When western greed shakes
a billion impatient heirs,
the dragon awakes.
haiku by Jonathan Robin (13 January 1993)
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Greed and Selflessness
Greed indiscriminately penalizes,
Selflessness is the ultimate panacea; for uniting all
innocuously harmonious; for centuries immemorial and
alike….
Greed baselessly tyrannizes,
Selflessness is an Omnipotent fabric; which
irrefutably transcends you above the resplendent
heavens; to be the unequivocal favorite of the
divine….
Greed ruthlessly snatches,
Selflessness is the only road to everlasting
prosperity; coalescing even the most salaciously
treacherous with the scent of the bountifully
bestowing soil….
Greed manipulatively stagnates,
Selflessness is the most priceless core of enthralling
existence; enlightening unassailable beams of hope; in
all those dwellings miserably impoverished; without
optimism and light….
Greed horrendously massacres,
Selflessness is an Omnisciently miraculous ointment;
which heals the most bizarre wounds of the
overwhelming rich and pathetically destitute; alike…
Greed uncouthly divests,
Selflessness is a enchantingly silken flower; which
disseminates the true spirit of mankind; to even the
most infinitesimal parts; of this fathomless globe….
Greed lethally poisons,
Selflessness is a grandiloquently mesmerizing sky;
which relentlessly showers the blessings of the
Almighty; upon all philanthropically benign….
Greed pulverizes beyond recognition,
Selflessness is a unendingly radiating horizon; which
brilliantly sparkles all night and day; with the
rainbow of unconquerable righteousness….
Greed maliciously obfuscates all truth,
Selflessness is the most Omnipresent harbinger of
celestial peace; unstoppably heading towards the
paradise of scintillating success….
Greed insidiously cripples,
Selflessness is a majestically flapping bird that
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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Great Chinese Dragon
The great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon in all the
world and which once upon a time was towed across the
Pacific by a crew of coolies rowing in an open boat—was
the first real live dragon ever actually to reach these shores
And the great Chinese dragon passing thru the Golden Gate
spouting streams of water like a string of fireboats then broke
loose somewhere near China Camp gulped down a hundred
Chinese seamen and forthwith ate all the shrimp in San Francisco Bay
And the great Chinese dragon was therefore forever after confined
in a Chinatown basement and ever since allowed out only for
Chinese New Year’s parades and other Unamerican demonstrations
paternally watched-over by those benevolent men in
blue who represent our more advanced civilization which has
reached such a high state of democracy as to allow even a
few barbarians to carry on their quaint native customs in our midst
And thus the great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon
in all the world now can only be seen creeping out of an
Adler Alley cellar like a worm out of a hole sometime during
the second week in February every year when it sorties out
of hibernation in its Chinese storeroom pushed from behind
by a band of fortythree Chinese electricians and technicians
who stuff its peristaltic accordion-body up thru a sidewalk
delivery entrance
And first the swaying snout appears and then the eyes at ground
level feeling along the curb and then the head itself casting
about and swayingand heaving finally up to the corner of
Grant Avenue itself where a huge paper sign proclaims the
World’s Largest Chinatown
And the great Chinese dragon’s jaws wired permanently agape as
if by a demented dentist to display the Cadmium teeth as the
hungry head heaves out into Grant Avenue right under the
sign and raising itself with a great snort of fire suddenly proclaims
the official firecracker start of the Chinese New Year
And the lightbulb eyes lighting up and popping out on coiled wire
springs and the body stretching and rocking further and
further around the corner and down Grant Avenue like a
caterpillar rollercoaster with the eyes sprung out and waving
in the air like the blind feelers of some mechanical preying
mantis and the eyes blinking on and off with Chinese red
pupils and tiny bamboo-blind eyelids going up and down
And here comes the St. Mary’s Chinese Girls’ Drum Corps and
here come sixteen white men in pith helmets beating big bass
drums representing the Order of the Moose and here comes
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poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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St. George And The Dragon
Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing,
And of the sack of stately Troy,
What griefs fair Helena did bring,
Which was Sir Paris' only joy:
And by my pen I will recite
St. George's deeds, and English knight.
