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Jimmy Carter

We live in a time of transition, an uneasy era which is likely to endure for the rest of this century. During the period we may be tempted to abandon some of the time-honored principles and commitments which have been proven during the difficult times of past generations. We must never yield to this temptation. Our American values are not luxuries, but necessities - not the salt in our bread, but the bread itself.

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Jimmy Carter

We live in a time of transition, an uneasy era which is likely to endure for the rest of this century. During the period we may be tempted to abandon some of the time-honored principles and commitments which have been proven during the difficult times of past generations. We must never yield to this temptation. Our American values are not luxuries, but necessities - not the salt in our bread, but the bread itself.

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Those Who Have Been Victims

Leave them to fight.
They will be clinging on to life...
Asking 'why' very soon.
Barbarians can do only one thing successfully.
Declare victory...
After total destruction,
And chaos has been determined.
It convinces them they created fire.
And the only purpose the Sun has...
Is to bronze their skins.
Ignoring those of natural color.
For fear insecurities will be exposed.
Leave them to fight.
They will be clinging on to life...
Asking 'why' very soon.
And those who have been victims,
Of their crimes...
Appear to be both deaf and blind,
To the sounds and sights of their screams.
Wondering...
Why do they point to the sky,
With frightened looks in their eyes?
Since all they see are angels,
Coming to make deliveries!

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Jimmy Carter

Our American values are not luxuries but necessities, not the salt in our bread, but the bread itself. Our common vision of a free and just society is our greatest source of cohesion at home and strength abroad, greater than the bounty of our material blessings.

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The Sentence

as you are praying in the altar
i am urinating in the CR
and then you fix the bed
folding the blankets and dusting off the pillows

i stop there for a while
for i have been thinking about dust

you think that i am catering in
to these deadly thoughts

or granting that they are not
why think of rest
when every idea of this world is always labeled
with activity

you run away
that is a good idea connoting always an action
you cry
that 's drama still watched by the masses
who like to shed tears for the star
of the show

there is no choice you tell me
except to surge
to invade
to move on

yes that is the sentence.

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Reserve This Space For The Anonymous

be glad you have a name
the one your mother thought
when she first conceived you in her womb
the name the world has given you
in letter bold and big and strong

you have been there
on the mountain top and it was cold
and so silent

now is the time to come down
and meet your friends
and dine with them

you leave the clouds and be
with earth you leave that space now
reserved for the anonymous
faceless, weightless, empty
let the unknown be full and let it be there

you have breathed the thin air
you felt the clouds in your fingers
you have kissed the sun and you did not burn
clip off your wings and come with me

on an afternoon walk we shall see the sun
setting so beautifully

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You are not alone.....

When tears of sadness streaks your face,
You are not alone.
When you feel lost and out of place,
You are not alone.
When it seems you can't carry on,
And everything you do is wrong,
You are not alone.
When you open your presents on the holiday,
You are not alone.
When nothing can seem to spoil your day,
You are not alone.
When it seems like you made it through,
But there's no one to share this feeling with you,
You are not alone.
You'll never be alone when I'm around.
I'll cheer you up when you are down,
And whether you are happy or feeling blue,
I will always be there for you.
So when you feel alone and in dark.
Just keep me in your heart,
And you will never be alone.

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Elated To Have Been Distanced

From which side are those with kept delusions,
Would 'they' say are most difficult to view?
Those on the side witnessing their values diminished,
By the ones they've entrusted to keep them endeared?
Or the ones advocating the others to be fools,
To dismiss those standards hyped as reality...
When both sides refuse to accept reality as it appears,
With a denying of its existence?

And those censored as nonconformists,
Who continue to offend them with truth...
Are defamed on a daily basis,
For their attempts to introduce truth to them.

From which side are those with kept delusions,
Would 'they' say are most difficult to view?
When both sides refuse to accept reality as it appears,
With a denying of its existence?
And those censored as nonconformists,
Sing their praises to be the ones isolated...
To view all of this from a higher consciousness.
And elated to have been distanced.

