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Any political agenda and organization which doesn't begin with personal responsibility is just half the argument. It's just not going to succeed.

quote by Peter Coyote
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Personal

Anything you want from me
Ill do
But first
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Personal with you
Were sittin havin dinner at your parents home
Some of the finest food Ive ever known
But I need some sweetness on my tongue
And it aint a type of sugar oh no
So maybe we can go somewhere
Neighbour room girl I dont care
Wheres the bedroom
(its upstairs)
Ill meet you there in a minute
Girl so we can get
Lets get personal (ooh yeah)
Personal (tight baby)
Personal (maybe we can get)
Personal (just a little, just a little bit)
Lets get personal (ooh yay)
Personal (I wanna get personal)
Personal (come on baby, just trust me)
Personal (I wanna get)
Personal with you
Im behind you in your bedroom with your hands against the wall
But keeping one eye on the door
Got your t-shirt and your panties on
Ooh I feel so right, cant be wrong, no
I know you like it when I touch you there
Girl just keep it quiet or theyll hear
Feel the tremblin all down your leg
Id love to head to your bed
So that we can get
Personal
Shhh
Should I take off my clothes (no)
Put the lock on the door
Let go of your deepest inhibitions
Let me fulfil your fantasies girl
Like me touching you there (yeah)
The way that I play with your hair
Emotions running wild until we stop
Yeah

[...] Read more

song performed by Craig David
Added by Lucian Velea
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Responsibility

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
Into my life came responsibility.
Shes got some shakin, kickin, sailin, long blonde hair,
And when I want to get off you know shell take me there.
Im talkin bout ...
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up with responsibility.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up and let me down, cant you see ...
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons-ibil-ity.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons--responsibility.
Life is full of re ...
Re-re--responsibility.
Life is full of responsibility.
And Im responsible for you and me.
Good lovin messin up my mind,
A chick like this one is so hard to find.
She takes care of everything I need,
And when I want some stuff you know that she takes heed.
Im talkin bout ...
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up with responsibility -- yeah.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up and let me down, cant you see ...
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons-ibil-ity.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons--responsibility.
Life is full of re ...
Re-re--responsibility.
Life is full of responsibility.
And Im responsible as I can be.
Yeah, responsible, responsible baby.
Yeah, responsible.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee.
Responsible, responsible baby.
Im tryin to be responsible, responsible baby ...
... yeah, ayyyy ... yeah ... ayyyy ...
Every day, baby; yes I am, baby; you know I can, baby.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons-ibil-ity.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons--responsibility.
Life is full of re ...
Re-re--responsibility.
Life is full of responsibility.
And Im responsible for you and me.

[...] Read more

song performed by Grand Funk Railroad
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cloaked and Hidden Agenda

You think I can't see through your strategy?
Or your cloaked and hidden agenda.
You think your creepiness comes to bother me?
Or your cloaked and hidden agenda.
You think me to be weak and a bit naïve.
You think my eyes are closed to your deceit.
But I'm a product of these urban streets!
And that cloaked and hidden agenda.

I've got a remedy to chill the heat,
Of that cloaked and hidden agenda.
We'll see which one is stunned with frozen feet.
When you free that hidden agenda.
My mind is not blinded or fast asleep.
I see right through you and I don't have to peep.
That repeated game will be your defeat.
With that cloaked and hidden agenda!

You think I can't see through your strategy?
Or your cloaked and hidden agenda.
You think me to be weak and a bit naïve.
You think my eyes are closed to your deceit.
But I'm a product of these urban streets!
And that cloaked and hidden agenda.

I've got a remedy to chill the heat.
We'll see which one is stunned with frozen feet.
You think me to be weak and a bit naïve.
But I'll beat that hidden agenda!

Those tactics that you use will be put to bed.
With everything you've done and everything you've said.
And I'm going to be the one to end your dread.
And your cloaked and hidden agenda!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Keeping An Agenda Makes A Difference

Hoping I'd awaken next to someone who had thrilled,
Is a heartache I had dumped.
Wishing for someone to come to undo all my ills,
Is a heartached I had dumped.
Keeping faith and praying I would find somebody real,
Is a heartache I had dumped.

And I believe...
Keeping an agenda makes a difference.

Yes I believe...
Priorities kept in sight,
Eventually makes things turn out right...
If a patience isn't hit by a car,
Or struck by lightening.