Against the Sarazens so rude
Fought he full long and many a day,
Where many gyants he subdu'd,
In honour of the Christian way;
And after many adventures past,
To Egypt land he came at last.
Now, as the story plain doth tell,
Within that countrey there did rest
A dreadful dragon fierce and fell,
Whereby they were full sore opprest:
Who by his poisonous breath each day
Did many of the city slay.
The grief whereof did grow so great
Throughout the limits of the land,
That they their wise-men did intreat
To shew their cunning out of hand;
What way they might this fiend destroy,
That did the countrey thus annoy.
The wise-men all before the king,
This answer fram'd incontinent:
The dragon none to death might bring
By any means they could invent;
His skin more hard than brass was found,
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.
When this the people understood,
They cryed out most piteouslye,
The dragon's breath infects their blood,
That every day in heaps they dye;
Among them such a plague it bred,
The living scarce could bury the dead.
No means there were, as they could hear,
For to appease the dragon's rage,
But to present some virgin clear,
Whose blood his fury might asswage;
Each day he would a maiden eat,
For to allay his hunger great.
This thing by art the wise-men found,
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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Saint George
The dragon, taller than a tree,
Looked down on George's head,
While he looked up uncertainly
And fighting first his dread...
He stood his ground, not one step back,
As faith within him grew,
For while he knew that things looked black,
He had to see this through...
The dragon stood his ground as well,
Though George held high his sword...
The dragon, thought to come from Hell,
Perhaps with fire stored...
The dragon had no flames and yet
He knew George planned his death,
Yet thought he had no need to fret,
If George no more had breath...
The dragon swished his giant tail,
But George was wise to that
And proved himself an agile male
Instead of falling flat...
The tail passed by, his sword went in,
The dragon roared in pain
And when George saw his chance to win,
He pierced the tail again...
If dragons cursed and dragons swore,
That must have happened next,
As blood then spurted out for sure,
With that big dragon vexed...
He dragged his dragon's tail away
As fast as he then could
And then decided, come what may,
To kill small George real good...
But George was quick to cut things short,
He climbed the dragon's tail
And valiantly he fought and fought
The dragon tooth and nail...
Across the back, just like a hill,
He clambered to the hilt,
Upto the neck where he stayed still,
In hopes the beast was killed...
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poem by Denis Martindale
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The Example of Vertu : Cantos VIII.-XIV.
Capitalum VIII.
Dame Sapyence taryed a lytell whyle
Behynd the other saynge to Dyscrecyon
And began on her to laugh and smyle
Axynge her how I stode in condycyon
Well she sayd in good perfeccyon
But best it is that he maryed be
For to eschewe all yll censualyte
I knowe a lady of meruelous beaute
Spronge out of hyghe and noble lynage
Replete with vertue and full of bounte
Whiche vnto youth were a good maryage
For she is comen of royall apparage
But herde it wyll be to gete her loue
Without youth frayltye do sore reproue
I kneled downe than vpon my kne
Afore dame Sapyence with humble chere
Besechynge her of me to haue pyte
And also Dyscrecyon her syster dere
Than dame Sapyence came me nere
Saynge youth wyll ye haue a wyfe
And her to loue durynge her lyfe
Ye madame that wolde I fayne
Yf that she be both fayre and bryght
I wyll her loue euer more certayne
And pleas her alway with all my myght
Of suche a persone wolde I haue a syght
With all my herte now at this houre
Wolde to god I had so fayre a floure
Than sayd dyscrecyon there is a kynge
Dwellynge fer hens in a fayre castell
Of whome I oft haue herd grete talkynge
Whiche hath a doughter as I you tell
I trowe that youth wyll lyke her well
She is both good eke fayre and pure
As I report me vnto dame Nature
But yf that youth sholde her go seke
Ye must syster than hym well indue
With your grete power so good and meke
That he all frayltye may eschue
For by the way it wyll oft pursue
On hym by flatery and grete temptacyon
That shall brynge hym in tribulacyon
As for that sayd she he shall not care
For he shall theym sone ouercome
And of theyr flatery ryght well beware
For I to hym shall gyue grete wysedome
Theyr dedes to withstande & make theym dōme
Wherfore dere syster as I you pray
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poem by Stephen Hawes
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Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh
THE Argonauts now stemm'd the foaming tide,
And to Arcadia's shore their course apply'd;
Where sightless Phineus spent his age in grief,
But Boreas' sons engage in his relief;
And those unwelcome guests, the odious race
Of Harpyes, from the monarch's table chase.
