Th' newspaper does ivrything f'r us. It runs th' polis foorce an' th' banks, commands th' milishy, controls th'ligislachure, baptizes th' young, marries th' foolish, comforts th' afflicted, afflicts th' comfortable, buries th' dead an' roasts thim aftherward.
quote by Finley Peter Dunne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out Of The Hollows
Out of the hollows
an owl comes near me,
then when I ask where have you been,
she flies off again
with a bat in her talons
dead as dead as night that comes before us both,
away to her roasts,
her nested where her young ones must be,
back again then a hoot,
as the night falls upon us all.
poem by Walter C. Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lead Me On
Shoulder to the wheel
For someone elses selfish gain
Here there is no choosing
Working the clay
Wearing their anger like a ball and chain.
Fire in the field
Underneath a blazing sun
But soon the sun was faded
And freedom was a song
I heard them singing when the day was done
Singing to the holy one.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Waiting for the train
Labelled with a golden star
Heavy hearted boarding
Whispers in the dark
Where are we going--is it very far?
Bitter cold terrain
Echoes of a slamming door
In chambers made for sleeping, forever
Voices like thunder in a mighty roar
Cry to the lord.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Man hurts man
Time and time, time again
And we drown in the wake of our power
Somebody tell me why.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spoon... (In Our Hands)
the spoon in our hands
digs the graves of starving children.
our choice to turn away,
buries those afflicted by war.
when we take first,
without a thought to giving...
we bury the body of god,
among the poor and the homeless.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He who controls the past commands the future. He who commands the future conquers the past.
quote by George Orwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Northern Farmer: New Style
Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaäy?
Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em saäy.
Proputty, proputty, proputty--Sam, thou's an ass for thy paaïns:
Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs, nor in all thy braaïns.
Woä--theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam; yon 's parson's 'ouse--
Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eäther a man or a mouse?
Time to think on it then; for thou'll be twenty to weeäk.
Proputty, proputty--woä then, woä--let ma 'ear mysén speäk.
Me an' thy muther, Sammy, 'as been a'talkin' o' thee;
Thou's beän talkin' to muther, an' she beän a tellin' it me.
Thou'll not marry for munny--thou's sweet upo' parson's lass--
Noä--thou 'll marry for luvv--an' we boäth of us thinks tha an ass.
Seeä'd her todaäy goä by--Saäint's-daäy--they was ringing the bells.
She's a beauty, thou thinks--an' soä is scoors o' gells,
Them as 'as munny an' all--wot's a beauty?--the flower as blaws.
But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.
Do'ant be stunt; taäke time. I knaws what maäkes tha sa mad.
Warn't I craäzed fur the lasses mysén when I wur a lad?
But I knaw'd a Quaäker feller as often 'as towd ma this:
"Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!"
An' I went wheer munny war; an' thy muther coom to 'and,
Wi' lots o' munny laaïd by, an' a nicetish bit o' land.
Maäybe she warn't a beauty--I niver giv it a thowt--
But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?
Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weänt 'a nowt when 'e 's deäd,
Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her breäd.
Why? for 'e 's nobbut a curate, an' weänt niver get hissén clear,
An' 'e maäde the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shere.
An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' Varsity debt,
Stook to his taäil thy did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.
An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi' noän to lend 'im a shuvv,
Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married for luvv.
Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,
Maäkin' 'em goä togither, as they've good right to do.
Couldn I luvv thy muther by cause 'o 'er munny laaïd by?
Naäy--fur I luvv'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reäson why.
Ay, an' thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass,
Cooms of a gentleman burn: an' we boäth on us thinks tha an ass.
Woä then, proputty, wiltha?--an ass as near as mays nowt--
Woä then, wiltha? dangtha!--the bees is as fell as owt.
Breäk me a bit o' the esh for his 'eäd, lad, out o' the fence!
Gentleman burn! what's gentleman burn? is it shillins an' pence?
Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest
If it isn't the saäme oop yonder, fur them as 'as it 's the best.
Tis'n them as 'as munny as breaks into 'ouses an' steäls,
Them as 'as coats to their backs an' taäkes their regular meäls,
Noä, but it 's them as niver knaws wheer a meäl's to be 'ad.
