My Tsonga, My Language, My Heritage
My Culture represent my roots
My traditions represent my Being
My Religion represent my Faith
My Language is my heritage
My TSONGA MY freedom
I'm jack of all trade master of all Languages.
I can speak all 11 South African language
I can speak my Language above freedom of speech
I'm proud TSONGA iam Tsonga that makes me Original
poem by Advice Molewa
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Soul Surfing
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack it up, jack up
Jack up, jack up
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
With your help, with your help, with your with your with your help
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
With your help, turn you on
[...] Read more
song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Map Of Culture
Culture
Contents
What is Culture?
The Importance of Culture
Culture Varies
Culture is Critical
The Sociobiology Debate
Values, Norms, and Social Control
Signs and Symbols
Language
Terms and Definitions
Approaches to the Study of Culture
Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?
What is Culture?
I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .
Back to Contents
[...] Read more
poem by Nyein Way
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She's Got The Jack
She gave me the Queen
She gave me the King
She was wheelin' and dealin'
Just doin' her thing
She was holdin' a pair
But I had to try
Her Deuce was wild
But my Ace was high
But how was I to know
That she'd been dealt with before
Said she'd never had a Full House
But I should have known
From the tattoo on her left leg
And the garter on her right
She'd have the card to bring me down
If she played it right
She's got the jack, she's got the jack
She's got the jack, she's got the jack
She's got the jack, she's got the jack
She's got the jack, she's got the jack
She's got the jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack
She's got the jack
Poker face was her name
Poker face was her nature
Poker straight was her game
If she knew she could get you
She played 'em fast
And she played 'em hard
She could close her eyes
And feel every card
But how was I to know
That she'd been shuffled before
Said she'd never had a Royal Flush
But I should have known
That all the cards were comin'
From the bottom of the pack
And if I'd known what she was dealin' out
I'd have dealt it back
She's got the jack, she's got the jack
She's got the jack, and who knows what else?
She's got the jack, yeah, yeah
She's got the jack, she's got the jack
She's got the jack, she's got the jack
She's got the jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack, jack
She's got the jack
She's got the jack, she's got the jack,
Ooh, It was a bad deal, (Jack)
She gave me the (Jack), hey
She's got the (Jack), she's got the (Jack)
She's got the (Jack), ooh can't you tell
[...] Read more
song performed by AC-DC
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.
Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.
When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:
Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'
My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?
Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;
And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.
Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.
Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.
Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.
Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.
Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:
[...] Read more
poem by Ralph Erskine
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Wasteland
Out into the wasteland
Out into the wasteland
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
No religion
Emissionary man amongst the heathen
Cant you see a modern primitive
I came back, Im gonna find,
Im gonna give religion
When there was, no religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion, no religion at all
Theres a man in need of resurrection
(no religion)
Cant you see a modern primitive
(no religion)
But Im a man I need my love and
Freedom (no religion)
When there was no freedom at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
In vr land
The future of fun
Tell me what to do
In vr law
Computer crime
Um, so sublime
[...] Read more
song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jack The Idiot Dunce
Whos the fool with the cross-eyed stare,
The turned up nose and moronic glare?
Whos that simpleton standing over there?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Whos that dumb-looking freckle-faced runt?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
He walks like his feet are on back to front,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
When he waddles down the street he looks kind of queer,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce,
Because hes got two left feet and taxi-door ears,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
And when we laugh at the clothes he wears,
Jack just smiles cos he dont care.
Whos that fool? whos that ninny?
Whos that twit? whos that chump?
The idiot dunce, the idiot dunce.
Who is always the bottom of the class?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Whos a fool? whos a boob?
Whos a kook and an ass?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
When we take examinations he never gets a pass,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
And we all put him down cos he cant think fast,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
We ridicule him and punch him around,
But jack just laughs and stands his ground,
The idiot dunce, the idiot dunce.
Yeah, hes so unco-ordinated.
Yeah, and so disorientated,
And when we have a high school hop
You ought to see that idiot bop
And his arms and his legs
Seem to have minds of their own,
And you dont need brains
To have educated muscles and bones.
Yeah, you ought to see him dance
He moves like hes in a trance,
And when we have a high school hop
You ought to see that idiot rock,
And hes finally proved
That you dont need a high i.q.
To make your body move.
Now hes created a dance that everybodys trying to do.
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Do the idiot dunce.
All right put your finger on your nose,
Now cross those eyes.
Put your hands on your hips,
[...] Read more
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Universal Freedom Is......
Freedom from hunger and freedom from pain
freedom from loss and so freedom from gain.
Freedom to give and freedom to share
freedom from want and that of despair.