With Jason then they greater toils sustain,
And Phasis' slimy banks at last they gain,
Here boldly they demand the golden prize
Of Scythia's king, who sternly thus replies:
That mighty labours they must first o'ercome,
Or sail their Argo thence unfreighted home.
The Story of Meanwhile Medea, seiz'd with fierce desire,
Medea and By reason strives to quench the raging fire;
Jason But strives in vain!- Some God (she said)
withstands,
And reason's baffl'd council countermands.
What unseen Pow'r does this disorder move?
'Tis love,- at least 'tis like, what men call love.
Else wherefore shou'd the king's commands appear
To me too hard?- But so indeed they are.
Why shou'd I for a stranger fear, lest he
Shou'd perish, whom I did but lately see?
His death, or safety, what are they to me?
Wretch, from thy virgin-breast this flame expel,
And soon- Oh cou'd I, all wou'd then be well!
But love, resistless love, my soul invades;
Discretion this, affection that perswades.
I see the right, and I approve it too,
Condemn the wrong- and yet the wrong pursue.
Why, royal maid, shou'dst thou desire to wed
A wanderer, and court a foreign bed?
Thy native land, tho' barb'rous, can present
A bridegroom worth a royal bride's content:
And whether this advent'rer lives, or dies,
In Fate, and Fortune's fickle pleasure lies.
Yet may be live! for to the Pow'rs above,
A virgin, led by no impulse of love,
So just a suit may, for the guiltless, move.
Whom wou'd not Jason's valour, youth and blood
Invite? or cou'd these merits be withstood,
At least his charming person must encline
The hardest heart- I'm sure 'tis so with mine!
Yet, if I help him not, the flaming breath
Of bulls, and earth-born foes, must be his death.
Or, should he through these dangers force his way,
At last he must be made the dragon's prey.
If no remorse for such distress I feel,
I am a tigress, and my breast is steel.
Why do I scruple then to see him slain,
[...] Read more
The Ballad of the White Horse
DEDICATION
Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?
Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?
In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.
Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.
Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.
Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.
Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.
But who shall look from Alfred's hood
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poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The Fight With The Dragon
Why run the crowd? What means the throng
That rushes fast the streets along?
Can Rhodes a prey to flames, then, be?
In crowds they gather hastily,
And, on his steed, a noble knight
Amid the rabble, meets my sight;
Behind him--prodigy unknown!--
A monster fierce they're drawing on;
A dragon stems it by its shape,
With wide and crocodile-like jaw,
And on the knight and dragon gape,
In turns, the people, filled with awe.
And thousand voices shout with glee
"The fiery dragon come and see,
Who hind and flock tore limb from limb!--
The hero see, who vanquished him!
Full many a one before him went,
To dare the fearful combat bent,
But none returned home from the fight;
Honor ye, then, the noble knight!"
And toward the convent move they all,
While met in hasty council there
The brave knights of the Hospital,
St. John the Baptist's Order, were.
Up to the noble master sped
The youth, with firm but modest tread;
The people followed with wild shout,
And stood the landing-place about,
While thus outspoke that daring one:
"My knightly duty I have done.
The dragon that laid waste the land
Has fallen beneath my conquering hand.
The way is to the wanderer free,
The shepherd o'er the plains may rove;
Across the mountains joyfully
The pilgrim to the shrine may move."
