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Who Was Seeking The Light?

Your insistence to become
something, to overstay existence
was not fair.

On a row of white shrouds –
holding innocent beings,
death was walking barefoot, crying.

Between farewell and stupidity,
staccato, shooting questions to life.
What was the need for this achievement?

Fear was turning you against me,
to abandon the peace. Truth cannot be repeated
again and again. It becomes a lie.

No body knows how to bury
the deception. It is still dark.
Who was seeking the light?

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For this that was broken

A howl was heard
that darkend the land
for this love that was broken
they ever did understand.

The wolf howls on
with sadness and anger in his voice
for this love that was broken
wasnt his choice.

The howling stop
and the land lays silent and bleak
for this love that was broken
has made the wolf weak.

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Who Eventually Pays For This?

If it was that simple...
Why the need,
For a depth of explanation?

Or one's lost of breath,
To add sensation?

Who eventually pays for this?
And at whose expense,
Are minds finding this time to waste.

'We'll exclude yours as moments of waste!
Since whatever it is results in your deduced reasoning process.
And has attracted your 'pro-rated' analysis.
So at least something of an exchange has been to your benefit! '

Thank you.
I am 'almost' impressed.
But I am not here to review my clarity!

'Then why bother?
It is obvious your needs,
Have been identified.
And are not here to be pleased! '

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You Have No Need For The Ones You Have

Continue to procrastinate.
Do nothing,
But waste your time!
Advice solicited given to you...
Has been excused,
While you choose to make up your mind.
Time after time...
After time each time!

Keep your steps reluctant.
Make decisions you say are with faith.
Remain stubborn not listening to others.
And hesitate,
Sitting while you wait!
In a selfish self debate,
You salivate...
When speaking of your fate.

Those dreams you wish fulfilled with promise?
With hopes?
Came by to knock on your door!
But you were inside,
With doubts you did not stop!
And those knocks you heard,
You left ignored!
And away from you,
They've gone forevermore!

There was a delivery that came,
Especially for you.
But those 'gifts' disappeared.
When you made it clear and obvious...
You have no need for the ones you have.
And the ones you have you fear!

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In A Sense I Was Made For This

Upheaval and change
Challenges and knowledge
Schoolwork and Homework
Tests and Quizzes
Finals and Midterms
Broken relationships and loss of time
Unrealized dreams and confusion

I don't think I can handle all this
I know I can't handle this
I don't know what I will do with my life
I don't know my own ambition
Confused by my talents
Feel like I'm made for more
And Yet

Through the pain, when I look at them as trials
In a sense I'm made for this
I'm made to endure this
This is what gives me perseverance
This is what gives me hope
The Great Maker made me
The Great Maker made me to grow up
The Great Maker is using these trials to grow me
So through the pain
Through the confusion
Through the fear of failure
Through the worry and anxiety
My lack of faith my lack of trust
In a sense I was made for this
God you don't want me to be full of sorrow
But God you trust me enough to let me go enough to let me grow
So in a sense
I'm overwhelmed by all these things
I wonder
What then shall I say of all this?
How shall I deal with this
By myself I know I'm inadequate
But when you're with me
In a sense
This is what I'm made

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Get Ready For This (Instrumental)

Ya'll ready for this?
Get down with the style, house on the ground
Please when I squeeze, pump to your knees
Who wants to play? I'm in here to stay,
Ready to take you around the way
So get ready for this. Mind your own biz
'Cause I invented the microphone biz
No need to sit, cause we're 2 Unlimited
Ready, ready, ready for this!
Feel the base, you just get closer
Be impressed by the words I chose of
Once again kickin' it live
Doin' everything yo just to survive
A wall to wall, I think I stand
Being on stage with a mic in my hand
Bustin' it live to the crowd
The age is 20, I'm from the south
1-Be a part, break my heart
Get ready for this, mind your own biz
People in the front, show me what you want
And I won't give it in...
Get ready for this!
We're 2 Unlimited, so people won't you sit?
Movin' up and down, dancin' on the ground
Feelin' kinda free; security
House is style that moves you from the ground
House on the ground, bass in your face
Racin' the place, no time to waste
Feelin' hypnotized, I can see it in your eyes
Feelin' kinda better, put on your sweater
Feelin' like a white, I think it doesn't matter
Super, dope, deaf, and even outrageous
If I was an animal, they've kept me in cages
So get ready for this! Ya'll ready for this?
(rpt 1

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No Need For The Lord

Men who think they have it all, are still affected by Adam’s fall,
Those men you see everywhere, living their life without a care.
They see no need for The Lord, who in their life goes ignored.
Unlike men, like you and me, they have no thought on eternity.
They say all that is ahead for us, is death and a return to dust.
They all believe this life will end, but that afterlife is all pretend.