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Logically It Should Have Been You

if the brain is the heart
i could have loved and married you and lived with you
but my heart has a mind of its own
always at war with my brain
my logical choices versus the glowing of the heart
what could have been
and what must be
and what should have been

all these are discarded because the heart
says this
and i followed it
to the last letter of its sigh
its longings
its quivers
and to the end i may have regretted it
telling myself
how dumb had i been

the heart has its own reasons
which i cannot fathom
it is strong like the flood of the river
and i was weak
till i met the punishment

death of my mind
resurrection of my spirit
a broken body
a living heart

i have always chosen love even to the extent of my loss
my own eternal damnation
my inevitable perdition

but all is still fair in love, so they always say it
and how can ever dispute
the words of the wise

unless, otherwise, i deny what i have always been
a heart always full of love
and an empty mind

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It Should Have Been You

Can I believe my ears?
Is this really you?
Pacing the floor with one eye on the door
Watching the winners go through
Why do you hang back now?
Why dyou hesitate?
You fires dont burn
For he who waits
Out of all of the people
That I ever knew
If one should have made it
It should have been you!
I know who Im looking for
But I dont believe my eyes
The sight of you with your head hung low
Is a sick, sad suprise
Why do you hang back now?
Why dyou hesitate?
How dare you throw it all away then tell me
Aw man it must be fate
Out of all of the people
That I ever knew
There had to one I could believe in
And it should have been you!
A gift that dies is a tragic thing
And it happens all the time
But a gift thats wasted, thrown to hell is the
Worst of stupid crimes!
I saw you hang back now!
I watched you hesitate!
Youre a well respected man, but bullshit!
You couldve been great!
Out of all the people
I ever knew
There should have been one
And it should have been you!
I spent my whole life
Looking for someone like you!

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It Should Have Been You

Can I believe my ears?
Is this really you?
Pacing the floor with one eye on the door
Watching the winners go through
Why do you hang back now?
Why dyou hesitate?
You fires dont burn
For he who waits
Out of all of the people
That I ever knew
If one should have made it
It should have been you!
I know who Im looking for
But I dont believe my eyes
The sight of you with your head hung low
Is a sick, sad suprise
Why do you hang back now?
Why dyou hesitate?
How dare you throw it all away then tell me
Aw man it must be fate
Out of all of the people
That I ever knew
There had to one I could believe in
And it should have been you!
A gift that dies is a tragic thing
And it happens all the time
But a gift thats wasted, thrown to hell is the
Worst of stupid crimes!
I saw you hang back now!
I watched you hesitate!
Youre a well respected man, but bullshit!
You couldve been great!
Out of all the people
I ever knew
There should have been one
And it should have been you!
I spent my whole life
Looking for someone like you!

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You Have Been Given Another Point Of View

I apologize if I offend you.
And those delusions you've been fed to keep.
But you see...
My life is not lived in Hollywood.
And none of my ancestors,
Came close to serving time...
On a movie set.

My comments may come as a surprise,
To upset your insights.
But my reality has been annointed by the ghetto.
In those urban centers of city life.
Where very few of those so called 'elite' go.

I apologize if I offend you.
Although I could easily cuss you out.
And not have my bitter experiences,
Think twice about it.
I was not shelter by protectors with the giving of lollipops.
Dysfunctions of all kinds I knew as friends.
I've been blessed with a mind that sees beyond limitations.

I share this with you,
Because I know of me...
You have been given another point of view.
And I don't want you to receive the wrong directions,
By anyone who believes they know...me!
And...
Where I have been, where I am now and where I intend to go.
And only that is revealed,
When I arrive to leave upon my announcing it.
If I wish.
And often I don't.

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I Might Have Been Queen

(j. obstoj, r. hine, j. west-oram)
Producer: rupert hine
Albums: private dancer (84), whats love got to do with it (93)
Remixed by chris lord-alge for the whats love got to do with soundtrack
Im a new pair of eyes everytime I am born
An original mind because I just died
And Im scanning the horizon
For someone recognizing that I might have been queen
For every sun that sets there is a new one dawning
For every empire crushed there is a brand new nation
Let the waters rise, I have ridden each tide
From the gates of the city where the first born died
And I might have been queen
I remember the girl in the fields with no name
She had a love
But the rivers wont stop for me
No, the rivers wont stop to me
Im a new pair of eyes, an original mind
With my senses of old and the heart of a giant
And Im searching through the wreckage
For some recollection that I might have been queen
For every sage that falls theres an ancient child
And I might have been queen
I remember the girl in the fields with no name
She had a love
But the rivers wont stop for me
No, the rivers wont stop to me
I look up to the stars with my perfect memory
I look through it all and my future is no shock to me
I look down but I see no tragedy
I look up to the stars till I find my destiny
I look up to my past, a spirit running free
I look down, I look down and Im there in history
Im a soul survivor
A soul survivor
On the river
But it wont stop

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I...Have Been, Reborn

There is nothing like,
Looking at life...
From an adult point of view.