But sternly looked the prince, and said:
"The hero's part thou well hast played
By courage is the true knight known,--
A dauntless spirit thou hast shown.
Yet speak! What duty first should he
Regard, who would Christ's champion be,
Who wears the emblem of the Cross?"--
And all turned pale at his discourse.
Yet he replied, with noble grace,
While blushingly he bent him low:
"That he deserves so proud a place
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poem by Friedrich Schiller
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The Four Seasons : Autumn
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind
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poem by James Thomson
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Now You're Here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Of another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
We are very proud of our diversity
Out on the streets it’s very clear to see
We don’t care if you’re a Christian or a Jew
Or a Bhuddist or Islamic or Hindu
‘Cos we don’t care where you come from
We don’t care where you come from
We don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
We’re very proud of long history
And we pay respect to Aborigines
And there’s just one thing I’ll tell ya
Yes, to you and other fellas
That we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
No, we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Of another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
We’re proud of where we are going
You can see
We’re using all our creativity
To build a better future
And we’ll get there soon we betcha
‘Cos we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Another hue
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poem by David Keig
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Out Gunned By A Single Cell DNA Rocker
Amoebia Dubia approximately
200 times more DNA than a human
being of ego essential character.
Genome human 3.2 billion base pairs.
The largest sequenced genome known?
At present a one celled animal traveller.
Counting up in genome base pairs we have
E. coli 4.1 million, baker’s yeast 12 million,
a worm 97 million, a fruit fly 120 million base pairs.
Continuing with our count up define
a flower arabidopsis (Arabidopsis thaliana) 157 million,
a bat (Rhinolophus ferrumequinum) 1.9 billion,
a snake (Boa constrictor) 2.1 billion
an Asian barking deer (Muntiacus muntjak vaginalis) 2.5 billion
us humankind (Homo sapien) 3.2 billion
a frog (Bufo bufo) 6.9 billion
amoebia (Amoebia proteus) 290 billion
amoebia (Amoebia dubia) 670 billion base pairs.
Amoebia Dubia approximately
200 times more DNA than a human
when the human genome was
recorded as 2.9 million base pairs.
Human immunodeficiency
virus type, only 119,750 thousand?
A virus usually contains
less base pairs than a bacterium.
“Duplications are probably
fundamental to the creation
of genetic novelty.”
“Horizontal gene transfer is a highly
significant phenomenon and amongst
single-celled organisms perhaps
the dominant form of genetic transfer.”
“Horizontal gene transfer is invoked
to explain how there is often extreme
similarity between small portions
of the genomes of two organisms
that are otherwise very distantly related.”
The words probably, perhaps and invoked
were used to indicate that we are not as knowledgeable
nor smart as collective public perceptions.
Artificial horizontal gene transfer
is a form of genetic engineering
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Four Seasons : Summer
From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
And ever fanning breezes, on his way;
While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face; and earth, and skies,
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade,
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom;
And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large,
And sing the glories of the circling year.
Come, Inspiration! from thy hermit-seat,
By mortal seldom found: may Fancy dare,
From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptured glance
Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look
Creative of the Poet, every power
Exalting to an ecstasy of soul.
And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend,
In whom the human graces all unite:
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart;
Genius, and wisdom; the gay social sense,
By decency chastised; goodness and wit,
In seldom-meeting harmony combined;
Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal
For Britain's glory, liberty, and Man:
O Dodington! attend my rural song,
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line,
And teach me to deserve thy just applause.
With what an awful world-revolving power
Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along
The illimitable void! thus to remain,
Amid the flux of many thousand years,
That oft has swept the toiling race of men,
And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course;
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: such the All-perfect hand!
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole.
When now no more the alternate Twins are fired,
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,
Short is the doubtful empire of the night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek'd-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east:
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;
And, from before the lustre of her face,
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poem by James Thomson
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The Four Seasons : Spring
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come,
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.