Yes I believe...
Keeping an agenda makes a difference.

Hoping I'd awaken next to someone who had thrilled,
Is a heartache I had dumped.

And I believe...
Keeping an agenda makes a difference.

Wishing for someone to come to undo all my ills,
Is a heartached I had dumped.

And I believe...
Keeping an agenda makes a difference.

Keeping faith and praying I would find somebody real,
Is a heartache I had dumped.

Yes I believe...
Priorities kept in sight,
Eventually makes things turn out right...
If a patience isn't hit by a car,
Or struck by lightening.

And I believe...
Keeping an agenda makes a difference.
With eyes opened wide.

And I believe...
Keeping an agenda makes a difference.
With eyes opened wide.

And I believe...
Keeping an agenda makes a difference.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bang Your Pans If You Wish

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

You're not the only one,
Who has loaded shoulders.
Today the young and older ones...
Have little to eat.

You're not the only one,
Whose shoulders are bent over.
Who needs to lay their head somewhere,
And get some sleep!

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Political World

We live in a political world
Where love dont have any place
Were living in times where men commit crimes
And crime dont have a face
We live in a political world
Icicles hangin down
Wedding bells ring and angels sing
And clouds cover up the ground
We live in a political world
Wisdom is thrown into jail
It rots in a cell misguided as hell
Leaving no one to pick up the trail
We live in a political world
Where mercy walks the plank
Life is in mirrors, death disappears
Up the steps into the nearest bank
We live in a political world
Courage is a thing of the past
Houses are haunted, children arent wanted
Your next day could be your last
We live in a political world
The one we can see and feel
But theres no one to check, its all a stacked deck
We all know for sure that its real
We live in a political world
The cities are a lonesome fear
Little by little, you turn in the middle
Youre never sure why youre here
We live in a political world
Under the microscope
You could travel anywhere and hang yourself there
Youve always got more than enough rope
We live in a political world
Turning and a-thrashing about
As soon as youre awake youre trained to take
What looks like the easy way out
We live in a political world
Where peace is not welcome at all
Its turned away from the door to wander some more
Or put up against the wall
We live in a political world
Everythings hers and his
Climb into the flame and shout gods name
But youre not even sure what it is

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Children of Our Age

We are children of our age,
it's a political age.

All day long, all through the night,
all affairs--yours, ours, theirs--
are political affairs.

Whether you like it or not,
your genes have a political past,
your skin, a political cast,
your eyes, a political slant.

Whatever you say reverberates,
whatever you don't say speaks for itself.
So either way you're talking politics.

Even when you take to the woods,
you're taking political steps
on political grounds.

Apolitical poems are also political,
and above us shines a moon
no longer purely lunar.
To be or not to be, that is the question.
And though it troubles the digestion
it's a question, as always, of politics.

To acquire a political meaning
you don't even have to be human.
Raw material will do,
or protein feed, or crude oil,

or a conference table whose shape
was quarreled over for months;
Should we arbitrate life and death
at a round table or a square one?

Meanwhile, people perished,
animals died,
houses burned,
and the fields ran wild
just as in times immemorial
and less political.

poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Prejudice

IN yonder red-brick mansion, tight and square,
Just at the town's commencement, lives the mayor.
Some yards of shining gravel, fenced with box,
Lead to the painted portal--where one knocks :
There, in the left-hand parlour, all in state,
Sit he and she, on either side the grate.
But though their goods and chattels, sound and new,
Bespeak the owners very well to do,
His worship's wig and morning suit betray
Slight indications of an humbler day

That long, low shop, where still the name appears,
Some doors below, they kept for forty years :
And there, with various fortunes, smooth and rough,
They sold tobacco, coffee, tea, and snuff.
There labelled drawers display their spicy row--
Clove, mace, and nutmeg : from the ceiling low
Dangle long twelves and eights , and slender rush,
Mix'd with the varied forms of genus brush ;
Cask, firkin, bag, and barrel, crowd the floor,
And piles of country cheeses guard the door.
The frugal dames came in from far and near,
To buy their ounces and their quarterns here.
Hard was the toil, the profits slow to count,
And yet the mole-hill was at last a mount.
Those petty gains were hoarded day by day,
With little cost, for not a child had they ;
Till, long proceeding on the saving plan,
He found himself a warm, fore-handed man :
And being now arrived at life's decline,
Both he and she, they formed the bold design,
(Although it touched their prudence to the quick)
To turn their savings into stone and brick.
How many an ounce of tea and ounce of snuff,
There must have been consumed to make enough !

