I think it's also the case that I'm not as widely travelled, or as well-educated in history, as most of the other novelists I meet: so I have to write about my own country, at the present time, because it's more or less all I know about!

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Graham Greene

A petty reason perhaps why novelists more and more try to keep a distance from journalists is that novelists are trying to write the truth and journalists are trying to write fiction.

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The Winners Write The History

That the winners write the war histories should not be the case
For war is a tragedy a human disgrace
And the losers in war see their Country destoyed
And the war history never written by the losing side.

Look at Oliver Cromwell victorious in war
The deeds of his glory from England known far
But those who write on Cromwell they never do tell
Of one who for poor people made life Earthly hell.

To the Catholics of Ireland Cromwell was a brute
The poor rural peasants he did persecute
Yet streets in his honour distant from England today
The winners only write the history so true what they say.

Efrain Rios Montt became President of Guatemala even though he
Was guilty of serious crimes against humanity
An old man now but for his crimes yet to pay
The winners write the history it's always been that way.

Augusto Pinochet in Chile has blood on his hands
And that he may die a free man seems hard to understand
And though loathed by many in Chile for his crimes of shame
The winners write the history and their's is the fame.

I've just mentioned a few for there are many more
Who have committed crimes against humanity but like it has been said before
that the winners write the history and that's how 'twill remain
And the mistakes of the past are repeated again.

poem by Francis DugganReport problemRelated quotes
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Tales of my past

Don't write me down in history,
In reference to my past deeds,
Works I derived no joy from,
Or mistakes of those years.

Don't write me down in history,
The ages gone show little of what I am,
That part of me is truly done,
My dreams now can say it all.

Don't write me down in history,
The lessons of life flows in my blood,
My blunders are now my teachers,
The scars now my daily pledge.

Don't write me down in history,
I am yet to achieve perfection,
Still I strive for redemption,
Searching the soil for my lost glory,

Don't write me down in history,
The tales of my past I recall,
That was then, this is me,
Woes to your judgment.

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The History Of You And Me

Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Yaahh! The history of you and me....

Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

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A Road Well Travelled

A road well travelled does not the journey ease
Nor do well placed signposts aid our itineraries
A road well travelled is rough and rutted where
Others have passed by this way overburdened with their cares
A road well-travelled may be full of risks and dangers
You keep yourself unto yourself and never talk to strangers.

This road well travelled has no final end in sight
It can be sunny in the daytime but quite frightening at night
This road well travelled can sometimes just disappear
And you stop not knowing where to go shivering with fear
This road well travelled sometimes returns you to its start
And leaves you walking round in circles with a sad and heavy heart.

My road well travelled has many toll gates on the way
Each time I ask directions there’s a need to always pay
My road well travelled is a lonely road at times
It is a real road that I know it’s not just a state of mind
My road well travelled is not just my road you see
It’s a road that many others take and it’s called anxiety.

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The History Teacher

Woman!

Where exactly
Did you put me
In the women's history?

Am I History?
Or a part of it?

And for how long you are lacking me in;
Between
Your History,
Women's History, and
Your archives?

Does time make sense to you
As a History teacher or
As a History professor?

Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenation
Are for emperors.

Are you making me
An emperor?

Or a Faeroe?
If so,
How precise your are?

And if you can't feel my present presence
how possibility could you feel me through your archives?

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History

Yesterday is History.
History brings us to this present moment
but it doesn't shape who we are at this present moment.
We can't let our History control us
and who we wish to be.
Our future is our choice,
Not History's.

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I had travelled pretty widely around the world even before then, so I knew where to go to film wildlife.

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Why Washington Retreated

1775

Said Congress to George Washington:
"To set this country free,
You'll have to whip the Britishers
And chase them o'er the sea."
"Oh, very well," said Washington,
"I'll do the best I can.
I'll slam and bang those Britishers
And whip them to a man."

1777

Said Congress to George Washington:
"The people all complain;
Why don't you fight? You but retreat
And then retreat again."
"That can't be helped," said Washington,
"As you will quite agree
When you see how the novelists
Have mixed up things for me."

Said Congress to George Washington:
"Pray make your meaning clear."
Said Washington: "Why, certainly --
But pray excuse this tear.
Of course we know," said Washington,
"The object of this war --
It is to furnish novelists
With patriotic lore."

Said Congress to George Washington:
"Yes! yes! but pray proceed."
Said Washington: "My part in it
Is difficult indeed,
For every hero in the books
Must sometime meet with me,
And every sweet-faced heroine
I must kiss gallantly."