Freedom to think and freedom to know
freedom to achieve and freedom to grow.
Freedom from bondage and freedom of liberation
freedom from ignorance and any unknown situation.
Freedom to come and freedom to leave
freedom to stay and freedom to conceive.
Freedom from struggle and freedom of ease
freedom to enjoy and the capacity to please.
Freedom from failure and freedom of success
freedom from denial and freedom of access.
Freedom from illusion and freedom of reality
freedom to become what we are in actuality.
Freedom to live and freedom to die
freedom to laugh and freedom to cry.
Freedom to speak and freedom to listen
freedom to act based on a wise decision.
Freedom from hate and freedom of love
freedom of below and freedom of above.
Freedom of the past and freedom of the present
freedom of the future and what it can represent.
Freedom from war and freedom of peace
freedom to begin and freedom to cease.
Freedom from sickness and freedom of health
freedom from poverty and mishandled wealth.
Freedom from wrong and freedom being right
freedom of the day and freedom of the night.
Freedom to choose and freedom to reject
freedom to imagine what there is to expect.
Freedom from lust and freedom from greed
freedom from anger and freedom from breed.
Freedom from jealousy and freedom from pride
freedom from within and freedom from outside.
Freedom of always not having anything to hide.
Freedom from space and also freedom from time
freedom from attachment and freedom from crime
Freedom to work and freedom to play
freedom to believe and freedom to pray.
[...] Read more
poem by George Krokos
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jackop Zuma, South Africa, The World's Greatest News Ladies And Gentlemen Stop Anything Hear Is Your Invitation
JACKOP ZUMA JACOP ZUMA
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
[...] Read more
poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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Jack Honest, or the Widow and Her Son
Jack Honest was only eight years of age when his father died,
And by the death of his father, Mrs Honest was sorely tried;
And Jack was his father's only joy and pride,
And for honesty Jack couldn't be equalled in the country-side.
So a short time before Jack's father died,
'Twas loud and bitterly for Jack he cried,
And bade him sit down by his bedside,
And then told him to be honest whatever did betide.
John, he said, looking him earnestly in the face,
Never let your actions your name disgrace,
Remember, my dear boy, and do what's right,
And God will bless you by day and night.
Then Mr Honest bade his son farewell, and breathed his last,
While the hot tears from Jack's eyes fell thick and fast;
And the poor child did loudly sob and moan,
When he knew his father had left him and his mother alone.
So, as time wore on, Jack grew to be a fine boy,
And was to his mother a help and joy;
And, one evening, she said, Jack, you are my only prop,
I must tell you, dear, I'm thinking about opening a shop.
Oh! that's a capital thought, mother, cried Jack,
And to take care of the shop I won't be slack;
Then his mother said, Jackey, we will try this plan,
And look to God for his blessing, and do all we can.
So the widow opened the shop and succeeded very well,
But in a few months fresh troubles her befell--
Alas! poor Mrs Honest was of fever taken ill,
But Jack attended his mother with a kindly will.
But, for fear of catching the fever, her customers kept away,
And once more there wasn't enough money the rent to pay;
And in her difficulties Mrs Honest could form no plan to get out,
But God would help her, she had no doubt.
So, one afternoon, Mrs Honest sent Jack away
To a person that owed her some money, and told him not to stay,
But when he got there the person had fled,
And to return home without the money he was in dread.
So he saw a gentleman in a carriage driving along at a rapid rate,
And Jack ran forward to his mansion and opened the lodge-gate,
Then the gentleman opened his purse and gave him, as he thought, a shilling
For opening the lodge-gate so cleverly and so willing.
[...] Read more
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Bishop Blougram's Apology
No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk.
A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith!
We ought to have our Abbey back, you see.
It's different, preaching in basilicas,
And doing duty in some masterpiece
Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart!
I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes,
Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere;
It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh?
These hot long ceremonies of our church
Cost us a little—oh, they pay the price,
You take me—amply pay it! Now, we'll talk.
So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs.
No deprecation—nay, I beg you, sir!
Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know,
I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out,
We'd see truth dawn together?—truth that peeps
Over the glasses' edge when dinner's done,
And body gets its sop and holds its noise
And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time:
Truth's break of day! You do despise me then.
And if I say, "despise me"—never fear!
1 know you do not in a certain sense—
Not in my arm-chair, for example: here,
I well imagine you respect my place
(Status, entourage, worldly circumstance)
Quite to its value—very much indeed:
—Are up to the protesting eyes of you
In pride at being seated here for once—
You'll turn it to such capital account!