At length, with paint and paper, bright and gay,
The box was finished, and they went away.
But when their faces were no longer seen
Amongst the canisters of black and green ,
--Those well-known faces, all the country round--
'Twas said that had they levelled to the ground
The two old walnut trees before the door,
The customers would not have missed them more.
Now, like a pair of parrots in a cage,
They live, and civic honours crown their age :
Thrice, since the Whitsuntide they settled there,
Seven years ago, has he been chosen mayor ;
And now you'd scarcely know they were the same ;
Conscious he struts, of power, and wealth, and fame ;

[...] Read more

poem by Jane Taylor
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Too Personal

Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
Well you keep talking about love -
Well what do you want
We have fun alright - so what do you want
The idea of fate its all in the mind
We are the ones who control our own time
Look dont get me wrong
But if you keep on Im gonna go
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
You say everyones lonely and insecure
All because of living in hate and fear
Well if love is possession baby you better change
No ones gonna keep me in those chains
Look dont get me wrong
But if you keep on Im gonna go
Forget your personal problems
Think about somebody else
Im gonna think about them - right now
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal
Youre to to to too personal

song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Magenta Agenda

The magenta agenda embedded upon a silk prison is a mirror illuminating synaesthesias.
Depth imperative, a lever of emotion eminence. For what is a prison? Doth it make me in sync with my sins? Mere society’s ills... See not the irony, hear not the irony, feel not the irony for in confinement with I the sinned comes forth spiritual compassion, material detachment; alleviation in passion. Yet I feel still of nothing, for I put myself in everything but something.

The magenta agenda is incense to the eyes intriguing dimensions in its absence of time. It impedes deep, moonstruck, capricious droplets rapturously stagnant, romantic in its flourish as it blossoms intense, rained from the beige walls the mind melted on its silky delicate milky skin.
She is the endless plane of love the virtue of the rain. In the midst of the perfume sprinkle of the twinkle of her tears splashed off those beige cheeks blushed as it breathes cherry blossoms from the ink of a maroon eye.

The magenta agenda is a perceptional impressionist to nurture the pleasure in her arms. The lakes envisioned within the portals shimmering inadvertently. It is a mystic glimmer in a lake of no liquid yet in shimmers silver embraced it inhales the light, slithered yet it is not dry. As a silk shell reflective but of not the physical entity that light entails. She is the aura not imprisoned.

The magenta agenda is the milonga of the angel; the impossible, the forever. She cries from her fingertips and between the molten skies. The leaves of her eyes are her body in the living of that which dies. She is an angel but not of those in the conception of the heavens which inherited from the hells in its birth of the earth wells.

She gazes and in her paining an array casts jade, painting the sky's walls, the essence of heaven. In beauty she rests frozen kissed upon a realm untouched from earth, heaven and hell. Ethereal as she is brought to lie in the shallow basin undermined of the beauty of the fruit of indecision’s compassion filled in the sapphire bleeding of anaesthesia between love and reason. The icy walls rain the canvas of the skies those eyes be the paw dancing on the lights.

I yearn for you to be happy but then you’ll be different.

Doth embed your last tear, draw the scarlet of now your ashen lips to your heart so shall it beat once more the earth may spin once more... the magenta agenda is.

poem by Ori Livson
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A Free Green Grass Of Home Towards

(1)
Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets
Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(2)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(3)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(4)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(5)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(6)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political
fields
Greem grass of free mind-sets

(7)

Free To Freedom To Indenpendence To Demoracy
The bsae line is 'Free' in the sense of financial cases and socio-political

[...] Read more

poem by Nyein Way
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Future Watch Burma To Syria Conflicts Rising

been watching
the future today...

from past lens astray

Burma as expected
has developed
ethnic problems

with sudden absence
of strict communist
dictatorship firm leash

Burmese are no longer
all brother communists
controlled by the state

past civic grievances
rise from postmortem
state of frozen stasis

past horrors play
on revenge rabid minds
need exercising?

past spectre struggles
post World War II conflicts
leave skeletons in closets

frozen nightmares divisions
war atrocities split Yugoslavia
post familiar communist thaw

emotively haunted people
seem to need to grim settle
past trauma before each

can move on embrace
future possibilities opportunities
in free market societies

when no longer linked
in brotherhood communist
cast iron citizenships

emotively many people
seem to need to settle
the past before they can

move on

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Map Of Culture

Culture

Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?

