congratulations, Arvind congratulation.
Anna Team is as such made an ideal
And the real words of the masses
It is the Vox-populi of the
Common human race.
Let us again congratulate.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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An Alibi
A famous journalist, who long
Had told the great unheaded throng
Whate'er they thought, by day or night.
Was true as Holy Writ, and right,
Was caught in-well, on second thought,
It is enough that he was caught,
And being thrown in jail became
The fuel of a public flame.
'_Vox populi vox Dei_,' said
The jailer. Inxling bent his head
Without remark: that motto good
In bold-faced type had always stood
Above the columns where his pen
Had rioted in praise of men
And all they said-provided he
Was sure they mostly did agree.
Meanwhile a sharp and bitter strife
To take, or save, the culprit's life
Or liberty (which, I suppose,
Was much the same to him) arose
Outside. The journal that his pen
Adorned denounced his crime-but then
Its editor in secret tried
To have the indictment set aside.
The opposition papers swore
His father was a rogue before,
And all his wife's relations were
Like him and similar to her.
They begged their readers to subscribe
A dollar each to make a bribe
That any Judge would feel was large
Enough to prove the gravest charge
Unless, it might be, the defense
Put up superior evidence.
The law's traditional delay
Was all too short: the trial day
Dawned red and menacing. The Judge
Sat on the Bench and wouldn't budge,
And all the motions counsel made
Could not move _him_-and there he stayed.
'The case must now proceed,' he said,
'While I am just in heart and head,
It happens-as, indeed, it ought-
Both sides with equal sums have bought
My favor: I can try the cause
Impartially.' (Prolonged applause.)
The prisoner was now arraigned
And said that he was greatly pained
[...] Read more
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Echoes
Brothers!....
(That is to say, those of you that are.
For, even in the most altruistic mood, there are some I bar.)
Brothers!
Workers, shirkers, writers, skiters, philosophers and others,
Attend. I address myself only to those
Of the class that habitually looketh even beyond its nose.
To him I speak who shrewdly seeketh for the milk in the cocoanut, while his fellows are repeating the bald assertion that 'The fruit is not yet ripe!'
Him I address who knoweth the sheep from the goats, the chaff from the oats,
the half-quid from the gilded sixpence, and the common sense from common tripe.
To the 'Man in the Street' I speak not, nor to the 'Right-thinking Person,'
nor 'Constant Subscriber,' nor 'Vox Populi,' nor 'The Bloke on the Train,'
nor any of their band.
For of the things I write they wot not, neither may they hope to understand.
But ye whom I, even I, presume to address as brother:-
Journalists, politicians, burglars, company promoters, miners, millers,
navvies, shearers, confidence-men, piano-tuners, paling-splitters,
bookmakers, process-workers, judges, brass-fitters, policemen and others.
Attend. Him who looketh for the hall-mark on every link, and taketh not the say-so of the label, nor the sworn affidavit of the pill advertisement
him who hath it in him to discern the fair thing from that which is over the odds, and shaketh the new-laid egg that he may know what is within it
Him I address. For lo, my brothers, maybe there is one of us born once a week or thereabouts, but we know it is written that one of the others is born every minute.
Wherefore, attend,
And lend
An ear; for I have planned for you a pleasing diversion.
Come with me, my brothers, and let us make a little excursion
Out over the land, through the cities and the country places, even to the farthest limit of Back-o'-beyond. Hearken brothers! What are these sounds we hear?
Say, what is all this babbling and gabbling, this howling and growling, this muttering and spluttering, that smites the ear?
Listen again. Do you hear them, brothers? Lo, they are the Echoes calling.
They are the multitudinous echoes that sound up and down the land; crying and sighing, squalling and bawling.
In all places they sound; in the city and in the country; upon the high mountains and along the plains, wherever man hideth; and at all times, for the night is loud with the sound of them even as is the day.
Listen again, brothers! What is it that they say?
Lo, this one shouteth. 'The Time is Not Yet Ripe!' And another bawleth.
