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I have hardly ever known a mathematician who was capable of reasoning.

Plato in The Republic
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Paradise Lost: Book 09

No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblam'd. I now must change
Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt,
And disobedience: on the part of Heaven
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery
Death's harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument
Not less but more heroick than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd;
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:

If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial patroness, who deigns
Her nightly visitation unimplor'd,
And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse:
Since first this subject for heroick song
Pleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late;
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroick deem'd chief mastery to dissect
With long and tedious havock fabled knights
In battles feign'd; the better fortitude
Of patience and heroick martyrdom
Unsung; or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshall'd feast
Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals;
The skill of artifice or office mean,
Not that which justly gives heroick name
To person, or to poem. Me, of these
Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument
Remains; sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine,
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Over & Above

Half past 12 on a friday night everythings wrong and it doesnt feel right
Tried to talk to someone in the bar she didnt like my face I didnt get far
When you grow up youre gonna walk big strides just like me
When you grow up youre gonna hit the big time wait and see
And I listened to his guiding voice like a man who overhears god
Over and above what Im capable of
You couldnt take the weight of my purest innocence
Over and above what Im capable of
You couldnt take the weight of my purest innocence
Are you over
So tall daddy used to tower above him symbol of unreachable
Time fades icons of perfection cruel result but not intention
His values are not the ones I choose hes failed in himself
In the blaze of his pride an independence expressed
Not there is no guiding voice like a man who loses god
Over and above what Im capable of
You couldnt take the weight of my purest innocence
Over and above what Im capable of
You couldnt take the weight of my purest innocence
Are you over
And a man cant understand his father til he becomes a father too
Now his own sons expectation becomes his own hearts burden new
Dad I didnt understand the pressure could it bring them back together
Over and above what Im capable of
You couldnt take the weight of my purest innocence
Over and above what Im capable of
You couldnt take the weight of my purest innocence

song performed by Howard Jones
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A mathematician is a person who can find analogies between theorems; a better mathematician is one who can see analogies between proofs and the best mathematician can notice analogies between theories.

quote by Stefan Banach
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Begin the Mending of Unreasoning

There is a purpose behind a reason,
That plots from a reasoning...
Its purpose.

She has been seducing him,
Since the beginning of their childhood.
She practiced technique with her daddy.
And daddy practiced patience and understanding.
She liked that about her daddy.

He was torn between Magic, Shaq and Kobe!
'Yeah, but that Michael will always be the best! '
He was a sportsman!
And she fell asleep in his lap!
Just like she did,
When daddy did that!

He thought he knew what he was getting into.
Until she wanted more of what he could not prove,
He could do.
So he screwed her that night...
And he left not to return.

There is a purpose behind a reason,
That plots from a reasoning...
Its purpose.

It did not take her long to realize,
She paralyzed their love!
She criticized his lovemaking acts.
And reacted as if he was not there at all.
Feelings had been among the missing,
For days...
In the forest of hidden misunderstandings.

With her face towards the wall...
Expecting him to communicate,
'Her' feelings he could not possibly feel!
She did not make them real to him!
She felt hurt!
And he was suppose to know!
Or at least pretended to care?
He snored loudly!

'Could romance be slipping from the booty calls? '
He thought as he was swept with anguish!
Thinking with sincere sentiments...
'She crazy as hell,
If she think I'm gonna try and 'be' Denzel.'