I had no idea,
Becoming accountable...
With responsibilities prioritized,
Would open my eyes so wide.

And even though it had been traumatic,
To free my mind from the ease of making excuses...
I survived to appreciate those mistakes I made.

And today,
Without a doubt...
Prepared on the tip of my tongue,
And composed as an alibi...
I use to fit for lips to come out of my mouth.
I am so proud to say and admit...
I have escape from hiding behind,
Deceit and denial.

I...
Have been,
Reborn.

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Paid In Full

There are wars that are to be won
And there are wars to be lost
There are lives to be saved
And there are lives to be lost
But mine will come at a higher cost

There are victories that are deserved
And even in those wins, something is lost
There are deaths that are deemed necessary
Despite that, their honor is never lost
But mine will come at a higher cost

There are people that do not agree
And believe that the world is lost
There are others that say it’s saved
Only if the doubt and negativity are lost
But mine will come at a higher cost

There are soldiers that believe in a cause
And believe that American values are not lost
There are my bothers that fight on the line
And there are the brave ones that we have lost
It is those who have paid the higher cost

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It Could Have Been You

We were so close yet so far away
Id reach out, youd be gone
Moments that still talk my breath away
Theres so much more to life than loving you
You dont need me, no...
I...cant wait all my life, on a street of broken dreams
It could have been you my love (where are you now)
Oh i...still wonder if you remember the night
It could have been you
Time washes over, memories
I cant look back no more
Change has forsaken, our promises
Theres someone else for you to hold again
So please stop your crying
I...cant wait all my life, on a street of broken dreams
It could have been you my love (where are you now)
Oh i...still wonder if you remember the night
It could have been you
Remember, remember, girl I remember
I...cant wait all my life, on a street of broken dreams
It could have been you my love (where are you now)
Oh i...still wonder if you remember the night
It could have been you (where are you now)
Should have been you my love (where are you now)
It could have been you my love, (where are you now)
Remember...remember...remember

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Happy They Have Been Able To Please

At one time,
People were complaining...
No activities for them were scheduled.

Today,
More than enough diverse activities...
Are scheduled for those wishing to participate.

And there are those calling from their windows,
That the planners of the activities...
Should have not scheduled them,
On the same day.
And that is why they have chosen,
Not to take advantage...
Of any those choices made available.

And the ones caring less,
Who is expressing what and for what reason...
Come and go to do as they please,
With a doing to get done...
Keeping prioritized,
From Sundown to Sunrise...
Their own focused motivations.

At one time,
People were complaining...
No activities for them were scheduled.

And the naysayers are still there,
Supplying from one event to another...
Their unsolicited critiques.

And the planners,
Who have scheduled such activities...
Are thrilled and happy,
They have been able to please...
The wants, wishes and needs of everyone.
They seem to be anyway.

'My goodness.
How were you all able to do this? '

~Excuse me?
I had earplugs in my ears.
We all do.
Most of us have removed them.
Those of us on the committee.
Do you mind repeating that?
What was it that you said? '

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Island Sanctuary

Sitting on a bench in a park
I have not been in for years
and looking at the changes that had befallen it.
Once I used to visit it quite regularly
through the many passing years
and never took any notice of the changes then.
Some remnants of those days remain
and new things have been added
as some of the old ones have disappeared.
One thing that has never changed
on this island within the city
is the sense of peace it can bring.
The birds and the squirrels still roam free
within this island sanctuary.
Even though many things have changed around them,
their freedom is always ensured.

9 May 2009

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A complete resonance

whatever we did it was completely at resonance
it was perfect harmony in presence
it was divinity as we call it essence
where was the time to look beyond and sense?

I was knee deep and knew really nothing
How life could turn sour and offer something?
Will it be comfortable past to rememeber?
Will it be miserable future as your family memebr?