When somebody, through years and years to come,
Hints of the bishop—names me—that's enough:
"Blougram? I knew him"—(into it you slide)
"Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day,
All alone, we two; he's a clever man:
And after dinner—why, the wine you know—
Oh, there was wine, and good!—what with the wine . . .
'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk!
He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen
Something of mine he relished, some review:
He's quite above their humbug in his heart,
Half-said as much, indeed—the thing's his trade.
I warrant, Blougram's sceptical at times:
How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!"
Che che, my dear sir, as we say at Rome,
Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take;
You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths:
The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jack o' the Cudgel
Part I
'Twas in the famous town of Windsor, on a fine summer morn,
Where the sign of Windsor Castle did a tavern adorn;
And there sat several soldiers drinking together,
Resolved to make merry in spite of wind or weather.
And old Simon the landlord was at the head of the table,
Cutting slices of beef as quick as he was able;
And one of the soldiers was of rather superior rank,
And on his dress trinkets of gold and silver together did clank.
He was a free companion, but surly and hard,
And a soldier of fortune, and was named Croquard;
And he had all the appearance of his martial calling,
But on this particular morning he was rudely bawling.
So the other soldiers laughed, for their spirits felt gay,
And they applauded his jokes, and let him have his own way,
Because he could command as desperate a gang of men as any in the world,
So many a joke and slur at the soldiers he hurled.
And the mirth increased as the day wore on,
And Croquard didn't seem the least woe-begone;
But, as he was trolling out a very merry song,
A wandering minstrel sat down beside him, and thought it no wrong.
By my troth, shouted Croquard, Come here, minstrel,
And give us a stave of love or war, which is my will:
But the minstrel didn'-t appear to comply with this request,
And he tried to withdraw, as he thought it was best.
Ho ! didst thou hear me, varlet? then Croquard did cry:
Oh! gentle sir, replied the minstrel, I cannot with your wish comply;
Believe me, I sing best to the ladies at the court,
And, in doing so, find it more profitable sport.
What, varlet! cried Croquard, Dost thou refuse me?
By heaven, proud cur, you shall see
And feel the weight of my hand before you are much older:
Then he instantly sprang up, and seized the minstrel by the shoulder.
Then the youth began to tremble, and seemed terrified to death,
And appeared ready to faint for the want of breath;
While Croquard shook him roughly, just like an ugly whelp,
And he looked from one to another, imploring help
At this moment a youth observed what was going on,
And he cried out to Croquard, Inhuman monster, begone!
Leave the minstrel, thou pig-headed giant, or I'll make you repent,
[...] Read more
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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02-04-2012 Brother I give you my answer for Black People African Sahara it mesmerizes the wise largest desert it is asked of we What is Africa is to me 3.3 million miles of grea
Brother I give you my answer
for Black People
African Sahara
it mesmerizes the wise
largest desert
it is asked of we
What is Africa is to me
3.3 million miles
of great desert
once a forest
once a great sea
once an empty hole
in space just waiting
to be that it can
birth the blackness
of who my mothers be
3.3 millions
you can not see it all
Trans Saharan trade
is but a child
weather selling slaves
or selling salt
and always
brought and sold
the black man's art, gold
the paintings
was still for the walls
to surround us
a representation of the thing
that be, the God that
rose Africa from the sea
man got his
walking feet
on Africa's soil
Africa Moors
salt caravans
Africa the salt
of the land
what more did Africa
give to man
gold first mimed
found its glow
in the hands of
a black child
oldest gold jewelry
in Queen Zer's tomb
being as old as this
there is nothing
that we can not do
[...] Read more
poem by David E. Patton
Added by Poetry Lover
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Portugal Manoel Da Assumpcam Missionary.
'Portugal Manoel Da Assumpcam
Amar Sonar Moyna Pakki Amigo,
I never seen you in my live ever before
Which Country are you from?
My dear amigo Manoel Da Assumpcam.
Your colour of heritage in unknown Land l fear to bear your name in word.
I can't bear to missed you my amigo, Oh yes it can't be forgot either
You have contributed your nameless name in the nation without name
To influence other and to form the crowd in unknown Land,
Where are you from Sir?
And to shape not my nationalities in Language in Culture but yours!
The present Language in Bangla o' my dear amigo never was counted by.
You may be nothing To Government of Portugal than but today.
Priceless name in the heart of people's in the unknown Land.
I have nothing to say in Language Portuguese other than to say thank you.
For teaching and advocating me in Language in Bangla
That nation today celebrates every year.
With their tears on their eyes and face.
Bear to say words other than few minute in silent,
As orphanage children's looking at each other face.