If dust is the last place we go, why does Truth annoy them so?
If there is no afterlife at all, why do unbelievers hem and haw?
They say all have the same fate, as all bodies just disintegrate,
Hopelessly dealing with daily strife, only having this present life.
Saying all things start and end; but not so with Christ my friend,
Jesus Christ is eternal friend; like Him man’s being has no end.

Death may be an earthy fate, but all men have an eternal state,
For some it’s death some it’s life; it all depends on Jesus Christ.
If you believe He rose again, you my friend, can be born-again,
Born into God’s eternal family, to live with Jesus Christ eternally.
If you do not believe this is true, eternal darkness will greet you,
When you step into eternal death, upon your last earthly breath.

I simply do not understand why, some unbelievers balk and cry,
Ignoring all of the written history, about the only King of Eternity.
Nobody forces them to believe, as they choose to be deceived.
I simply will remain in The Truth, as they continue their reproof.
Is it all simply Satan’s spite, as he is wrong and Christ is right?
Friend one day they all will see, when they’re cast into eternity.

(Copyright ©05/2006)

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Get Ready For This

R- ray a- anita
Yall ready for this?
R: get down with the style, house on the ground
Freeze when I squeeze, pump to your knees
You must of bet, Im in here to stay
Ready to take you around the way
So get ready for this, mind your own biz
cause I bad, yeah the microphone wiz
No need to sit, cause were 2 unlimited
Ready, ready, ready for this!
R: feel the base, you just get closer
Be impressed by the words I chose of
Once again kickin it live
Doin everything yo just to survive above the law, I take our stand
Being on stage with a mic in my hand
Bustin it live to the crowd
The age is 20, Im from the south
A: be a part, break my heart
Get ready for this, mind your own biz
People in the front, show me what you want
And I wont give it in... get ready for this!
Were 2 unlimited, so people wont you sing?
Movin up and down, livin on the ground
Feelin kinda free; security
House is style that moves you from the ground.
R: house on the ground, bass in your face
Racin the place, no time to waste
Being hypnotised, I can see it in your eyes
Feelin kinda better, put on your sweater
Feelin like a white, I think it doesnt matter
Super, dope, def, and even outrageous
If I was an animal, theydve kept me in cages
So get ready for this!
Yall ready for this?
A: be a part, break my heart
Get ready for this, mind your own biz
People in the front, show me what you want
And I wont give it in... get ready for this!
Were 2 unlimited, so people wont you sing?
Movin up and down, livin on the ground
Feelin kinda free; security
House is style that moves you from the ground.
(rap on the rap mix of 1994 edit)
R: step back, relax, dont you wanna come in?
When I start rappin the girlies wanna come in
Into my house, into my room
Thats the part where it goes boom! boom!
Name here is ray, the group is 2 unlimited, weve got a lot to say...
To you, ah yeah and your other crew, if it is a dream, boom see boom!

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NO NEED FOR Talile Ali












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You need to learn a lot from us, the tiny creatures, cockroaches

We were a colony
I had no head count and
Cannot tell you how many were there
We must be in thousands
We were too crowded was the fact
No one can walk, all of us practically crawling

Our living conditions compare no where
Near the ways you live
Not that we were in discomfort
That is the way we live

This colony got established over a period
We were sure of getting food
Any time any quantity
We were thriving on whatever left over by you people

Our colony grew steadily
Along the road to its full length
It was not known to you people
That there existed colony of ours
Under your own nose

One of your lads
Stumbled in our colony
When he was cleaning the unauthorized canteen
Run on the footpath
Whose kitchen rejects were our feed
He was frightened at the sight of our crowd
And yelled

A war like situation came up
And our colony was invaded
By an army of people
With broomsticks, long flat wooden panels, etc.
In addition, they fumigated our colony
Making us rush out in the open
Young ones managing to run with their guiding mothers
Elder ones even flying

We were not sure as to where
We would be shifting
We crawled here and there
Crossing the road
Minding not the heavy traffic
Some of us got crushed too
We were fleeing for life
We got spread so much
The entire passers by had a feel of our unique scent
Some of them even holding their breathe
And some using out their handkerchief as respiratory protection

There was no need for this invasion
We were in no competing with any of your things
We were making a living of your left over
We were not seen in your midst

It is alright, if you want us to vacate
But, it hurts if you take measures to eliminate us
We were created by the same nature
That created you
We assure you
Despite your dislike and distaste for us
We will survive as we are determined

You should appreciate the strength
And steadfastness with which we survive
Even the toughest of conditions
Will not eliminate this gene

You need to learn a lot from us
The tiny creatures, cockroaches

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When I Was King

The second time I lived on earth
Was several hundred years ago;
And—royal by my second birth—
I know as much as most men know.
I was a king who held the reins
As never modern monarch can;
I was a king, and I had brains,
And, what was more, I was a man!
Called to the throne in stormy times,
When things were at their very worst,
I had to fight—and not with rhymes—
My own self and my kindred first;
And after that my friends and foes,
And great abuses born of greed;
And when I’d fairly conquered those,
I ruled the land a king indeed.