'Capital is fleeing the Land!' And yet another howleth, 'It is
Inimical to Private Enterprise and Thrift!' And yet another screameth.
'It will Bust up the Home and ruin the Marriage Tie!'
Why do they howl these things, my brothers? I ask ye, why?
For lo, even as they shout, still other Echoes take up the cry till it is increased and multiplied even unto 70,000 times seven;
And a howl, as of 1400 she-elephants simultaneously robbed of their young, assaileth Heaven.
What say ye, brothers? What is the inner significance of these Echoes, and why do they make these divers sounds? What say ye, brothers; is it because they think?
Aha! I apprehend ye! I say ye - nay, verily, I heard ye wink.
For the noise of the falling - of the flapping of your collective eyelid was even as the banging of the bar door what time the clock telleth of eleven thirty p.m., and the voice of Hebe murmureth through the night 'Good-bye, ducky.'....But I digress.
Which is a characteristic failing I must confess!
But, nevertheless,
It hath its compensations, as is plain to any noodle,
When matter is paid for at space rates, for it pileth up the boodle....
However, to resume. Let us isolate a case, my brothers. Let us sample an
Echo. Take Brown.
We all are well acquainted with Brown. Mayhap his name is Smith or Timmins, but no matter. He is the Man in the Street. He hath a domicile in the suburbs and an occupation in town.
This Brown riseth in the morning and donneth the garments of civilisation. In hot socks he garbeth his feet, and upon his back he putteth a coat which hath
a little split in the tail for no sane or accountable reason.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Legislature
Why shout?
When speaking suffices
Shoved by our votes
Our hopes and trust
You reached this House
This isn’t an inn of ale
To blabber and revel
Nor a plunderers’ market
To vandalize public’s nickel
This is a thicket of think tank
Where you have to meditate
Mediate and modulate
Variegated vox populi
And decide our fates
Why shout?
When speaking suffices
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Quick Fix Remedies
I find it absurb and totally ridiculous,
That those who profess to be in the dark...
And clueless,
As to why these days...
That find them entwined,
In an assortment of dilemmas...
Have discovered they are beset,
With mental, physical and financial regrets!
As if the steps they have taken,
Were unconsciously made...
By an hypnotic inducement,
That tricked them and enslaved.
Demanding today they are as if entitled,
To have quick fix remedies...
That will come to sweep them free,
Of their ability to self inflict their own ailments.
'Oh...
To 'bah' with a humbug is tempting! '
And they are the same people,
Who refused to hear or listen...
To those they depicted,
In character assassination campaigns...
As being unpatriotic, nationalistic mavericks.
With a choosing to ruin their reputations.
Well...
Who amongst those self righteous types,
Are in the streets everywhere...
Declaring their displeasures now?
And...
Aren't their activities,
Focused on the disparities of life?
Isn't this something once done years ago,
That was once declared...
A challenge to their way of life?
And they had turned their backs on those,
Doing 'then' what they felt had been right!
'Oh...
To 'bah' with a humbug is tempting!
Even if the holidays are not in sight.
But these times are so ripe for this expression.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's Humbug Day (or, The Way Things Are Going)
It's Humbug Day,
Hooray, hooray!
Little children come out and play!
It's time to smile
At the paedophile!
That's what the Politicians say,
'Cos everything's alright
And everyone's okay
And even Jesus Christ was gay!
They've changed the law,
Nothing matters anymore,
Don't be a bore!
It doesn't matter what you do
Or even who you do it to,
It's all okay!
No need to pray
On wonderful National Humbug Day!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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In Effigiem Oliveri Cromwell
Haec est quae toties Inimicos Umbra fugavit,
At sub qua Cives Otia lenta terunt.
In eandem Reginae Sueciae transmissam
Bellipotens Virgo, septem Regina Trionum.
Christina, Arctoi lucida stella Poli;
Cernis quas merui dura sub Casside Rugas;
Sicque Senex Armis impiger Ora fero;
Invia Fatorum dum per Vestigia nitor,
Exequor & Populi fortia Jussa Manu.
