Quotes about clan, page 14
Bar Kochba
Weep, Israel! your tardy meed outpour
Of grateful homage on his fallen head,
That never coronal of triumph wore,
Untombed, dishonored, and unchapleted.
If Victory makes the hero, raw Success
The stamp of virtue, unremembered
Be then the desperate strife, the storm and stress
Of the last Warrior Jew. But if the man
Who dies for freedom, loving all things less,
Against world-legions, mustering his poor clan;
The weak, the wronged, the miserable, to send
Their death-cry's protest through the ages' span-
If such an one be worthy, ye shall lend
Eternal thanks to him, eternal praise.
Nobler the conquered than the conqueror's end!
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Don't Forgive Him
Men of clan kill those they love for money,
Blood of brothers can't be cleanse
from their memory
Hades, get thee behind me!
Who knows when Christ is coming?
.
Faustus sold his soul for love of magic
And had them all to his means,
From scholarly, he went to trickery,
Who knows what else could it be?
.
Mephastophilis, dont you forgive him,
Your time at his service is finished
You kill him, you burn him
you slaughter him,
His soul you take with you to Hades
Till he realises there is no escape
from nemesis.
.
Oh ye who think Nigerians are fraudsters,
[...] Read more
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Alnham Pele
The Pele Tower well fortified.
Could dominate the countryside
and there was plenty room within
for all the clansmen and their kin.
Long, long ago in days of old.
The borders were a lawless place
and every clan had their stronghold
When border raids were commonplace.
Now it acts as youth hostel.Though
still a warm welcome awaits.
Though not the sort that met the foe
who tried to batter down the gates.
A place where ancient history
adds to its popularity.
5-Aug-07
Pele Towers and fortified manors were the only safe havens in the old days.The borders owed no allegiance to England or Scotland
The borderers raided both countries and each other with equal abandon
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ad Piscatorem
FOR these are sacred fishes all
Who know that lord that is the lord of all;
Come to the brim and nose the friendly hand
That sways and can beshadow all the land.
Nor only so, but have their names, and come
When they are summoned by the Lord of Rome.
Here once his line an impious Lybian threw;
And as with tremulous reed his prey he drew,
Straight, the light failed him.
He groped, nor found the prey that he had ta'en.
Now as a warning to the fisher clan
Beside the lake he sits, a beggarman.
Thou, then, while still thine innocence is pure,
Flee swiftly, nor presume to set thy lure;
Respect these fishes, for their friends are great;
And in the waters empty all thy bait.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Wheels
Since I am sick of Wheels
That jar my day,
Unto the hush that heals
I steal away.
Unto the core of Peace
Nature reveals,
I go to win release
From Wheels.
Let me beneath the moon
Take desert trail;
Or on some lost lagoon
Serenely sail;
Win to some peak the grey
Storm cloud conceals . . .
Life, let me get away
From Wheels!
Why was I born so late?
A skin-clad man
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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The House of Stone
I came, from where?
From the house made of stone...
My aunt Romana -
That whom you do not know,
When she had an accident
She stayed in the house of stone
To get well and recover...
But with a cutting tongue
Against my father,
She said to me,
'T'is a big house made of stone,
But inside here lives an owl! '
Where did I come from?
From that house of stone...
[...] Read more
poem by Jane Quijano
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Born to blossom
A girl is born to blossom and conceive
And is set to lure every boy with her waves,
For which she is endowed with some features
As every flower blossoms with some fortunes.
May be she is a lotus, well cut in contour,
Or a rose, fair and lovely to encounter,
Or an oleander with flavour in her manner.
Some are born like lily, white and bright,
Or like a wild flower, full of talents,
Or one in a bunch, known for her clan,
And in the case of a diminutive one,
It’s a flower with colourful brackets.
When she is none of the above
Comes to her rescues her youth in glow
As comes to any flower the nectar in flow.
Each one has some features
to serve its race a purpose.
06.08.96
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Leaving
He changed from boy to man in double time,
And crammed his whole clan's dreams inside his boots,
The time had come for him to walk the line,
And turn his youthful back upon his roots.
The parting in itself was filled with fears,
A solitary journey 'cross the sea,
To face a future brief, or countless years,
He flew on wings racked with anxiety.
What lay ahead he felt his craft could match,
Years of application helped fuel his fire,
But the golden boy among this latest batch,
Decided that his soul was not for hire.
The odyssey it ended five years hence,
Relief at last his exile came to pass,
Stalled in gear with a life yet to commence,
The second hand is ticking much too fast.
poem by Greg Costello
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A 40-Year-Old Man Makes Attempts at Flirting with High School Cheerleaders
No, I am not
a feminist.
If I was,
do you honestly think
I would be swooning
over men for their
appearance and
nothing else?
Sometimes
when someone like him
rolls into my life,
it's difficult for me
to appreciate each
person passing through.
And you willfully express
'Those men in
Pakistan really know
how to keep their
[...] Read more
poem by Adeline Morris
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Montefiore
I SAW—’t was in a dream, the other night—
A man whose hair with age was thin and white;
One hundred years had bettered by his birth,
And still his step was firm, his eye was bright.
Before him and about him pressed a crowd.
Each head in reverence was bared and bowed,
And Jews and Gentiles in a hundred tongues
Extolled his deeds and spake his fame aloud.
I joined the throng and, pushing forward, cried,
“Montefiore!” with the rest, and vied
In efforts to caress the hand that ne’er
To want and worth had charity denied.
So closely round him swarmed our shouting clan
He scarce could breathe, and, taking from a pan
A gleaming coin, he tossed it o’er our heads,
And in a moment was a lonely man!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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