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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?

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Voluntary Oblivion

Roaming free in voluntary oblivion
away from a life of imposed opinion.
There is not much to say,
but more to do.

Let us eradicate races
and look deeper into people's faces.
The eyes speak
and the mouth dries up the tongue sometimes.

Blindness creates worlds of words in rhymes
and once upon a time we had good times.
She sees images and experiences auditory hallucinations
she rummages to find the slightest inspiration.

There was once a loss
a terrible and tragic loss.
A traumatizing, disturbing, and shocking loss.
There was once a loss
a loss for words.

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poem by Natasha Hochar
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The Song Of Mankind

If human fails to help humanity..
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?

If human fails to help humanity
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?

If human fails to help humanity…..

When a man sells his fellow men..
When a man bids for fellow men..

When a man sells his fellow men..
When a man bids for fellow men..
Uncivilized and uncultured….
Won’t be a matter of indignity? ?

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poem by Kamal Jyoti Borah
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OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII (Entire)

Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou:
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day;

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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A Man Of A Thousand Faces

(music: marillion lyrics: john helmer)
Im the man of a thousand faces
A little piece of me in every part I take
I hold the tape for a thousand races
A different point of view in every speech I make
Cut me a piece of my divided soul
Cry me a river, call it rock and roll
Speak to a leader with the voice of command
And when I talk to God I know hell understand
I speak to machines with the voice of humanity
Ill speak to the wise with the voice of insanity
Im the man of a thousand faces
A little piece of me in every part I take
I hold the tape for a thousand races
A different point of view in every speech I make
Cut me a piece of my divided soul
Cry me a river, call it rock and roll
Give me an attitude and watch me make it lie
Pass me a microphone
I need to testify

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song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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Opurtunity

Opportunity
Loss it seems is the worst kind of sorrow
Loss of a dream
Loss of a person
But what of the loss of opportunity
Opportunity for a dream
Opportunity for time with a person
Can not having the chance of loss
Be worse than loss itself
More prominent
More painful
An aching sense that if only you’d had the chance
You would at least have memories
Good
Bad
Would it matter as long as you could remember
Loss it seems is the worse kind of sorrow
But worse still is the loss of opportunity

poem by Abigail Hauschild
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Losing My Minority

To lose one’s minority
Is not a bad thing.

With the loss of minority
come untold opportunities,
The magic of the number Eighteen.

With the loss of minority
Comes the lifting of the chains
That we once called childhood.

With the loss of minority
Comes college, then work,
Credit cards and Ebay.

With the loss of minority
Come parties and booze,
Familiar faces in the evening news.

With the loss of minority

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poem by Marin Tsuikata
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Paradise Bars No Race Embrace Humanity

even when life low ebbs
muddied exhausted drained
by a flu wonder awaits
in words soft still spoken
universal life chime spoken
haunting in stillness carried
on a breeze sparkling across
winds of time grace gift
of incredible verse may await
on line posted by a friend
who sings causes close embedded
in mine own heart soul that must
ever sing for all life embodied
upon this time tortured planet
earth that must bear witness
to divine angelic and beast
holocaust in nature of conflicted
global civilization humanity

then when tired weary cast

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Poet's Voice XV

Part One

The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.

My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.

Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark.

I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.

Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.

Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.

Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains.

Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.

Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.

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poem by Khalil Gibran
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The Secret (Roswell 1947)

On a warm summer day, I glanced at the sky,
On July 8th,1947, I saw a circle-like object a high,
Intent to search our world, the unidentified flying object,
A so-called encounter against humanity, the search project,
The object was shot by national security due to fright,
The object burned to bits before the dawning of night,
It landed in the desert in New Mexico, Roswell 1947,
But were the intent made for evil? it could’ve came from heaven,
The closed minds of humanity, justified by force,
Instead of letting nature and fate take it’s course,
On July 8th 1947, in Roswell New Mexico, I still remember,
The broken pieces that lay in the sand glowing from embers,
Humanity scared of chaos, confusion and disease,
Humanity, the naïve, that uses violence rather than perceive,
I still remember, the metallic pieces with the pink light code,
But forever government hiding what really happened so nobody will know,
Money the greed, that steals the knowledge of an event surreal,
Never will the world see the sky under steel,
Hidden tapes, and confidential info to keep for themselves,
Info humanity that would want to experience from ourselves,

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poem by Kurt Kacich
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