What is Culture?

I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

Back to Contents

[...] Read more

poem by Nyein Way
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Neoliberalism And The IMF

Who imposed neoliberalism upon
its victims and what is vile agenda?
Neoliberalism revealed road to hell.

As neoliberalism spreads
agenda fed around the world
like a modern day plague

or a Sheriff of Nottingham
coldly counting out gold coins
amassed stolen from serfdom.

We skip merrily to powerhouse
baron modern day bankers
International Monetary Fund.

The serf medieval farmer
of feudal Europe cultivating
land belonging to a knight?

The landowner buys sells serfs
as land is bought and sold
purchased sold with the land.

Who today could be likened
to a labourer legally bound by
law serving his lord master?

Who indeed? Ignoring modern
slavery more prolific than ever
historically in contemporary
many layered twistered forms?

Is it true that around the world
neoliberalism is imposed by
powerful financial institutions?

Esteemed institutions like famous
International Monetary Fund (IMF)
the Inter-American Development
Bank and the World Bank. Yes!

Banks rape raging all over Latin America!

Neo-liberalism weeds CIA its way into Chile
courtesy agenda of University of Chicago
Milton Friedman who hates welfare dependency
CIA-supports coup against local popularly
elected Allende regime in takeover 1973
then takes out regimes in other countries...

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Death Of Adolf Hitler’s Personal Physician

Why was Hilter’s personal physician
sentenced to death Daddy Daddy?

What did he do Daddy Daddy?

Karl Brant Hilter’s personal physician
was sentenced to death by the U.S.
War Crime Tribunal in August 1947!

Brandt was indicted with 22 other Nazi
SS doctors and SS officers! Brandt was
Reich Commissioner for Health and Sanitation!

Brandt was charged found guilty on all four
counts! Brandt was charged with conspiracy:
conspiracy in war crimes, aggressive wars,

membership in the criminal SS organization,
crimes against humanity, criminal acts
including participating in and consenting to

the use of concentration camp inmates;
to be used as test subjects in medical
experiments, including experiments on

women children without any anesthetic,
vivisection cutting up live people
without an anesthetic to reduce raw pain.

SS Medical Corp wore a serpent crest
on the collar patches of SS unit insignia.
From1935 to 1938 SS Medical Corps

began to serve a far more sinister purpose.
SS doctors serving in concentration camps
engaging in human medical experiments.

In 1936 SS doctors strengthen the master
race, culling the mentally disabled and
physically handicapped, vital work to assist

purification in Nazi Race Euthanasia Program.

By 1941 elite Waffen-SS doctors were highly
trained both in medical skills and combat
tactics, many receiving high combat awards.

SS doctors achieved such heights through
human medical experiments, notorious
experiments, at Aushwitz and Dachau

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.

Much malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stocked with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked, and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wonted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die,
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
Meanwhile she quenched her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cooled her blood.
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
To express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturbed the friendly meal.
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor failed she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgments herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Soboba

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Truman Teaches Romney Where The Buck Stops

On the desk of President Truman did sit a sign
famous defining standard of the man throughout
the land of the great United States of America!

Truman sitting at his desk in his White House
office had responsibility sign 'The Buck Stops Here'
because in Truman's administration the president

took responsibility for the welfare of all Americans!
No poker player hustler could be elected president
swindle 47% of the American people and say it is not

his responsibility as president to care for all citizens!
Mitt Romney passed the buck declaring all voters
who would not vote for him were not his responsibility...

in his vision for a Romney rummy federal government!
President Truman had a motto even for Monday morning
because as star quarterback for a nation when a decision

is up before you then by you the decision has to be made!
President Truman defined what 'The Buck Stops Here'
means in January 1953 in his farewell address to his then

responsibility the American people asserting specifically
'The President-whoever he is-has to decide. He can't
pass the buck to anybody. No one else can do the deciding

for him. That's his job.' Responsibility for all Americans!

poem by Terence George Craddock
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