I found a deal of rottenness,
Such as in modern towns we find;
I camped my poor in palaces
And tents upon the plain behind.
I marked the hovels, dens and drums
In that fair city by the sea.
And burnt the miles of wretched slums
And built the homes as they should be.

I stripped the baubles from the State,
And on the land I spent the spoil;
I hunted off the sullen great,
And to the farmers gave the soil.
My people were their own police;
My courts were free to everyone.
My priests were to preach love and peace;
My Judges to see justice done.

I’d studied men and studied kings,
No crawling cant would I allow;
I hated mean and paltry things,
As I can hate them even now.
A land of men I meant to see,
A strong and clean and noble race—
No subject dared kneel down to me,
But looked his king straight in the face

Had I not been a king in fact,
A king in council-hall and tent,
I might have let them crawl and act
The courtier to their heart’s content;
But when I called on other kings,
And saw men kneel, I felt inclined
To gently tip the abject things
And kick them very hard behind.

My subjects were not slaves, I guess,
But though the women in one thing—
A question ’twas of healthy dress—
Would dare to argue with their king
(I had to give in there, I own,
Though none denied that I was strong),
Yet they would hear my telephone
If anything went very wrong.

I also had some poets bright—
Their songs were grand, I will allow—
They were, if I remember right,
About as bad as bards are now.
I had to give them best at last,
And let them booze and let them sing;
As it is now, so in the past,
They’d small respect for gods or king.

I loved to wander through the streets—
I carried neither sword nor dirk—
And watch the building of my fleets,
And watch my artisans at work.
At times I would take off my coat
And show them how to do a thing—
Till someone, clucking in his throat,
Would stare and gasp, ‘It is the king!’

And I would say, ‘Shut up, you fools!
Is it for this my towns I burn?
You don’t know how to handle tools,
And by my faith you’ll have to learn!’
I was a king, but what of that?
A king may warble in the spring
And carry eggs home in his hat,
Provided that he is a king.

I loved to stroll about the town
With chums at night, and talk of things,
And, though I chanced to wear the crown,
My friends, by intellect, were kings.
When I was doubtful, then I might
Discuss a matter quietly,
But when I felt that I was right
No power on earth could alter me!

And now and then it was no sin
Nor folly to relax a bit—
I’d take my friends into an inn
And call for wine and pay for it.
And then of many things we’d clack
With loosened tongues and visions clear—
I often heard behind my back
The whispered ‘Peace, the king is here!’

The women harped about a queen,
I knew they longed to have a court
And flaunt their feathers on the scene,
But hitherto I’d held the fort.
My subjects wanted me, no doubt,
To give the throne a son and heir—
(There were some little kings about,
But that was neither here nor there).

I’d no occasion for a wife—
A queen as yet was not my plan;
I’d seen a lot of married life
My sire had been a married man.
A son and heir be hanged!’ I said—
How dare you ask for such a thing,
You fight it out when I am dead
And let the best man be the king!’

Your Majesty, we love you well!’
A candid friend would say to me
‘But there be tales that people tell
‘Unfitted to thy dignity’—
‘My dignity be damned!’ I’d say,
‘Bring me no women’s chattering!
‘I’ll be a man while yet I may—
‘When trouble comes I’ll be a king!

I’d kept my kingdom clean and strong
While other kingdoms were like ours—
I had no need to brook a wrong,
I feared not all the rotten Powers
I did not eat my heart out then,
Nor feebly fight in verse or prose
I’d take five hundred thousand men
To argue matters with my foes!

It thrilled me through, the mighty tramp
Of armëd men, the thundering cheer—
The pregnant whisper through the camp
At dead of night: ‘The King is here!’
And though we paid for victory
On some fields that were hard to hold,
The faith my soldiers had in me
Oft strengthened mine a hundredfold.

I’d chat with soldiers by the fires
On rocky heights and river banks,
I’d seek the brains that war requires,
And take my captains from the ranks.
And so, until the storm was by,
And came the peace just war can bring,
I bore me so that men might cry
With all their hearts, ‘God Save the King.’

When I was king the world was wide,
And I was strong and I was free.
I knew no hatred, knew no pride,
No envy and no treachery.
I feared no lies. I feared no truth,
Nor any storm that time might bring.
I had my love, I had my youth,
The world was mine when I was king.

Peace came at last—and strange is Fate—
The women begged just once alone
To see me robed in royal state
And seated on my father’s throne.
I thought, ‘Shall I this boon deny?’
And said—and ’twas a paltry thing:
‘I’ll show the fools just once that I
‘Can look, as well as be, a king.’