At tibi submittit frontem reverentior Umbra,
Nec sunt hi Vultus Regibus usque truces.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Pentadii
PENTADII.
Non est, fulleris, haec beata non est
Quod vos creditis esse, vita non est:
Fulgentes manibus videre gemmas
Et testudineo jacere lecto,
Aut pluma latus abdidisse molli,
Aut auro bibere, aut cubare cocco;
Regales dapibus gravare mensas,
Et quicquid Lybico secatur arvo;
Non una positum tenere cella:
Sed nullos trepidum timere casus,
Nec vano populi favore tangi,
Et stricto nihil aestuare ferro:
Hoc quisquis poterit, licebit illi
Fortunam moveat loco superbus.
ENGLISHED.
It is not, y' are deceav'd, it is not blisse
What you conceave a happy living is:
To have your hands with rubies bright to glow,
Then on your tortoise-bed your body throw,
And sink your self in down, to drink in gold,
And have your looser self in purple roll'd;
With royal fare to make the tables groan,
Or else with what from Lybick fields is mown,
Nor in one vault hoard all your magazine,
But at no cowards fate t' have frighted bin;
Nor with the peoples breath to be swol'n great,
Nor at a drawn stiletto basely swear.
He that dares this, nothing to him's unfit,
But proud o' th' top of fortunes wheel may sit.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Fiat Justitia Ruat Caelum
Fiat Justitia Ruat Caelum
(May justice prevail before the heavens fall)
The Goddess of Justice
Is wholly and truly blind
In my native land
That’s an indisputable fact.
I realized this when one fine morning
I understood the meaning of fear
When I heard the blare of the fox hunter’s sounds
For when they are chasing the poor bloody fox
It is wiser to be dressed as a hound.
In my fifty five winters of peeping in every nook
I have seen every scoundrel, lothario and crook
Go scot free and watch the clouds go by
While any misguided soul who vexes eloquent
At the injustice of it all………….
Is hauled in for contempt of court.
Salus Populi Est Suprema Lex
(The people’s welfare is the supreme law)
~ Dedicated to the memory of one and only Justice Nani Palkhwala
satbir bakshi
poem by Satbir Bakshi
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Brian's Song
so much to say, so little time
the words ring loud and true
bring forth the graceful thought
of benevolence, brightness, and hue
like others I sing with mr. vox
of strong desire burning
for the one and only you
hat pulled down, weight of the world
weight of the world on his brow
heart on his sleeves and swinging fists
swinging fists at what might be broken glass
i don't believe in revolution
or the statesman's ideology
but i believe in you
if i could rethink myself
i might not act this way
we push the cloak of the world
we wait for light but behold obscurity
living in a cold sweat state
cube of sugar singer
i believe in you
song performed by Verve Pipe
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The Lay of St. Odille
Odille was a maid of a dignified race;
Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace;
Such an air, such a grace,
Such a form, such a face,
All agreed 'twere a fruitless endeavour to trace
In the Court, or within fifty miles of the place.
Many ladies in Strasburg were beautiful, still
They were beat all to sticks by the lovely Odille.
But Odille was devout, and, before she was nine,
Had 'experienced a call' she consider'd divine,
To put on the veil at St. Ermengarde's shrine.--
Lords, Dukes, and Electors, and Counts Palatine
Came to seek her in marriage from both sides the Rhine;
But vain their design,
They are all left to pine,
Their oglings and smiles are all useless; in fine,
Not one of these gentlefolks, try as they will,
Can draw 'Ask my papa' from the cruel Odille.
At length one of her suitors, a certain Count Herman,
A highly respectable man as a German,
Who smoked like a chimney, and drank like a merman,
Paid his court to her father, conceiving his firman
Would soon make her bend,
And induce her to lend
An ear to a love-tale in lieu of a sermon.
He gained the old Count, who said, 'Come, Mynheer, fill!--
Here's luck to yourself and my daughter Odille!'