Said Congress to George Washington:
"But why must you retreat?"
Said Washington: "One moment, please,
My story to complete.
These hero-folk are scattered through
The whole United States;
At every little country town
A man or maiden waits."

To Congress said George Washington:
"At Harlem I must be
On such a day to chat with one,
And then I'll have to flee
With haste to Jersey, there to meet
Another. Here's a list
Of sixty-seven heroes, and
There may be some I've missed."

To Congress said George Washington:
"Since I must meet them all
(And if I don't you know how flat
The novels all will fall),
I cannot take much time to fight,
I must be on the run,
Or some historic novelist
Will surely be undone."

Said Congress to George Washington:
"You are a noble man.
Your thoughtfulness is notable,
And we approve your plan;
A battle won pads very well
A novel that is thin,
But it is better to retreat
Than miss one man and win."

Said Congress to George Washington:
"Kiss every pretty maid,
But do it in a courtly way
And in a manner staid --
And some day when your sword is sheathed
And all our banners furled,
A crop of novels will spring up
That shall appal the world."


Submitted by John Martin

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I Write And I Will Always Write

i write not because i want to be famous
fame has its own place to take care of itself

i write not because i want to educate
people educate themselves and most of them are educated enough

with or without me
with or without my poems

i write not because i want to express my feelings
or display all my emotions like some sort of fireworks on the 4th of July

(maybe for quite a time i was that
a man making a ventilation
a fume looking for an opening
a pressure looking for a window
a failure seeking a redemption
a penalty asking for a reprieve
a criminal begging for pardon
a rebel detained and wishing for
pardon...

a ship looking for a destination
an island asking for its own place under the sun
a sigh desperately waiting for the mouth

whatever...

but now i begin to think so deeply
why do i write? and why do i write everyday?

and why poems? why not a novel or a short story?
or an essay on the fate of men
the conflicts within them
the wars that they have to face everyday
their deaths and
resurrections

their erections and negations
the women and their seductions
the world in its glory
history and its memory

i write because i owe my life to poetry
it has saved me from my misfortunes

i write because i want to thank the poems
i write because

i just want to say: thanks,
to express this eternal gratitude
now, that

i am still alive.

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3. A Tall Story

I built myself a time machine
And travelled to the past
Where dinosaurs looked hungry
So my visit didn’t last

I travelled to the future
Where food came in a pill
But apple pie with gravy on
Just didn’t fit the bill

I came back home to present day
Where animals are smaller
And if you want an ice-cream
Here food looks so much taller


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The History Of Tomorrow

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame

© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob

Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.

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John Fowles

There are many reasons why novelists write, but they all have one thing in common - a need to create an alternative world.

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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History

You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.

The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.

Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.

I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.

You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told

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Whoever Said The World Is Small

I've travelled far from my old home
Yet I've not been to Paris or Rome
Just two of the many Cities I have not seen
Yet I have travelled in places brown and green
Though many have seen far more than me
I write of the beauty I see
Though time on my life ticks on ceaselessly
I'm getting on in years sixty three
It is a big World the World out there
And not one who has been to everywhere
Whoever said the World is small
When it is quite huge overall
From the stream of the brown mountain trout
One might say I've ventured far south.

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Nine Eleven Zero One (misplaced poem)

(09/13/11)


Two days before my birthday
The united states was attacked
By a band of terrorists
That threw this country back.

Never in our history did another
Country come into ours.
Bringing destruction and death
Like a thunderous shower.

They say they did it for ALLAH
Which I find it hard to believe
That GOD, no matter what he may
Be known as, would tell people
To kill one another - knowing that
there are so many who are sister and brother.

So many different religions, so many
Different beliefs, would not do this
To put a country in grief.
A war whether it be declared or not
Have soldiers meet on a battlefield.

There is no honor when you sneak
Up on another and thrust a knife in their back.
Maybe this is the reason it’s called a sneak attack.
They are convinced that martyrs they will be
And that they will LIVE - in their country’s history.

If it is six months from now, or twenty years from now
Their names will never be remembered or put on a plaque
The cards are against them, its already been stacked.
We will find the origin from where they came
And their country s life will never be the same.
So to the supporters of this terrorist attack
We will search for you, there’ll be no turning back.

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You can learn as much about the history from reading about the present as you can vice versa, that is learning about the present through history, which is what I do for a living.

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Edmond de Goncourt

Historians tell the story of the past, novelists the story of the present.

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It's as though all the terms of a family were present at one time rather than his dad and his mum. Not just a present authority, but the resident memory of what qualifies what else is the case.

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Why Do I Write

I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go

I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain

At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down

I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it

I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am

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