O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain
With innocence and meditation join'd
In soft assemblage, listen to my song,
Which thy own Season paints; when Nature all
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee.
And see where surly Winter passes off,
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts:
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill,
The shatter'd forest, and the ravaged vale;
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze,
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
Deform the day delightless: so that scarce
The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulf'd,
To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath,
And sing their wild notes to the listening waste
At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun,
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more
The expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold
But, full of life and vivifying soul,
Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads then thin,
Fleecy, and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven.
Forth fly the tepid airs: and unconfined,
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays.
Joyous, the impatient husbandman perceives
Relenting Nature, and his lusty steers
Drives from their stalls, to where the well used plough
Lies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost.
There, unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil,
Cheer'd by the simple song and soaring lark.
Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share
The master leans, removes the obstructing clay,
Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe
While through the neighbouring fields the sowe stalks,
With measured step, and liberal throws the grain
Into the faithful bosom of the ground;
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene.
Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious Man
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow!
Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend!
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poem by James Thomson
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The Columbiad: Book VII
The Argument
Coast of France rises in vision. Louis, to humble the British power, forms an alliance with the American states. This brings France, Spain and Holland into the war, and rouses Hyder Ally to attack the English in India. The vision returns to America, where the military operations continue with various success. Battle of Monmouth. Storming of Stonypoint by Wayne. Actions of Lincoln, and surrender of Charleston. Movements of Cornwallis. Actions of Greene, and battle of Eutaw. French army arrives, and joins the American. They march to besiege the English army of Cornwallis in York and Gloster. Naval battle of Degrasse and Graves. Two of their ships grappled and blown up. Progress of the siege. A citadel mined and blown up. Capture of Cornwallis and his army. Their banners furled and muskets piled on the field of battle.
Thus view'd the Pair; when lo, in eastern skies,
From glooms unfolding, Gallia's coasts arise.
Bright o'er the scenes of state a golden throne,
Instarr'd with gems and hung with purple, shone;
Young Bourbon there in royal splendor sat,
And fleets and moving armies round him wait.
For now the contest, with increased alarms,
Fill'd every court and roused the world to arms;
As Hesper's hand, that light from darkness brings,
And good to nations from the scourge of kings,
In this dread hour bade broader beams unfold,
And the new world illuminate the old.
In Europe's realms a school of sages trace
The expanding dawn that waits the Reasoning Race;
On the bright Occident they fix their eyes,
Thro glorious toils where struggling nations rise;
Where each firm deed, each new illustrious name
Calls into light a field of nobler fame:
A field that feeds their hope, confirms the plan
Of well poized freedom and the weal of man.
They scheme, they theorize, expand their scope,
Glance o'er Hesperia to her utmost cope;
Where streams unknown for other oceans stray,
Where suns unseen their waste of beams display,
Where sires of unborn nations claim their birth,
And ask their empires in those wilds of earth.
While round all eastern climes, with painful eye,
In slavery sunk they see the kingdoms lie,
Whole states exhausted to enrich a throne,
Their fruits untasted and their rights unknown;
Thro tears of grief that speak the well taught mind,
They hail the æra that relieves mankind.
Of these the first, the Gallic sages stand,
And urge their king to lift an aiding hand.
The cause of humankind their souls inspired,
Columbia's wrongs their indignation fired;
To share her fateful deeds their counsel moved,
To base in practice what in theme they proved:
That no proud privilege from birth can spring,
No right divine, nor compact form a king;
That in the people dwells the sovereign sway,
Who rule by proxy, by themselves obey;
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Urgent
Urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
It's urgent...
That we all now see,
Dependency on others we must all heed.
Yes it's urgent...
That a greed and gluttony be released.
So urgent...
Is the writing on the wall,
No one must ignore at all!
It's urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
It's urgent...
That we all now see,
Dependency on others we must all heed.
So urgent...
That a greed and gluttony be released,
The writing's on the wall for all to see!
The writing's on the wall for all to see!