The lady Odille was quite nervous with fear
When a little bird whisper'd that toast in her ear;
She murmur'd 'Oh, dear!
My papa has got queer,
I am sadly afraid, with that nasty strong beer!
He's so very austere, and severe, that it's clear
If he gets in his 'tantrums,' I can't remain here;
But St. Ermengarde's convent is luckily near;
It were folly to stay,
Pour prendre congé,
I shall put on my bonnet, and e'en run away!'
-- She unlock'd the back door, and descended the hill,
On whose crest stood the towers of the sire of Odille.
When he found she'd levanted, the Count of Alsace
At first turn'd remarkably red in the face;
He anathematized, with much unction and grace,
Every soul who came near, and consign'd the whole race
Of runaway girls to a very warm place.
With a frightful grimace
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Harris Barham
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Ode to the Great Unknown
'O breathe not his name!'
—Moore.
I
Thou Great Unknown!
I do not mean Eternity, nor Death,
That vast incog!
For I suppose thou hast a living breath,
Howbeit we know not from whose lungs 'tis blown,
Thou man of fog!
Parent of many children—child of none!
Nobody's son!
Nobody's daughter—but a parent still!
Still but an ostrich parent of a batch
Of orphan eggs,—left to the world to hatch
Superlative Nil!
A vox and nothing more,—yet not Vauxhall;
A head in papers, yet without a curl!
Not the Invisible Girl!
No hand—but a handwriting on a wall—
A popular nonentity,
Still call'd the same,—without identity!
A lark, heard out of sight,—
A nothing shin'd upon,—invisibly bright,
'Dark with excess of light!'
Constable's literary John-a-nokes—
The real Scottish wizard—and not which,
Nobody—in a niche;
Every one's hoax!
Maybe Sir Walter Scott—
Perhaps not!
Why dost thou so conceal and puzzle curious folks?
II
Thou,—whom the second-sighted never saw,
The Master Fiction of fictitious history!
Chief Nong-tong-paw!
No mister in the world—and yet all mystery!
The 'tricksy spirit' of a Scotch Cock Lane—
A novel Junius puzzling the world's brain—
A man of Magic—yet no talisman!
A man of clair obscure—not he o' the moon!
A star—at noon.
A non-descriptus in a caravan,
A private—of no corps—a northern light
In a dark lantern,—Bogie in a crape—
A figure—but no shape;
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Hood
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It makes sense
When controversy surrounds
and things blow out of proportion
remember,
that tranquility still makes sense
When tension surrounds
and mind gets exhausted
remember,
that patience still makes sense
When mystery surrounds
and logic takes a backseat
remember,
that reality still makes sense
When laughter surrounds
and the vox gets too loud
remember,
that silence still makes sense
When darkness surrounds
and the heart gets out of rhythm
remember,
that hope still makes sense
poem by Deependra Kumar Jha
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We Are The World (demo)
Written and Composed by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie
There comes a time when we need a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
Oh, and it's time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all
We can't go on pretending day by day
That someone, somehow will soon make a change
We're all a part of God's great big family
And the truth - you know love is all we need
( CHORUS )
We are the world, we are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
so let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me
Well, send'em your heart
So they know that someone cares
And their lives will be stronger and free
As God has shown us
By turning stone to bread
And so we all must lend a helping hand
( REPEAT CHORUS )
When you're down and out
There seems no hope at all
But if you just believe
There's no way we can fall
Well, well, well, let's realize
That one change can only come
When we stand together as one
( REPEAT CHORUS AND FADE )
------------------------------------------------------------
There comes a time when we heed a certain call (Lionel Richie)
When the world must come together as one (Lionel Richie & Stevie Wonder)
There are people dying (Stevie Wonder)
Oh, and it's time to lend a hand to life (Paul Simon)
The greatest gift of all (Paul Simon/Kenny Rogers)
We can't go on pretending day by day (Kenny Rogers)
That someone, somehow will soon make a change (James Ingram)
We're all a part of God's great big family (Tina Turner)
And the truth (Billy Joel)
You know love is all we need (Tina Turner/Billy Joel)
( CHORUS )
We are the world, we are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day so let's start giving (Michael Jackson)
There's a choice we're making we're saving our own lives (Diana Ross)
It's true we'll make a better day just you and me (Michael Jackson/Diana Ross)
Well, send'em your heart so they know that someone cares (Dionne Warwick)
[...] Read more
song performed by Michael Jackson
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Picaro Poli
Click click then hiccup out the kicks
Pox mimy dis ease vixenly affixed
To the roots des les langues
Les paroles oh bien c’est mieux
Dead lg Sprache upstream of forgotten past
Lg so lively still thoughts but vieux
Into the thoughts unbearable chain
Les penses les espaces
Click click the hiccup out
Hiccup out the clicks
An old drunkard you are Picaro lol
Never really knew what to say, perhaps just
Teacher regretted having taught you to read
Sing votkalyn votkalyn votkalynka maya
Or hit the road jack out of the box
Vacant vacuum vox
Semiotic jezikoslovno Sprache
KRAH
Lol the pops in a mime?