They dusted out the castle old,
And from the closet and the chest
They dug the jewels set in gold—
The crown and robes and all the rest.
They came with eyes like stars of night,
With diamonds set in raven hair,
They came with arms and bosoms white
And, Oh my God! but one was fair!

They dressed me as the kings had been,
The ancient royal purple spread,
And one that was to be my queen,
She placed the circlet on my head.
They pressed their hearts and bowed to me,
They knelt with arms uplifted all.
I felt the rush of vanity—
The pride that goes before the fall.

And then the banquet and the wine
With Satan’s music and the glance
Of siren eyes. Those captains mine
Were reeling in the maddening dance:
A finger writing on the wall,
While girls sang as the angels sing—
A drunken boaster in the hall,
The fool that used to be a king.
I rose againno matter how
A woman, and a deeper fall—
I move amongst my people now
The most degraded of them all.
But, if in centuries to come,
I live once more and claim my own,
I’ll see my subjects blind and dumb
Before they set me on a throne

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Patrick White

Not Even The Light

Not even the light of the stars
shining like the keys to the ancient love-letters
bound among the secret jewels
of the queen of heaven
penetrates me as deeply as you do.

The planet wheels into the night
bearing its burden of humans
murdering each other
to enforce one state of ignorance
upon another
as the rabid bees
strafe the demented flowers
on the far side of the world
for enriching their radioactive pollen,
convinced in their madness
more honey than blood will flow from the wound.

I walk by myself
along the brittle banks of a frozen stream
among the detonations of the cattails
waiting like Napoleonic cannoneers
to stoke the charge of the next volley.

The snow in the sunset
is stained a spectral apricot
that disappears like breath on a cold window
and the sky is vast with my insignificance.
Two or three decades of life left,
if I'm lucky,
and though I have tried to use my time
to leave a gift for someone I will never meet,
long ago I realized
there is no way of assessing
what they will find
after the coffin closes like an eyelid
on this long, dark, radiant brevity
that once shone like the moon
in the ores of my blood.

Like the wandering of this rivulet
my heart has always been
a pilgrim without a shrine
and the direction of prayer has encompassed all
like a man getting up off his knees
and walking through an open door
to drink from the cup of his lover
in the shadows of the autumn willow
that sways like kite-tails
from the flights of fire
she ignites among the stars
that gather in the dark like strangers
before their own ghosts.

What the wind
has torn away from me like apple-bloom,
like poems, like smoke and leaf, like skies,
like tears and blood and faith
it has replaced
with these deeper revelations of you
that hang like a windfall of scarlet bells
from the branch of a dead tree in winter.

The wine of your life and light
has matured in the ferocious crucibles of the sun
and you have been poured out
like the passion of a sword
to cleave the stone of my heart
with these truant rivers of wounded silver
that flow through me like blood.

A young breeze
tries to hone the edge of its blade
on the rising moon
as a black ribbon of water
runs like a snake of oil
between the enclosing jaws
and cataracts of ice,
tiny wavelets scaling its skin
scintillant with the small commotions of stars overhead.
The bush wolves
have been nosing for muskrat
and you can almost taste the steam
rising from hot meat on the air.

I squeak like a pulley through the virgin snow,
following the banks of my own meandering,
owing nothing of myself to anyone,
wholly my own solitude,
as I pass through the gates
of the enclosing darkness
trying to enter the abyss and the mystery
of what I have lived so precariously
over the last sixty-three years,
what it means, if anything,
to be a human among these paper birches
on an island in the stream,
looking up at the intimate unattainability
of the stars,
knowing you are growing old,
that death is more populous with friends
than life, that love
has sloughed you so many times
like a viper's skin,
like the phases of the moon,
like a shrine of smoke and ashes,
that the phoenix hesitates
to robe itself in the full glory
of its former plumes of fire.

My mother will die soon.
I must say it,
voice it in my blood
to be able to bear it
and my children are clouds in the world
that no longer look for their reflections
in the eyes of the lake they arose from
as if they were merely breathed out.

And how in any god's name
can a man define the absence
he has grown to be,
except he standardize his own spinal cord
as the only measure of loss
he has to go by?
And even after
all the millennia of my walking,
standing up,
I'm still only six feet closer to the stars
though my mind can embody all of space
in a solitary thought.

And the deep, inner silence
in the empty throne-room of my heart
where even the most profound events of my life
are seen to be ultimately no more
than the antics of a jester
playing with shadows,
turns out after all to be
just another mode of weeping.

It takes a lifetime
for a dropp of water
to gather the courage to fall
from the tip of a blade of stargrass,
and the tongue has tears
the eyes know nothing of.
I admire the cool crimson
on the brushes of the ground willow
as they try to catch my likeness
on the ice-primed canvas of the snow,
but suggest
to portray me as I lived
they need to be loaded with blood not paint.