It's urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
It's urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
So urgent...
To leave philosophies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
And we must leave philosphies,
That survival is a personal need to feed.
While others are starving as we feed greed.
While others are starving as we feed greed.
Thinking of others is the urgency!
Urgent IS the emergency,
That we START to think of others...
And STOP our greed.
Urgent IS the emergency,
That we START to think of others...
And STOP our greed.
Urgent IS the emergency,
That we START to think of others...
And STOP our greed.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Need And The Greed
Need is a desire; greed is a desire.
Desires denied, sufferings surface.
Need is met at ease but not the greed
Which is boundless with sufferings profound.
Need and greed aren’t in water tight cells.
Need might restrict to physical wants.
Greed is for ego’s gratification.
Possessiveness is the sign of the greed.
To earn by wrongful means is from greed.
To exploit and hoard is an act of greed.
To garner and flaunt all you have is greed.
Greedless, though penny-less, you’re loveable.
To sedate the pride is to tame the greed.
To kindle the pride is to fuel the greed.
Having got money, power and possession,
As the result of greed, you will lose peace.
Remove the greed; jealousy is gone.
Remove the greed; no feeling of revenge.
Hail the poor and condemn the greedy.
Then the tendency to grow rich will wane.
Live simple; live humble; then need is less.
Be proud to own a bicycle, not a car.
Value one who owns a bicycle, not a car.
You will have saved energy and the nature.
Don’t embrace comforts, which will weaken you.
Don’t enthuse with ego, which will make loss big.
Unlike the cheat, being poor is not a shame.
Less wants; less sufferings, more happiness.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Four Billion Years
Four Billion Years
Four billion years of evolution,
Maybe more,
And we've come to this:
Abstractly desiring an intangible wad of green paper
That holds no intrinsic value—
Other than perhaps as a modicum of power and influence.
Four billion years—
And what have we accomplished?
We've burned down the rain forest
To make room for cattle farms
That are operated by colored people
That aren't paid enough to eat—
Yes, that's right, the white man still owns slaves—
So that we can grow morbidly obese,
Grease dripping from our mouths
Down the folds of fat that line our chins
To caress the curvature of our stomachs—
Circumference ever expanding.
We've made our children stupid,
Forcing them down the assembly line
Of public education; teaching them
To become disinterested in the world around them;
Telling them that what they like has no value
To society and that their lives lack meaning
If they lack surplus.
Our kids idolize the wealthy because they have things,
And things—I have been told—
Are more important than progress.
We're making oily bonfires in the desert
To illuminate upon our indifferences.
We destroy what we are told to destroy
Without considering the consequences,
Without realizing the dialectics we avoid,
The logic we could accrue from listening.
We believe a national identity
Is more essential than our relationship to species,
Thinking that we can only gain
Through our taking.
Four billion years,
Four billion years,
And we are looking at the end of the world,
Hoping for Rapture,
Praying that we go to heaven,
Granted a second life,
[...] Read more
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 4
In one dark age, beneath a single hand,
Thus rose an empire in the savage land.
Her golden seats, with following years, increase,
Her growing nations spread the walks of peace,
Her sacred rites display the purest plan,
That e'er adorn'd the unguided mind of man.
Yet all the pomp, the extended climes unfold,
The fields of verdure and the towers of gold,
Those works of peace, and sovereign scenes of state,
In short-lived glory, hasten to their fate.
Thy followers, rushing like an angry flood,
Shall whelm the fields and stain the shrines in blood;
Nor thou, Las Casas, best of men, shalt stay
The ravening legions from their guardless prey.
Oh! hapless prelate, hero, saint and sage,
Doom'd with hard guilt a fruitless war to wage,
To see, with grief (thy life of virtues run)
A realm unpeopled and a world undone.
While impious Valverde, mock of priesthood, stands,
Guilt in his heart, the gospel in his hands,
Bids, in one field, unnumber'd squadrons bleed,
Smiles o'er the scene and sanctifies the deed.