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 8

And now the Angel, from the trembling sight,
Veil'd the wide world–when sudden shades of night
Move o'er the ethereal vault; the starry train
Paint their dim forms beneath the placid main;
While earth and heaven, around the hero's eye,
Seem arch'd immense, like one surrounding sky.
Still, from the Power superior splendors shone,
The height emblazing like a radiant throne;
To converse sweet the soothing shades invite,
And on the guide the hero fix'd his sight.
Kind messenger of Heaven, he thus began,
Why this progressive labouring search of man?
If man by wisdom form'd hath power to reach
These opening truths that following ages teach,
Step after step, thro' devious mazes, wind,
And fill at last the measure of the mind,
Why did not Heaven, with one unclouded ray,
All human arts and reason's powers display?
That mad opinions, sects and party strife
Might find no place t'imbitter human life.
To whom the Angelic Power; to thee 'tis given,
To hold high converse, and enquire of heaven,
To mark uncircled ages and to trace
The unfolding truths that wait thy kindred race.
Know then, the counsels of th'unchanging Mind,
Thro' nature's range, progressive paths design'd,
Unfinish'd works th'harmonious system grace,
Thro' all duration and around all space;
Thus beauty, wisdom, power, their parts unroll,
Till full perfection joins the accordant whole.
So the first week, beheld the progress rise,
Which form'd the earth and arch'd th'incumbant skies.
Dark and imperfect first, the unbeauteous frame,
From vacant night, to crude existence came;
Light starr'd the heavens and suns were taught their bound,
Winds woke their force, and floods their centre found;
Earth's kindred elements, in joyous strife,
Warm'd the glad glebe to vegetable life,
Till sense and power and action claim'd their place,
And godlike reason crown'd the imperial race.
Progressive thus, from that great source above,
Flows the fair fountain of redeeming love.
Dark harbingers of hope, at first bestow'd,
Taught early faith to feel her path to God:
Down the prophetic, brightening train of years,
Consenting voices rose of different seers,
In shadowy types display'd the accomplish'd plan,
When filial Godhead should assume the man,
When the pure Church should stretch her arms abroad,
Fair as a bride and liberal as her God;

[...] Read more

poem by Joel Barlow
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I have hardly ever known a mathematician who was capable of reasoning.

quote by Plato
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Tale XI

ARABELLA.

Of a fair town where Doctor Rack was guide,
His only daughter was the boast and pride -
Wise Arabella, yet not wise alone,
She like a bright and polish'd brilliant shone;
Her father own'd her for his prop and stay,
Able to guide, yet willing to obey;
Pleased with her learning while discourse could

please,
And with her love in languor and disease:
To every mother were her virtues known,
And to their daughters as a pattern shown;
Who in her youth had all that age requires,
And with her prudence all that youth admires:
These odious praises made the damsels try
Not to obtain such merits, but deny;
For, whatsoever wise mammas might say,
To guide a daughter, this was not the way;
From such applause disdain and anger rise,
And envy lives where emulation dies.
In all his strength contends the noble horse
With one who just precedes him on the course,
But when the rival flies too far before,
His spirit fails, and he attempts no more.
This reasoning Maid, above her sex's dread,
Had dared to read, and dared to say she read;
Not the last novel, not the new-born play;
Not the mere trash and scandal of the day;
But (though her young companions felt the shock)
She studied Berkeley, Bacon, Hobbes and Locke:
Her mind within the maze of history dwelt,
And of the moral Muse the beauty felt;
The merits of the Roman page she knew,
And could converse with More and Montague:
Thus she became the wonder of the town,
From that she reap'd, to that she gave renown;
And strangers coming, all were taught t'admire
The learned lady, and the lofty spire.
Thus fame in public fix'd the Maid where all
Might throw their darts, and see the idol fall:
A hundred arrows came with vengeance keen,
From tongues envenom'd, and from arms unseen;
A thousand eyes were fix'd upon the place,
That, if she fell, she might not fly disgrace:
But malice vainly throws the poison'd dart,
Unless our frailty shows the peccant part;
And Arabella still preserved her name
Untouch'd, and shone with undisputed fame;

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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I Only Dance With You

Ohh, ohh
Ohhh
Girl, I remember how it all began
You introduced her as your friend
But I knew I was in trouble when
I saw her smile at me
And then she asked me for a dance
But never offered you a glance
Well let me tell you girl with friends like that
Who needs enemies
[chorus:]
Shouldve known better than to trust a friend
Whos jealous of the way we livin
I dont think you know whats happening
Your girl is shading you
Shouldve known better than to trust a friend
Behind your back she gives me rhythm
But Im bout to make her understand
I only dance with you
Girl, you say your friend is just flirting by
Its getting so ridiculous
That shes thinking she can mess with us
But I dont play around
Even when shes saying that youre unaware
And its cool with you to share
No I still ait gonna dance with her
Im telling you right now
[chorus:]
Shouldve known better than to trust a friend
Whos jealous of the way we livin
I dont think you know whats happening
Your girl is shading you
Shouldve known better than to trust a friend
Behind your back she gives me rhythm
But Im bout to make her understand
I only dance with you
Dont try to say I lost the mind
I know your girl has crossed the line (cause I really know that)
She got issues, she trying to diss you
The minute that you turn around
She pulled a switch boo
Cause shes wishing whats yours was hers
So now leave the girl, that aint never gonna work
[chorus:]
Shouldve known better than to trust a friend
Whos jealous of the way we livin
I dont think you know whats happening
Your girl is shading you
Shouldve known better than to trust a friend
Behind your back she gives me rhythm