Like the moon
I have worn the same blossom
as a face
for years now
and I still don't know the fruit
that ripens beneath it;
whether my life has sweetened
in orchards of light,
or black dwarf of the forbidden apple
on a dead tree,
I taste like a full eclipse.

And what could it change even if I did know?
When the diaspora of my starseed
breaks bread
at a harvest of thorns;
who is the host
and who is the guest
and who asks for a menu?

And no matter how far from home
the journey takes him,
whether down a dead-end alley
or further than the stars
was there ever a man
who didn't walk to his own funeral
like a bell
looking for any beginning
that might not be lost in the end?
Or does the snake
that takes its tail in its mouth
as a gesture of eternity
eventually end up swallowing
its own head
like this stream before me
making its way to the sea?

I stepped across a star sill
through a vertical door into life
and in the leaving of it
I shall knock from the inside
on a door that's horizontal
to continue my descent toward earth
down a ladder of thresholds;
and what began so earnestly
among family and friends and lovers
will be concluded by a stranger
who will wear my name like a gravestone.

But here among the tangle
of these fallen trees, their roots
fleshed out
and washed like a corpse
by the water and the snow,
Venus peers through the fingers
of the branches above
where two crows have paired
like quotation marks
around the hearsay of the night
though I am left speechless
by the random beauty of the scene,
as if my voice had been released like a bird
into its own most intimate, inward vision
and that vision were everywhere you like the sky
it disappears into like I do
everytime my heart is opened
like one of the lockets of time
and I stare into your eyes
and the universe stares back
as you breathe out the night with all of its stars
and then I breathe you in
just as a golden feather of the moon
lands without a ripple
or unravelling wake
on the mirror of these lonely, black waters
I have followed deep into the darkness
like the urgent secret of my own lifestream,
and I know it's you. I know it's you.

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Someone Is Going To Pay For This


Why are you screaming like that?
You nearly scared me to death.

That look...
In your eyes.
What is wrong?

The sky.
I saw the sky...
And it was blue.

What did I tell you about lieing?

'It's true mommy.
It's true.
My friends and I just left the beach.
And it was covered with...'

Go on!
Don't cry.
Mother's here.

It was covered with 'white' sand! '


We saw people smiling.
At us.'

Where is my gun?
I want you to stay in this house.
Go to your room.
Don't go anywhere.
I'll be right back.

'Where are you going, mommy? '

Someone is trying to feed my child with delusions.
And I don't like it one bit.
We are here to trash this world.
Not respect it.
Do you understand that?

'Yes, mommy! '

You go to your room.
I'll be right back.
Someone is going to pay for this.

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That Need For Words Like These

This time unlike those we have passed...
Like the blooming of fresh scented Spring flowers.
I will stop to express my gratitude to you.

This time,
As time speeds with such a lightening burst...
I will not question or rehearse my comments,
Or response.
In a hesitated wait.
To click on to light the room,
From a dusted ceiling sconce.
I wish to see your smile sparkle.

Those 'opportunities' must now be taken.
No hour is promised for anyone to fake!
Or hesitate until it is too late.
To say an appreciation for those moments...
As we both experience this blessing,
We call life.
And lived as we know it 'now'...
Dared. It seems!

This time unlike those we have passed,
Flying by so fast.
Is that time we have...
Today right now as it is grasped.
Unlike dreams that go for some untouched.
To say what is in our hearts to be spoken.
Before it too slips from our reach...
With that need for words like these,
To be expressed and heard.
Without desparing from those wishes,
We had said them often.
But never too much!

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The System Remains

Secrets deception
Answers to give their own strength
As I look into your eyes questions need
Your silence and compromise
In my mind your voice towards me is wasted time
In your life there's frustration
And we fight for your say
It's your time for creation
As your time fades away
Is there a right and is there a reason
Do they lie and blind our own eyes
We strive for life a fight in the system
Only to find they supply our destiny
Twisted Ignorance
To those he lies for his own gain
Will you side away or be blinded to mine
Do we still fight trying to seek life in a better light
In our day
Here in our life is there a chance for this place in time
So we know
Threats trades negative power in rage
In a system that still remains
Knowing what could be
As we ask alone
Will we see as one
Do we still fight trying to seek life in a better light
Here in our life is there a chance for this place in time
Is there a reason for all the wrong
We need a change in vision
Needed for us to grow
Why I was chosen you are to blame
My mission here in power is my domain
You look for the answers seeking the chance
Are questions worth giving the system remains

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The Need For Prayer

While you've been sleeping,
The world has moved on...
The planets still circle mid the stars,
While on Earth we know of Man,
The plunderer unchanged...
Pity, that, when you consider...
It would have been better
If somehow he would have cared.
If only more had prayed...
Perhaps there would have been
Less sorrows, setbacks, deaths...
Perhaps more smiles, more hugs,
More wisdom, more joy.
Perhaps more poems, more songs,
More statues and pictures.
Golden opportunities lost...