And thou, brave Gasca, with thy virtuous train,
Shalt lift the sword and urge thy power in vain;
Vain, the late task, the sinking land to save,
Or call her slaughter'd millions from the grave.
The Seraph spoke. Columbus, with a sigh,
Cast o'er the hapless climes his moisten'd eye,
And thus return'd: Oh, hide me in the tomb;
Why should I live to view the impending doom?
If such dread scenes the scheme of heaven compose,
And virtuous toils induce redoubled woes,
Unfold no more; but grant a kind release,
Give me, 'tis all I ask, to rest in peace.
Thy soul shall rest in peace, the Power rejoin'd,
Ere these conflicting shades involve mankind:
But nobler views shall first thy mind engage,
Beyond the bounds of this destructive age;
Where happier fruits of thy unwearied toil,
Thro' future years, and other empires, smile.
Europe's contending realms shall soon behold
These fruitful plains and hills of opening gold,
Fair in the path of thy adventurous fail,
Their countless navies float in every gale,
For wealth and commerce, sweep the extended shore,
And load the ocean with the shining ore.
As, up the orient heaven, the dawning ray
Smiles o'er the world and gives the promised day;
Drives fraud and rapine from their nightly spoil,
And social nature wakes to peaceful toil;
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Dragon Days
Ooh baby ooh
Like a damsel in distress, I'm stressing you
My castle became my dungeon, cause I'm longin' for you
Feelin' strong for ya
You're my night in shining armor
See your face in the silver moon
Oh over the lagoon
And it feels like dragon days
And the fire's hot
Like a desert needs water
I need you a lot
Dragon days, I need to be saved
I'm missin' you
In the day we drag on and on
Desperate for you baby
Do you know what that means?
It means, I feel like an addict must feel
When he feens
In an act of desperation
I get lost in my dreams
Cause like a lady in waitin', I'm waitin for you
Like a kiss in time over alligator water
Waitin' for my prince of paradise to come and, take me away
From these, tock tick
Dragon days
And the fire's hot
Like a desert needs water
I need you a lot
So baby
Dragon days, I need to be saved
I'm missin' you
In the day you drag on and on
Don't you wanna play?
D-R-A-G-O-N days
Got me D-R-A-G-G-I-N
Cause I want u baby
And I need you baby
Dragon days
And the fire's hot
Like a desert needs water
I need you a lot (I need you a lot, I need you so bad)
Dragon days, I need to be saved
I'm missin' you
In the day we drag on and on
On, and on, on and on
Dragon days
And the fire's hot
Like a desert needs water
I need you a lot (I need you a lot, I need you so bad)
Dragon days, I need to be saved
[...] Read more
song performed by Alicia Keys
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Dragon of the Black Pool
Deep the waters of the Black Pool, colored like ink;
They say a Holy Dragon lives there, whom men have never seen.
Beside the Pool they have built a shrine; the authorities
have established a ritual;
A dragon by itself remains a dragon, but men can make it a god.
Prosperity and disaster, rain and drought, plagues and pestilences—
By the village people were all regarded as the Sacred Dragon’s doing.
They all made offerings of sucking-pig and poured libations of wine;
The morning prayers and evening gifts depended on a “medium’s” advice.
When the dragon comes, ah!
The wind stirs and sighs
Paper money thrown, ah!
Silk umbrellas waved.
When the dragon goes, ah!
The wind also—still.
Incense-fire dies, ah !
The cups and vessels are cold.
Meats lie stacked on the rocks of the Pool’s shore;
Wine flows on the grass in front of the shrine.
I do not know, of all those offerings, how much the Dragon eats;
But the mice of the woods and the foxes of the hills are continually drunk and sated.
Why are the foxes so lucky?
What have the sucking-pigs done,
That year by year they should be killed, merely to glut the foxes?
That the foxes are robbing the Sacred Dragon and eating His sucking-pig,
Beneath the nine-fold depths of His pool, does He know or not?
poem by Bai Juyi
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