[...] Read more

song performed by O-town
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Popular Thug

You know what I am
You know what I do well at least I thought you knew
They call me Pusha
Damn
I take you like a slap in the face
Everytime the bass is mentioned like I had bad intentions
Listen, I thought love was given
So for you I did those things you were missing
Never have to say
Please gimme borrow
As long as I got yay
And two semi autos
And connects in the jets
Like wetback Carlos
I ain't askin' you to follow
Just think about tomorrow
Please
I should have known by the way that you stared
Eyeing Passes by like you're rich but life ain't fair
But you make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)
I can't help if I'm a thug and I'm popular
I think that come along with driving a shocking car
Watch the coke light up they life
The rocks with stars
Had fiends talking crippled
Cuz they locked they jaw
Aw Pusha T you think it's cool that you deal
Bout as cool as that breeze on the beach in Brazil
As long as fiends want pain
Then I'm gon' slang
When my financial change
Then I'm gon' change
I should have seen in the way you touched my hand
Shuffling your car keys
But sounded like a gentleman
But ya make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
Make my record skip
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)
I would have never talked to you if I had known you was a popular thug
Hey, popular thug (you're damn right)

[...] Read more

song performed by Kelis
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Paradise Lost: Book 08

The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he a while
Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear;
Then, as new waked, thus gratefully replied.
What thanks sufficient, or what recompence
Equal, have I to render thee, divine
Historian, who thus largely hast allayed
The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouchsafed
This friendly condescension to relate
Things, else by me unsearchable; now heard
With wonder, but delight, and, as is due,
With glory attributed to the high
Creator! Something yet of doubt remains,
Which only thy solution can resolve.
When I behold this goodly frame, this world,
Of Heaven and Earth consisting; and compute
Their magnitudes; this Earth, a spot, a grain,
An atom, with the firmament compared
And all her numbered stars, that seem to roll
Spaces incomprehensible, (for such
Their distance argues, and their swift return
Diurnal,) merely to officiate light
Round this opacous Earth, this punctual spot,
One day and night; in all her vast survey
Useless besides; reasoning I oft admire,
How Nature wise and frugal could commit
Such disproportions, with superfluous hand
So many nobler bodies to create,
Greater so manifold, to this one use,
For aught appears, and on their orbs impose
Such restless revolution day by day
Repeated; while the sedentary Earth,
That better might with far less compass move,
Served by more noble than herself, attains
Her end without least motion, and receives,
As tribute, such a sumless journey brought
Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light;
Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails.
So spake our sire, and by his countenance seemed
Entering on studious thoughts abstruse; which Eve
Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight,
With lowliness majestick from her seat,
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay,
Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers,
To visit how they prospered, bud and bloom,
Her nursery; they at her coming sprung,
And, touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew.
Yet went she not, as not with such discourse
Delighted, or not capable her ear
Of what was high: such pleasure she reserved,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Life Is Like A Number Line

Life Is Like a number Line,
Between negative infinity to positive infinity,
At the middle have that zero,
All are finite numbers,
Zero stands for nothing,
Infinity for everything,
But zero is some how useful,
When it is with numbers on proper side,
Infinity is useless as it engulf all!

Numbers are special on their own,
Some are positives, have mirror images in negatives,
May be integers or fractions,
May be rational or irrational,
Some are real and some are imaginary,
These make number of life complex,
Polynomaials with complex roots,
Or with complex coefficients,
If we take them on XY plane, they act and interact with one another,
Some make us laugh, as we find the answer,
Some brings us to sober, as they remain as mystery!

But life Is not to dimensional,
Multi dimensional it is,
So multidimensional space of life make it wonderful,
A wonder out of reach of all!

But modular sets can draw some with some similarities
If you want to become mathematician,
Learn to play with them, bearing all headache they cause!