Alas, so many ignored the Lord!
Forgot Him or never knew Him,
Or knew Him then distrusted Him,
Or got distracted by love and kisses
And cuddles and promises...
Swept away on a tide of titillations.
Swamped, engulfed, tossed here and there,
No longer caring or sharing...

Or sorrows came that diminished faith,
Belittled it, spurned it, scorned it...
Made it seem as pointless, nothing,
An utter waste of time and energy...
Pity, that, when you consider...
For Jesus wasn't born without reason.
He lived and loved with purpose.
He spent nights in prayer, alone...

Could you not spend one hour with ME?
He asked His friends before His arrest!
What, not one single hour with ME?
But they were tired, too...
And while they were sleeping...
The world changed and their dearest friend, too...
The next day He was dead...
That was when they couldn't sleep...

Hence the need for prayer...

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A Need For Mercy

It was God’s Grace that I received, on that day when I believed.
Today it’s God’s Mercy that I need, and on this very day indeed.
I need God to intervene for me, so His hand of Grace I may see.
To see His hand in my life today, while working in a special way.

It was Grace that saved me first, when in sin, I was at my worst,
And for Mercy, did not receive, those eternal wages, due to me.
As it was totally of God’s Grace, when His Son died in my place,
When Christ forgave all my sin, and God The Father took me in.

Now He is at God’s Right Hand, where for us He takes a stand,
Where Christ intervenes for me, and all others who truly believe.
And so at times I seek His face, that I may receive God’s Grace,
That I may have Mercy from God, instead of His chastising Rod.

God’s Mercy is abundant friend, with Grace sufficient to the end.
When I face a day filled with strife, I need God’s Grace in my life.
But if Mercy to me does not come, I receive Grace from His Son,
And Christ’s Grace is sufficient to, guide me always fully through.

So today I’ll lean upon The Lord, whose Grace always will endure,
This through any trial in any pain, for my life He will surely sustain.
For it’s only by His Mercy I’ll be, in Heaven with Christ for Eternity.
And very soon by God’s Grace, above I will see my Savior’s face.

(Copyright ©01/2006)

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Maya Angelou

The Rock Cries Out to Us Today

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers--
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot...
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours--your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
Into your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

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Patrick White

The Brighter The Light, The Deeper The Shadow

for Rebekah Garland

The brighter the light, the deeper the shadow.
Shine. And anyone who can see will follow.
Just make sure the stars are real and not tinfoil.
You don't need to know where you're going
to be a good guide when you yourself are the path you're on.
Shine. You're the blue orchid in the Pleiades.
You're the firefly in the skull that kicked in
like a bioluminescent emergency light
when the dead woke up to discover they had no eyes.
You're the last candle dancing to the pulse of the dragon's heart.
You have suffered and lost. Suffered and won.
Suffered and healed like wounded water on the moon.
Shine like a fountainmouth. Shine like a watershed
that can feel the galaxies swimming through it like starfish
whirling like Sufis at the crossroads of a black hole
like the navel of the wheeling world with the singularity
of a hidden jewel in it like the third eye of a lump of coal
shining out like a diamond of the first magnitude.

You can do cartwheels across the sky
as if your legs and arms were spokes.
You can listen for a voice in the abyss of time and silence
until your ears turn into radio telescopes
turning like calla lilies on a jinxed prayer wheel
looking for signs of extraterrestrial rural life
like pendulous Zen pagodas hanging like bird feeders
on the errant limb of a locust tree, waiting for birds.
Shine like a sword of fire outside the gates of your re-entry
from a long return journey of the smokey dove
that wasn't sacrificed, but volunteered
to go see what happened to the crow that was sent out first
to witch for land with an olive branch of lightning in its beak
as a sign of the truce we seek with the rain,
we seek through our tears, we seek like the new moon
wholly reflected in every plinth of our shattered mirrors
of what appeared to be real, until, like hungry ghosts
we tried to grasp it and it slipped through our fingers
like an hourglass full of stars, a rosary of Canada geese,
a slaver's neckchain made of gold like a Celtic torgue.

Shine. I know there's a genie of blue hydrogen in your lamp
and you don't need a nightwatchman to ignite it every night,
though I expect you'd meet up later at a seance,
like the creative medium of a spiritual adept at sensual silence.
But when you do, you fire up hell like a school furnace
as easily as you illuminate paradise with a poppy and a sunflower.
Shine. This is your hour. When it's darkest and it matters the most.
Be a lighthouse off your own shipwrecked coast.
Be the many-petalled matchbook of a flower that blooms in fire
once every seven thousand years, and when the wind
doesn't feed it anything but the milk and bread of ghosts,
I know you've got the ferocious courage
not to blow it out just because you can. Shine
like a wavelength ploughing the dead seas of the moon
like a garden it intends to plant in its wake
that will keep on expanding like the growing edge
of tree rings emanating like cambium from the heartwood
of a cosmic tree that never stops bearing fruit
even when it feels like a Pre-Cambrian tree in a petrified forest
under the Arctic ice of a new polarized ice age.