I was lost in your eyes and did not look beyond
It never occurred in mind for a second
The happy days may come soon to end
We will not remain even as ordinary friend

Well, there is no use to visualize bad future
Who knows it and can predict for sure?
No one could make or prove its worth and assure
We were no exception and unprepared to endure

I raised my head to ask you for several times
You were totally lost in me sometimes
I too was masmarized and danced to your tune
May be we were destined to face the misfortune

I could read many lines of prose
Your eyes sparked for moment I suppose
They were not sure of how to convery
I was just watching them with dismay

Your finger just moved in my thick hair
It was just flying with movment in the air
You wanted it to remain curly and up
I preferrd to keep calm and mouth to shut up

You were making it heaven on earth
There was every scope and no dearth
It was simple imagination and prepardness to be lost
I gazed at the sky and remained totally frost

It will be natual feeling to flow
They may be restrained not to blow
The impatience to be lost may be complete desire
Even cool breeze may be working as volcano or fire

It is precarious situation and needs to be saved
It might have facilitated and path might have been paved
What was really expected of you in such crisis?
There exists no fine lines or thesis

It is not unbecoming of human being?
You have all desire to fly with powerful wings
The golden moments may air the music with songs
You may fall in and find no wrong

I rememeber of those winter insects
They fly round lamps with dancing acts
They are sure to die at any moments
Still they increse the strength and movement

Life can not be dwelth at length
It has got its own strength
There can not be any comparision
To think about now should be out of question

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Patrick White

If The Bread Got Any Harder

If the bread got any harder I’d be buttering stone,
and it’s morning again, cooler than yesterday
that licked my face like a dog
with the mosquito-breeding breath of a reeking ditch;
and maybe there’s a cabal of stars or confidential angels,
a thirteenth house of the zodiac
that no one’s ever heard of, with a garden of black suns
overrun by weeds, blooming along the walkway
up to the sagging porch, a place
where the dispossessed gather to own each other, a hidden harmony
that manages my affairs along with the stars and the ants
and knows with the confidence of a nightwind off the sea
that I am supposed to be here, broke, aging, alone,
dreading the landlord at the door like the beginning
of another ice-age, cataract, polar cap,
the shifting of a continental plate
as I wait like a fault in apprehension
of the final jolt that will tear me down.
And all of this in the name of poetry in a world
that holds the tail of the new moon like an old black bull in one hand
and guided aimlessly over the unfurrowed fields
sows microchips and seedless oats, breeds featherless chickens
and patents animals and diseases, pierced by the swords
of seven mad lucidities with no known antidotes.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not crying. I’m not pleading for anything.
I’ve got the pride of a pearl in a scabby oyster about me,
the indefensible dignity of a pyramid built on quicksand,
the air of an exiled king of shadows
living in patrician poverty to uphold me in my solitude,
and this ruinous occupation of deriving an earthly excellence
out of my sinking like a mine, always deeper, in search of the ores
that glow in the night like marrow in the bones of buried constellations:
that’s enough of a labour to keep me dancing in my ashes,
enough of a continuity to believe I might still be a road.
I do it for the crazy, vicious, ignorant, greedy humans
whose lives are only a ribbon of blood in the water
that boils them into a feeding frenzy, cannibals on crack,
tearing themselves and the world apart because
even they sense, wincing into solutions like straitjackets,
they’re a prelude to disaster. And I sing for the rare orchids
that are never seen, the wild asters at the edge of the garbage dump,
the green flame of the blade of grass,
hotter than acetylene, that burns with life through the concrete
until it parts like the Red Sea for an outlawed prophet of one.
There will always be people
who know how to break their hearts like bread
and I write to be worthy of them, to remember them
the way the genes recall, however faintly,
the genius of their last selection, the first time a flower had sex,
and everyone’s eyes have been the colour
of stars and olives, earth, sky and leaves ever since.
There is something in me that grieves like a fire
for the passing of everything, that bleeds like a rose
on the blade of the moon for everything
that is cut down in its path without fury or malice,
and the children broken like windows
that were never installed in the house, and the poor,
and those, mute and silent, but for the look in their eyes,
their voices shattered bird cages plundered
by the cunning and savagery of ideological fangs;
the lifeboat of my heart swells like an ark
caulked and pitched by thick nights of sorrow
when I consider these swept from the table like crumbs
and open my mouth like the borders of an outraged country
to scream undiplomatic obscenities
at their virulent persecutors frothing like breakers of rabies.
Even drowning in a snake-pit of oilslicks,
I want to throw the world a strong rope