Otherwise either multiply all numbers by zero,
And yourself too, become zero,
Or merge all in infinity to wash your dirty hands,
If you want to know what is life,
Become a mathematician to play with numbers,
Life Is nothing but interaction of real with real or real with imaginary, positive with positive,
Negative with negative,
Or positive with negative,
Rational with rational,
irrational with irrational, most of time a rational with irrational,
But noone is perfect like zero among finite,
And no one can't say anything about the infinite!

The Soul is that space on which all numbers play according to the karma and thoughts!

Oops this interactions of numbers is life!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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RESEARCH ON RECURSIVE FUNCTIONS, LOGIC AND THEORY OF DEMONSTRATION - In 1927, the Romanian mathematician Gabriel Sudan (1899-1977), with his doctorate at David Hilbert, gave the first example of a recursive function that is not primitive recursive, before Wilhelm Ackermann ( 1928). Between 1934-1942, at the University of Iași, the mathematician Grigore C. Moisil (1906-1973) dealt with "Logic and the theory of demonstration" and aiming to "learn mathematics from the beginning", he studied at the "wonderful library" of the Mathematical Seminar in Iași, the book by Hilbert and Ackermann, but also the 3 volumes “Principia Mathematica” by Russel and Whitehead. Professor Moisil learned about Lukasiewicz's multi-valued logics in the spring of 1935, when T. Kotarbinski, a professor at the University of Warsaw, gave 3 public lectures and a short lecture at the Mathematical Seminar on Lukasiewicz's writing without parentheses. .

Marin Vlada in ROINFO Romanian Informatics 2018-2022
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Rainy Day In June

A misty shadow spread its wings
And covered all the ground
And even though the sun was out
The rain came pouring down
And all the light had disappeared
And faded in the gloom
There was no hope, no reasoning
This rainy day in june
The eagle spread its mighty wings
And pounced upon its pray
And all the skies, so brilliant blue
Turned suddenly to grey
The cherished things are perishing
And buried in their tomb
There is no hope, no reasoning
This rainy day in june
And everybody felt the rain
Everybody felt the rain
Everybody felt the rain
Everybody felt the rain
The demon stretched its crinkled hand
And snatched a butterfly
The elves and gnomes were hunched in fear
Too terrified to cry
The reckoning was beckoning
Theyre living to their doom
There was no hope, no reasoning
This rainy day in june
And everybody felt the rain
Everybody felt the rain
Everybody felt the rain
Everybody felt the rain

song performed by Kinks
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Validation Of Truth

She assumes many things
that she believes to be fact

as she thinks
perceives
so must it be

an absolute
for her
there can be

no other possibilities
no exceptions
in her mood changing reality

she remains
at the centre
of her world

a belief system
based upon presumptions
without foundation

believed without
actual evidence
mere inference

conclusions drawn
without evidence
lacking reasoning

no logical process
applied reasoning
premise to conclusion

a reasoning process
lacking logic is
incapable of comprehension

validation to confirm establish truth
would be an ongoing redundant task

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Acsending Angels

Anointed for the crusade of umbilical reasoning
For the milk of mothering yields within nurturing
Open eyed upon premiere days of virginal dawning
Absorbance of energetic and unselfish lightning

A course of reasoning foundered upon frontiers
Of the unborn yet that of all absolute warriors
Yield a sword of reasoning inside pulsed comprehending
To taste under storms of the kiss of blood sharing

Bearing wings of absolutions light for truest faith
Flowing to the mortal soul thus of altruistic breath
To kiss forth the life to all of the suffering so no more
When locked of perspectives in bleeding hands sore

Equipped and free of catatonic imprisonment foundered
Birthed again in retribution so self scented and rendered
Reached the fingers of wanton learning and knowledge
Sought of mortal wires in frames of that to acknowledge

How expansive ones unlimited; graduate of all thinking
But of all seeing from the eyes of the mortal breathing
A sensation of new reason dawned upon tortured souls
Shuttered but not forever that such are ambiguous tolls

So thought of in expansive dreams of the conceptual
Bring answers of query bound of the sleepless nocturnal
Scream the citation of accomplishment so undistorted
In clearest waters awash of purification yet contorted

Doused in such flame of the rage and the unreleased
That life is the carillon beyond the grave of the deceased
In the memory, the dream and expanse of all probabilities
But locked within such contradiction of boundless gravities

For space of air beyond clouds toward sun lights greeting
Breathe clear and anoint the unlimited in conscious rising
As long as the throb of heart answer the pulse of nations
Ascending Angels arisen to the totality of all exaltations

poem by Vision Ghost
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Tale III

THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.

Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all,
Who dwelt around, 'the Gentleman' would call;
Whether in pure humility or pride,
They only knew, and they would not decide.
Far different he from that dull plodding tribe
Whom it was his amusement to describe;
Creatures no more enliven'd than a clod,
But treading still as their dull fathers trod;
Who lived in times when not a man had seen
Corn sown by drill, or thresh'd by a machine!
He was of those whose skill assigns the prize
For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties;
And who, in places where improvers meet,
To fill the land with fatness, had a seat;
Who in large mansions live like petty kings,
And speak of farms but as amusing things;
Who plans encourage, and who journals keep,
And talk with lords about a breed of sheep.
Two are the species in this genus known;
One, who is rich in his profession grown,
Who yearly finds his ample stores increase,
From fortune's favours and a favouring lease;
Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns;
Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns;
Who freely lives, and loves to show he can, -
This is the Farmer made the Gentleman.
The second species from the world is sent,
Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content;
In books and men beyond the former read
To farming solely by a passion led,
Or by a fashion; curious in his land;
Now planning much, now changing what he plann'd;
Pleased by each trial, not by failures vex'd,
And ever certain to succeed the next;
Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade, -
This is the Gentleman, a farmer made.
Gwyn was of these; he from the world withdrew
Early in life, his reasons known to few;
Some disappointments said, some pure good sense,
The love of land, the press of indolence;
His fortune known, and coming to retire,
If not a Farmer, men had call'd him 'Squire.
Forty and five his years, no child or wife
Cross'd the still tenour of his chosen life;
Much land he purchased, planted far around,
And let some portions of superfluous ground
To farmers near him, not displeased to say
'My tenants,' nor 'our worthy landlord,' they.

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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I'm A Believer (With This Known)

Take your evil self away...
To lie and hide liar.
Liar.
I am not inspired,
By your lies.

Take your evil self away...
To lie and hide liar.
Liar.
I am not inspired,
By your lies.

'Cause...
I'm a believer,
With this known...
I'm here to grow,
With this known...
And I'm not gonna stop,
With this known...
To woe,
With this known.
And I am here to overcome,
Obstacles.
With this known.
With this known.

And with this known...
People will lip,
With this known...
To deceive.
And unknown is their evil.
But...
I'm not one to give up,
Because I'm a believer.
And with this known.

Take your evil self away...
To lie and hide liar.
Liar.
I am not inspired,
By your lies.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Welcome To The Cordillera

WELCOME TO THE CORDILLERA
mELVIN d.bANGGOLLAY

Welcome to the great Cordillera's beauty
And behold its mystic land and history
Of people in a land known as the stairway
To heaven with its ranges of nature tapestry.

Welcome to Kalinga, verdant land known to many
As the land of the brave hunters our history,
The land known as the peacock of the country
With their colorful custom amidst modernity.

Here you can fine Cordillera's rice granary
With the best aroma of coffee in the country
Perfectly brewed by hands of genuine beauty
Of charming ladies dancing with gong's intimacy.

If you traverse the highways of Cagayan Valley
You will be charmed by Apayao's serene beauty
Where you can now fine banana based industry
With their growing cassava production in ARC.

You can fine here the cleanest river in our country
From its unexploited forest away from modernity
Where you can enjoy wildlife living in intimacy
As you can see domesticated dear in every family.

Benguet is another source of the land' beauty
Where the famous mines of gold and silver stay
Popularly known as the region's vegetable granary
With its temperate cold climate you can feel everyday.

On this land you can also fine the famous Baguio City
Known as the cleanest and greenest city in history
Known as the city of pines in the entire country
and as the summer capital of our archipelago today.

If you go down and pass along the whirling highway
You can reach the province of Abra known to many
As the bamboo capital of the entire region' today
With their famous bamboo based craft and industry.

Although the land is know for its political history
With famous politicians names making their own story
It is peopled by those who love to have peace everyday
Making the land of love flowing with stream of honey.

When you go west passing the known Halsima Highway

[...] Read more

poem by Melvin Banggollay
Added by Poetry Lover
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