Don't hide in the weeds and the shadows
of the star you were meant to be at this zenith
of your ascendency whether you're peaking or at nadir.
Shine. And let me see if I can recognize by one star alone
what constellation you're shapeshifting into
like a starmap with flightpaths and insights of her own
through the eye of the hurricane
in the crowns of the black walnut trees
where the nightbirds are waiting as autumn's coming on
for you to show them how to make their own way home.
Be a lamp in the arms of your own journey.
Just as the moon that's apprenticed like a sorceress
to all the phases of your beautiful, crazy wisdom is.

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The Interrogation Of The Man Of Many Hearts

Who's she, that one in your arms?

She's the one I carried my bones to
and built a house that was just a cot
and built a life that was over an hour
and built a castle where no one lives
and built, in the end, a song
to go with the ceremony.

Why have you brought her here?
Why do you knock on my door
with your little stores and songs?

I had joined her the way a man joins
a woman and yet there was no place
for festivities or formalities
and these things matter to a woman
and, you see, we live in a cold climate
and are not permitted to kiss on the street
so I made up a song that wasn't true.
I made up a song called Marriage.

You come to me out of wedlock
and kick your foot on my stoop
and ask me to measure such things?

Never. Never. Not my real wife.
She's my real witch, my fork, my mare,
my mother of tears, my skirtful of hell,
the stamp of my sorrows, the stamp of my bruises
and also the children she might bear
and also a private place, a body of bones
that I would honestly buy, if I could buy,
that I would marry, if I could marry.

And should I torment you for that?
Each man has a small fate allotted to him
and yours is a passionate one.

But I am in torment. We have no place.
The cot we share is almost a prison
where I can't say buttercup, bobolink,
sugarduck, pumpkin, love ribbon, locket,
valentine, summergirl, funnygirl and all
those nonsense things one says in bed.
To say I have bedded with her is not enough.
I have not only bedded her down.
I have tied her down with a knot.

Then why do you stick your fists
into your pockets? Why do you shuffle
your feet like a schoolboy?

For years I have tied this knot in my dreams.
I have walked through a door in my dreams
and she was standing there in my mother's apron.
Once she crawled through a window that was shaped
like a keyhole and she was wearing my daughter's
pink corduroys and each time I tied these women
in a knot. Once a queen came. I tied her too.
But this is something I have actually tied
and now I have made her fast.
I sang her out. I caught her down.
I stamped her out with a song.
There was no other apartment for it.
There was no other chamber for it.
Only the knot. The bedded-down knot.
Thus I have laid my hands upon her
and have called her eyes and her mouth
as mine, as also her tongue.

Why do you ask me to make choices?
I am not a judge or a psychologist.
You own your bedded-down knot.

And yet I have real daytimes and nighttimes
with children and balconies and a good wife.
Thus I have tied these other knots,
yet I would rather not think of them
when I speak to you of her. Not now.
If she were a room to rent I would pay.
If she were a life to save I would save.
Maybe I am a man of many hearts.

A man of many hearts?
Why then do you tremble at my doorway?
A man of many hearts does not need me.

I'm caught deep in the dye of her.
I have allowed you to catch me red-handed,
catch me with my wild oats in a wild clock
for my mare, my dove and my own clean body.
People might say I have snakes in my boots
but I tell you that just once am I in the stirrups,
just once, this once, in the cup.
The love of the woman is in the song.
I called her the woman in red.
I called her the woman in pink
but she was ten colors
and ten women
I could hardly name her.

I know who she is.
You have named her enough.

Maybe I shouldn't have put it in words.
Frankly, I think I'm worse for this kissing,
drunk as a piper, kicking the traces
and determined to tie her up forever.
You see the song is the life,
the life I can't live.
God, even as he passes,
hand down monogamy like slang.
I wanted to write her into the law.
But, you know, there is no law for this.

Man of many hearts, you are a fool!
The clover has grown thorns this year
and robbed the cattle of their fruit
and the stones of the river
have sucked men's eyes dry,
season after season,
and every bed has been condemned,
not by morality or law,
but by time.