In-
In-ex
In-ex-press
Press Picaro clicks
In-ex-res-rei-
Picaro rex d’immobility
In-ex-press-in-ability
©Mi roslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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~ Goggle Us Still? ~
~ Goggle Us Still? ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
June 23,2010
O' language go
For holidaying.
Sunless melanized
Below bare sky
We’re snuggling.
Ambience abstracted
Undress unmantel
Zephyrus tactile conversation
Affective stare swapping
Voxless harkening
Protoplasm syncretizing
A-one entwining
Zesty zygoting!
Involuting melting
Formless fromless
We’re in unison ideation.
.
Why language
Goggle us still?
Know not
We’re Honeymooning?
======
Glossary: With humility some glossary given for what I tried to express.
[1] Melanized ~ Make or become black
[2] Vox ~ Voice
[3] Harkening ~ Listen
[4] Syncretizing ~ Become fused
[5] A-one ~ Of the highest quality
[6] Goggle ~ Look stupidly.
~~~~~~~~~
Copyright reserved by author.
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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~ Ich bin ein Künstler [Fusion Poetry] ~
~ Ich bin ein Künstler [Fusion Poetry] ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
April 18,2010
[Humble apology: Like music dance painting etc. I’m offering linguistic fusion in poetry ~ ‘Fusion Poetry’. Readers’ are requested to refer to glossary ~ niv]
I’m stark stone
Sculpt myself
Schnitzen my ownself
Ciseau my soul’s self.
Kaleidoscopic emersion of
Biblio Tagore
Visual van Gogh
Vox Lata Mangeshkar
Allow me be for you?
Treasure my self
Fête with my own self
Nestle my soul’s self.
Savourez-moi pourquoi ne pas?
Ich bin ein Künstler! ~ A Silhouette but! !
-
Glossary:
Ich bin ein Künstler [Ger] ~ I am an Artist
Schnitzen [Ger] ~ Carve
Ciseau [Fr] ~ Chisel
Savourez-moi pourquoi ne pas? [Fr] ~ Savor [enjoy] me why not?
===
Info:
[1] Tagore R. N.1861-1941 [A poet, novelist, musician, and playwright. Nobel Laureate in literature 1913 for ‘Gitanjali’ or `Song offerings. Perhaps the only litterateur who penned anthems of two countries: Bangladesh-Amar Shonar Bangla and India- Jana Gana Mana. In 1919, following the Amritsar massacre of 400 Indian demonstrators by British troops, Sir Tagore renounced his Knighthood]
[2] Vincent van Gogh 1853-1890 [Dutch Post-impressionist painter noted for his use of color]
[3] Lata Mangeshkar 1929 -. [Is the second vocalist ever to have received the Bharat Ratna, India's highest civilian honor. Nightingale of India]
~~~~~
Copyrights reserved by author.
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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