Remembering those who gave their words in Bangla and live for.
And today I believe in visual hallucination it's not too late
to say how much I love you in Language in Bangla ‘Nil Dariar Prem'
The Birth of new Generation in Culture in Bangla.
Almost was given birth after more than three century in Bangla
'Inna-Lilla-He-O-Inna-He-La-He-Ra-Je-Ow n'
When will I met you?
Day of Kiamot is to far from Bay of Bengal to Portugal.
The mother of all living things on Earth,
Singing in the name of Almighty Lord ‘Allah' too
In the soil of unknown Land in British India my not his or her love.
How lucky you was never assassinated by knowing you was pigeons,
As Bongo Bandhu,
First Prime Ministers of Bangladesh.
I miss you ‘Manoel Da Assumpcam'
Your name prescribed in Language Bangla by name
'Shaheed Minar'
Capital City o Bangladesh.
By name once was known Dac-ca' now became ‘DHA-KA'
Your name in my Language Mother tongues days and nights,
‘Joy Bangla'
To Miss you my dear amigo you left us under your own broken umbrella.
[...] Read more
poem by Abdul Haye Amin
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Iam
Iam legacy
Iam song
Iam rhythm, that arises as the dawn
Iam purpose
Iam strong
Iam happy, filled with glee
Iam unique
Iam me
Iam him
Iam she
Iam anywhere or anybody, I imagine to be.
Iam
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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The Symphony
"O Trade! O Trade! would thou wert dead!
The Time needs heart -- 'tis tired of head:
We're all for love," the violins said.
"Of what avail the rigorous tale
Of bill for coin and box for bale?
Grant thee, O Trade! thine uttermost hope:
Level red gold with blue sky-slope,
And base it deep as devils grope:
When all's done, what hast thou won
Of the only sweet that's under the sun?
Ay, canst thou buy a single sigh
Of true love's least, least ecstasy?"
Then, with a bridegroom's heart-beats trembling,
All the mightier strings assembling
Ranged them on the violins' side
As when the bridegroom leads the bride,
And, heart in voice, together cried:
"Yea, what avail the endless tale
Of gain by cunning and plus by sale?
Look up the land, look down the land
The poor, the poor, the poor, they stand
Wedged by the pressing of Trade's hand
Against an inward-opening door
That pressure tightens evermore:
They sigh a monstrous foul-air sigh
For the outside leagues of liberty,
Where Art, sweet lark, translates the sky
Into a heavenly melody.
`Each day, all day' (these poor folks say),
`In the same old year-long, drear-long way,
We weave in the mills and heave in the kilns,
We sieve mine-meshes under the hills,
And thieve much gold from the Devil's bank tills,
To relieve, O God, what manner of ills? --
The beasts, they hunger, and eat, and die;
And so do we, and the world's a sty;
Hush, fellow-swine: why nuzzle and cry?
"Swinehood hath no remedy"
Say many men, and hasten by,
Clamping the nose and blinking the eye.
But who said once, in the lordly tone,
"Man shall not live by bread alone
But all that cometh from the Throne?"
Hath God said so?
But Trade saith "No:"
And the kilns and the curt-tongued mills say "Go!
There's plenty that can, if you can't: we know.
Move out, if you think you're underpaid.
The poor are prolific; we're not afraid;
Trade is trade."'"
[...] Read more
poem by Sidney Lanier
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To Jack
SO, I’ve battled it through on my own, Jack,
I have done with all dreaming and doubt.
Though “stoney” to-night and alone, Jack,
I am watching the Old Year out.
I have finished with brooding and fears,
Jack, And the spirit is rising in me,
For the sake of the old New Years, Jack,
And the bright New Years to be.
I have fallen in worldly disgrace, Jack,
And I know very well that you heard;
They have blackened my name in this place, Jack,
And I answered them never a word.
But why should I bluster or grieve,
Jack? So narrow and paltry they be—
I knew you would never believe, Jack,
The lies that were said against me.
That is done which shall never be undone,
And I blame not, I blame not my land,
But I’m hearing the Calling of London,
And I long for the roar of the Strand.
It was always the same with our race,
Jack; You know how a vagabond feels—
We can fight a straight man face to face, Jack.
But we can’t keep the curs from our heels.
You know I loved women and drink, Jack,
And that’s how the trouble began;
But you know that I never would shrink,
Jack, From a deed that was worthy a man!
I never was paltry or mean, Jack.
And cruel I never could be,
I will give you a hand which is clean,
Jack, When we meet again over the sea.
I will bring a few wrinkles of care,
Jack; I have altered a lot, I am told;
The steel-filings show in my hair, Jack;
But my heart is as young as of old.