Taäke my word for it Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.
Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a beän a laäzy lot,
Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leastways 'is munny was 'id.
But 'e tued an' moil'd issén dead, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.
Looök thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill!
Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;
An' I 'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou 'll live to see;
And if thou marries a good un I 'll leäve the land to thee.
Thim's my noätions, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick;
But if thou marries a bad un, I 'll leäve the land to Dick.--
Coom oop, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'im saäy--
Proputty, proputty, proputty--canter an' canter awaäy.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Young At Heart And Foolish Free
Some people when they get older
just grow old and feel older,
but there are others who remain
young at heart and foolish free.
They feel they could run for miles,
and then their lumbago stirs
and leaves them reaching
for their old walking cane once more.
Other feel they are sixteen again,
forgetting age slows us up
and our feet cannot move as fast
and they keep tripping us up.
Oh, young at heart and foolish free
is what everyone wants to be.
Running the ten minute mile
without stopping every once in a while.
Feeling party smart and wrinkle free
until they look in the mirror.
Then gasping with horror
and saying is that really me?
Young at heart and foolish free,
no one cares if you are three or a hundred and three.
You’re as young as you feel
and foolish as you want to be.
So put up that walking cane,
forget who you are, come
join me on the swings
and be young at heart and foolish free.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You can't comfort the afflicted with afflicting the comfortable.
quote by Princess Diana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Young Man Marries A Virgin
The bridegroom rejoices with the bride as,
A young man marries a virgin;
And you will be married to me becaue of the delight of your love.
Instead of bronze, i will bring you gold for your love;
Instead of iron, i will bring you silver for your love;
Instead of ordinary stones, i will bring you precious stones for your love;
Ans as a young man marries a virgin,
Because the truth is all noted very well in the village of love and peace!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.
quote by Finley Peter Dunne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Run To The ONE Who Comforts
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without delaying.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without debating...
Which way you should go,
Or who to see to please.
The ONE will get your wishes met,
If you keep your faith to heed.
And with the ONE close you can bet,
You'll have no regrets!
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without delaying.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without debating...
Who it is you know,
To recommend and suggest...
What it is that you should do,
When the ONE who does it best...
To,
Comfort.
And take that weight off your chest.
And...
Comfort.
To put your mind at rest.
And...
Comfort.
To eliminate those tests...
Others want you to go through,
To keep your life in a wrecked mess.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without delaying.
Run to the ONE who comforts you.
Without debating...
Which way you should go,
Or who to see to please.
The ONE will get your wishes met,
If you keep your faith to heed.
Run to the ONE who comforts.
You'll have no regrets!
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
Put your mind at rest.
And...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
You'll have no regrets!
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
Put your mind at rest.
Run to the ONE who comforts.
No 'other' can do this best.
So...
Run to the ONE who comforts.
And put your mind at rest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But you don't decide what to do with the info. Thought runs you. Thought, however, gives false info that you are running it, that you are the one who controls thought. Whereas actually thought is the one which controls each one of us.
quote by David Bohm
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.
quote by George Orwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He that marries a widow with four children marries four thieves.
He who marries a widow with three children, marries four thieves.
In all life one should comfort the afflicted, but verily, also, one should afflict the comfortable, and especially when they are comfortably, contentedly, even happily wrong.
John Kenneth Galbraith in Guardian (28 July 1989)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When a woman marries again, it is because she detested her first husband. When a man marries again, it is because he adored his first wife. Women try their luck men risk theirs.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O, What is Lost?
Yet again, the stock market crumbles and falls,
Ruining the economy for us all.
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
Gas prices rise as embargoes are insinuated.
War seems imminent. Tension is elevated.
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
Epidemics, viral infections are on the verge of spreading.
It's a shame our scientists don't know anything.
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
Front page: Can you believe it? Could it be true?
Snooki is pregnant. When is she due?
A day without a newspaper—
O, what is lost?
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where ignorance is bliss it's foolish to borrow your neighbor's newspaper.
quote by Kin Hubbard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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