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Jackop Zuma, South Africa, The World's Greatest News Ladies And Gentlemen Stop Anything Hear Is Your Invitation

South Africa is about to become a tolerable nation
South Africa is about to be born anew
Can you imagine a tolerable state?
The Deputy President of South Africa
They said you are the rapist
But the man kept silent
The man nodded silent
The court proved you to be not guilty.
They first started by saying you fraud the state money.
Now and then you brought the weapons illegal from abroad
But the man kept silent
The case was closed and it is then again open.
The court will then again close it
It will close it again because there is no fossil evidence that you were any fraudster.
Yes we as the Proudly South African agree
We agree that you are innocent
Today I am making the History
This is the History that will remain to be red by the millions of future generations
In Africa there once lived a man
A man that was proud of his party and his party
People were confused so that they donnot see him in the eyes of the presidency
But sothat they see him in the eyes of fraudsters and rapist and we donnot know what still to come
The state president excluded you but you did not quit the party
The people loved you even more than before
It was Mshiniwami Mshiniwami almost every where
Ladies and Gentlemen: that is the song which was sung by South African leaders as oppose to oppression anti-free trade barriers
You can make your own party which can make you stand as the South African president
But you have never thought of that nonsense
This is because you know what is like to be a South African
Unlike other weakest South African leaders you have not yet forget where we come from
You have not yet forget how has South Africans fought for this freedom of our country
You understand the effort of his presidency Steve Biko whom his life was lost through the struggle for our liberation struggle
Yes you do understand the effort of his PRESIDENCY DOCTOR NELSON MANDELA
I wonder how joyful Cris Hhani might have been
If he can see your tolerance and diplomacy in this Nation Spear
Perhaps there is only one man in the millionth whose leadership is more or less as yours
That was Elijah
A man who was singing and clapping the hands in the fire wagon
The fire is the parliament
And the world is the fire wagon
This is our three wheeled wagon
It name is Rainbow Nation
The Front wheel is ANC which is the ruling party in South Africa
The two hind wheels is ANC youth league and the COSADTU
Ladies and Gentlemen: there are two drivers operating this car
But the fire will decide which one is to be burned off
Because the forward moving countries like a forward moving country cannot be driven by the two drivers
But I see the glory burning inside Jackop Zuma
This is a glory that was planted millions feet underground
And this is why it is difficult to lose
My question to the Deputy President is:
How did you know that South Africa cannot live in segregation baby
How did you realize that every spirit needs you?
Shame to those who have been moving up and down like the parrots trying to divide our rainbow country
Shame to those who were going up and down from state to states corrupting your name in the media
Zuma is removed from the parliament, they said! ! !
But if I were the opposition party leader or the one who want to steal your glory I could have done the same thing
It is the time for South Africans to choose whether South Africa is Fascist State or Democratic State
High and low people are saying that Jacop Zuma was living in the Forests
He needed to see this country out of oppression and anti-free trade beerier
Forf those parrots who are using Jacop Zuma’s name
Can they tell America, Japan or Asia what they have did.
Africa South Africa I am afraid
Hear are the World’s greatest news
The ANC presidency elections have come
ANC Youth League is the ones who have the strong vote to decide our future leader
Gone are the days when NXAMALALA was taken for granted
Gone are the days when the South Africa diplomatic deputy precedent was isolated
Gone are the days when our African National Congress was oppressed by the invisible racists
Dear my beautiful racists
It was nice having with you
Your time is over
We don’t know where you will go
Because your lies seemed to disgust the God
Maybe you have got your haven in the Dogs haven
because you divided our party such that we have forgot our origin
You corrupted the name of the Rainbow Country
You are talking of the Black Coconuts
Intead of Bhambatha Kamancinza
Instead of June 16 of the 1976
Person who hates our party we donnot know your history in liberation struggling
Ladies and Gentlemen: the vote is counts
Mr South Africa
Jackop Zuma
We shall watch you
We shall watch you when you walk tall
Time folds away
This are the fires
Troubles are little wonders
Please wait just for a moment
Because your glory is found elsewhere
You have a glory oversees
You have a glory in the televisions
The World’s Day View has come
You are the South African President
I am listening outside
There is something happening
The children are climbing the walls
The cars are flying like the aero planes
This is because the aeroplanes have come to crash
Your temptations drivers will be beggars
Today I am inviting the Africa, Europe, Asia Australia and USA
To come and see the World’s biggest news
Which are going to take place from the 13th of September 2007
Come and look when the tables are turned up side down this are the tragedies of the Mineral resource conflicts
These are the World Cup conflicts
Via South Africa Viva
Viva Jackop Zuma Viva
After the tables have turned upside down the world will start to understand the meaning of the song Mshiniwam, Mshiniwam
South Afcrica is Jackop ZUMA
What a wonderful car with three wheels: ANC Youth League, COSADTU and SACP
And two drivers: Thabo Mbheki and JACKOP ZUMA
Welcome to South Africa
Welcome to Limpompo
Siyaya e –Limpompo siyaya
We are going to elect our proudly ANC president
Jackop Zuma
Local is Lekker

(17-11-2007) – (20-11-2020)

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