I have faith still in women, and men, Jack,
Though selfish and blind they may be.
I still have my soul and my pen, Jack,
And my country seems dearer to me.
I will sail when your summer sets in, Jack,
And good-bye to my own native land;
Oh, I long for a glimpse of your grin, Jack,
And I long for the grip of your hand.
We both suffered sorrow and pain, Jack,
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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Jack Dunn of Nevertire
It chanced upon the very day we'd got the shearing done,
A buggy brought a stranger to the West-o'-Sunday Run;
He had a round and jolly face, and he was sleek and stout,
He drove right up between the huts and called the super out.
We chaps were smoking after tea, and heard the swell enquire
For one as travelled by the name of `Dunn of Nevertire'.
Jack Dunn of Nevertire,
Poor Dunn of Nevertire;
There wasn't one of us but knew Jack Dunn of Nevertire.
`Jack Dunn of Nevertire,' he said; `I was a mate of his;
And now it's twenty years since I set eyes upon his phiz.
There is no whiter man than Jack -- no straighter south the line,
There is no hand in all the land I'd sooner grip in mine;
To help a mate in trouble Jack would go through flood and fire.
Great Scott! and don't you know the name of Dunn of Nevertire?
Big Dunn of Nevertire,
Long Jack from Nevertire;
He stuck to me through thick and thin, Jack Dunn of Nevertire.
`I did a wild and foolish thing while Jack and I were mates,
And I disgraced my guv'nor's name, an' wished to try the States.
My lamps were turned to Yankee Land, for I'd some people there,
And I was right when someone sent the money for my fare;
I thought 'twas Dad until I took the trouble to enquire,
And found that he who sent the stuff was Dunn of Nevertire,
Jack Dunn of Nevertire,
Soft Dunn of Nevertire;
He'd won some money on a race -- Jack Dunn of Nevertire.
`Now I've returned, by Liverpool, a swell of Yankee brand,
To reckon, guess, and kalkilate, 'n' wake my native land;
There is no better land, I swear, in all the wide world round --
I smelt the bush a month before we touched King George's Sound!
And now I've come to settle down, the top of my desire
Is just to meet a mate o' mine called `Dunn of Nevertire'.
Was raised at Nevertire --
The town of Nevertire;
He humped his bluey by the name of `Dunn of Nevertire'.
`I've heard he's poor, and if he is, a proud old fool is he;
But, spite of that, I'll find a way to fix the old gum-tree.
I've bought a station in the North -- the best that could be had;
I want a man to pick the stock -- I want a super bad;
I want no bully-brute to boss -- no crawling, sneaking liar --
My station super's name shall be `Jack Dunn of Nevertire'!
Straight Dunn of Nevertire,
Old Dunn of Nevertire;
I guess he's known up Queensland way -- Jack Dunn of Nevertire.'
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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Jack and Kath (long poem)
Jack Benbow and his younger sister Kath
went for a walk along a winding path.
This led them through some very high trees
past some bluebells and buzzing bee’s.
The birds sang their songs on this sunny day
as the children happily went their way.
Along the path they skipped and walked,
singing and playing as they talked.
They came across a clearing in the wood
where a sign pointed to Notsogood.
“What a funny name for a place, ” said Kath.”
“Yes, ” said Jack, “but it’s time to head back.
We’ll go back the same way as we came
and follow the path back home again.”
But the path led them deeper into the wood
and up to another sign to Notsogood.
“Kath, didn’t we pass that sign earlier today,
surely we must head back the other way? ”
So they turned around and began to walk back.
“Look, ” said Kath, “there’s another sign Jack.
And that’s also pointing to Notsogood,
how do we get out of this silly wood? ”
“Let’s just follow the sign and see where it goes
it’s better than following the end of your nose.”
The winding path went from wide to narrow
as the dark clouds made it harder to follow.
Over a stream and home cooking filled the air,
it led to a shack, with a cat sleeping on a chair.
The rickety fence led them down the overgrown path,
“Let’s knock on the door for directions, ” said Kath.
The door slowly opened with a long drawn out creak,
an old woman in black appeared who began to speak.
“Hello happy children what a nice pleasant surprise, ”
as she looked at them closely with her piercing eyes.
“I was just about to make a lovely pot of herbal of tea,
would you like to join Malapropis and me? ”
“Malapropis, is that really the name of your cat? ”
“Yes it is, and all she ever does is get incredibly fat.”
This old woman’s nails were dirty, long and pointed,
and her nose and chin was bent and disjointed.
[...] Read more
poem by Orlando Belo
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