like the umbilical cord of another planet
braving the ferocity of the storm, a lighthouse, to haul it ashore,
or lift it like a fly from a toilet-bowl.
And if you were to ask me why,
when I can’t even save myself, I’d have to say
there’s a cruel folly in the wisdom of the word once,
the sum of all knowledge, all compassion,
a fountain and a tree of blood beyond reason
that drives me to cherish even
the slightest crack in the cup by which life leaks out
as if it were a wound of my own. Born a lost cause,
how could I not squander myself
on the beauty and truth and suffering of others
who are not? Poetry looks at the stars, at the world
through the eyes of a blind messiah
led out of the desert sun by a childless eclipse,
and every saint owes his salvation to a sinner somewhere.
Invited to the feast of life,
whether above or below the salt,
who doesn’t offer themselves,
their blood, their heart, their mind
like swaddled bread and wine
or a grateful guitar to the host at the door?
Who, so devoid of grace, they wouldn’t honour the gate
they came and went by, every footstep
an exit and an entrance to themselves? And something deeper,
I don’t know what it is, that draws me down into it like a woman,
a curvature of space that yearns to be filled
with the honey and sugars of bees and apples
that have ripened their gold and silver dreams
in the light of the sun, the moon, the stars
and taste of the earth and the rain, and the shadows
of birds and butterflies, of sheltering leaves;
of pilgrim orchards that passed their way
only a moment ago as long as the lifespan of water
with festal cities of love and peace on their mind.
When I lie down beside her to make love
it’s like returning to an ancient, native language
that’s been forgotten in the literalism of the day,
an elemental tongue that everyone once spoke
spontaneously enthralled by the eloquent mystery of her beauty,
urgently moved to praise the world into being again and again
like the falling of light and rain
on the softening eyelids of seed-words
that have lain dormant in their visions for years
in the scorched gardens of a volcanic brain
that doesn’t know what any of it means
when every whisper and kiss
is an embossed grammar of blackberry dreams
and the decrescent wake of her nails on my back,
a way of ploughing the moon with a ship,
an analeptic shudder of delphic bridges off the bow.
Never two flowers the same in her garden,
and even the thorns of her black roses,
an enigma of panthers, I never know
what germinates like oracles in her caves;
but more absolving than the youngest of dawns,
I have always believed because
I can taste her sacred mountains in my blood,
that there is in the deltas of the language that she seeks,
the alluvial silk and gold of a way of seeing
that helps us recall ourselves as we were and are,
prophecy and recollection, an ancient future
like the light of a healing star,
the face we wore like an orchard
in the dreamtime of learning to be,
something crucial and redemptive
about our essential human nature
that is only forgotten,
like the ability to play, terminally.
Of all the freedoms I have ever endorsed
she is the one I live; chicken wieners
and beans in tomato sauce, night after night, let it be
this bedlam of money and thin-skinned heels,
the swarming humiliations that orbit my distracted skull
like deerflies and invigilating satellites,
the dark thoughts that buff the wine with bleach
and boil my morning doves in battery acid
to turn their ashen quills into asps and arrows.
What mountain ever rose higher
than its valley was deep, what victory
if there was never a chance of defeat, and if
in the eyes of men crazed with forgetting themselves
they think they recognize in me some kind of bad joke,
my pillow stuffed with nettles, let it be;
because even in the lipstick on the cigarette-butt
I pick up out of the gutter
I can be a wild poppy in a field of August wheat.

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Memorial Day For The War Dead

Memorial day for the war dead. Add now
the grief of all your losses to their grief,
even of a woman that has left you. Mix
sorrow with sorrow, like time-saving history,
which stacks holiday and sacrifice and mourning
on one day for easy, convenient memory.

Oh, sweet world soaked, like bread,
in sweet milk for the terrible toothless God.
"Behind all this some great happiness is hiding."
No use to weep inside and to scream outside.
Behind all this perhaps some great happiness is hiding.

Memorial day. Bitter salt is dressed up
as a little girl with flowers.
The streets are cordoned off with ropes,
for the marching together of the living and the dead.
Children with a grief not their own march slowly,
like stepping over broken glass.

The flautist's mouth will stay like that for many days.
A dead soldier swims above little heads
with the swimming movements of the dead,
with the ancient error the dead have
about the place of the living water.

A flag loses contact with reality and flies off.
A shopwindow is decorated with
dresses of beautiful women, in blue and white.
And everything in three languages:
Hebrew, Arabic, and Death.

A great and royal animal is dying
all through the night under the jasmine
tree with a constant stare at the world.

A man whose son died in the war walks in the street
like a woman with a dead embryo in her womb.
"Behind all this some great happiness is hiding."

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