Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn!
quote by Robert Burns
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Thorn In The Flesh
Thorn beneath the milk-white
Crowned with
In the flesh
Thorns beneath the
Rose without
On the ground
On the stalk
Thousands at her bidding speed
Countless mourn
Die without
Sunbeam in a winter's day
True as the dial to
True as the dial to
True as the dial
To you.
poem by Harry Crosby
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Grieve England
Grieve, England, and hang your head
in utter shame,
as the tale of your inhumanity
rings to this very day.
Grieve about your fallen brave, England,
for no glory did your heroes bring
back from the battlefields of South Africa,
where they killed children
who did not want to betray
the whereabouts of their fathers.
What glory shines
in pillage and rape
and how does lament ring,
with the utter destruction
of farmsteads of a nation?
Grieve about the soulless slaughter, England,
of most of a nation’s women
and children in your cruel concentration camps,
where you fed glass mixed with meal
and let thousands of the innocent die of pestilence.
Cry, England, and hang your head
in utter shame,
as the tale of your inhumanity
rings forever more.
[Reference: => To the Anglo-Boer war where thousands of innocent woman and children died in British concentration camps.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Psalms in Poetry - Chapter 3
1 How countless stand my foes, O Lord!
How countless those against me, God!
2 How countless are those telling me,
‘His God won’t give him salvation! ’
3 But Yahweh is my shield beside,
My glory, holding my head high!
4 Whenev’r I cry to Yahweh, He
Answers from His holy mountain.
5 After I sleep, I shall wake up,
For Yahweh sustains me always.
6 I don’t fear people in thousands
Who stand against me when I turn.
7 Rescue me Yahweh, my dear God;
You strike my foes across their face;
You break the teeth of wicked ones.
8 In Yahweh, salvation is sure;
Your blessings rain on your people.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-16-2009
poem by John Celes
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The Poems Flutter
Along each river in thousands are the ditches,
And the dungeons that conceals the objects,
Thousands of things hidden to the human eyes.
Man in fact is a brimming river wide and deep,
Thousands of ditches hide secrets countless;
As pebbles, sand, stones dwell in the bottom,
Covered with the opaque oozy settling layers.
I bring out those pebbles, sand and stones,
To construct, erect the castle with thick walls,
Where nestle themselves poems mysterious,
And often flutter; flap there from one by one.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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There Are Thousands And Thousands
there are thousands and thousands of poems
written everyday in this world where we, whether we like it or not,
still continue living, breathing, writing, sighing,
whatever that we do, singing, bathing, playing, mourning,
there are thousands and thousands of poems
thousands of us, doing the same boring things in this world,
you are one of us, we are us, us, us, us,
thousands, and trillions, we are us,
despite, i have my ears for you, my eyes,
all for you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Never Mourn At My Funeral
Never mourn at my funeral
Because i'm not dead but sleeping
And relaxing on Abraham's bossom
Never mourn at my funeral
You that come in view to mourning
But within you, you're here to mock
Because my poetry has once expose your secret-deeds
Throw my body where you please
Or let it be dismembered
Never mourn at my funeral
You the insect that bites my daffodils
And you who want my fish to swim on a dry earth
Throw me on a stormy sea
Where Jonah fell
But its a glorious shame
I can never sight the river bank of Joppa
Never mourn at my funeral
You that come in my maker's name
Just to bless my end
Go thy way and search for lust souls
Wear them a garment pure as snow
Before they lie low with me
And journey hell eternal
Never mourn at my funeral
But mourn for we're debtors of death
poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
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In closing I wish to say that while I was sorely beset by a number of white riders in my racing days, I have also enjoyed the friendship of countless thousands of white men whom I class as among my closest friends.
quote by Major Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've Heard Much Talk Of Darfur
I've heard much talk of Darfur though I've never been to there
Where people only live in hope and die slowly in despair
The tragic footage of there on the t v news brings it all home to me
Of what it must be like for those who live in abject poverty.
In a Land of war and droughts and famines where war lords rule by fear
Of any feel good and happy stories we never seem to hear
Where people die of hunger in their thousands every day
Man's inhumanity to man is alive and well today.
Where men and women look old before they reach their prime
To be born in the wrong place ought not to be a crime
The seeds they've planted for food have died and the parched ground is cracked and dry
And the warlords steal their food aid and the people starve and die.
A million people hungry for every billionaire
And the super wealthy getting wealthier doesn't life seem so
unfair
And poverty has it's root cause in man's inhumanity to man
And I feel sure that wealthy people also live in Darfur in Sudan.
Of late I have heard much news of Darfur and I've seen sad footage on t v
Of people due to no fault of their own in the worst of poverty
In a drought stricken Land ruled by Warlords the innocent die young
And are buried in mass graves and their praises remain unsung.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Weep no more
WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as winged dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
poem by John Fletcher
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Inhumanity Still Like Before, Marches On
The killing of six million innocent people,
did not make the world stop turning,
it was hardly comprehended
and the inhumanity and the deeds
of Adolf Hitler, Paul Joseph Goebbels,
Adolf Eichman, Franz Stangl, Franz Murer,
Erich Rajakowitsch, Hermine Braunsteiner,
Karl Silberbauer, Josef Schwammberger
and many more people,
today is only a postscript in history
and wherever war rages, where bombs rain down,
the innocent pay the price,
where nations die of hunger
inhumanity still like before
marches on.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Bells Ringing
bells ringing...
thousands and thousands
of bells.... ringing....
the chorus of crows,
the sound of the whip
cracking on thousands
of backs, , ,
black and white,
brown and red....
the fat-bellied ticket taker
stands with hand outstretched...
cant pay the fare... cant ride....
left standing on the corner
of lost, and nameless.
marching to death, leaving
no trace, no footprints....
the bastard children of freedom,
no home to return to....
look up, look up!
the skies full of wings!
bells are ringing!
thousands and thousands
of bells... and each one
has a name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Workmen's March
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
That makes
one
of many, many,
That makes bold, if fear daunts any,
That makes small the load and lighter,
That makes near the goal and brighter,
Till it greets us gained with laughter,
And we seek the next one after.
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
Marching, marching of few hundreds,
No one heeds it, never one dreads;
Marching, marching of few thousands,
Here and there wakes some to hearing;
Marching, marching hundred thousands,-
All will mark that thunder nearing.
Left foot! Right foot! Lines unbroken!
Keeping time is power's token.
Let us march all, never weaken
Time from Vardö down to Viken,
Vinger up to Bergen's region,-
Let us make
one
marching legion,
Then we'll rout some wrong from Norway,
Open wide to right the doorway.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Another Sad Anniversary of 911
I remember the day when the terrorists shocked
Our world. I remember that sad and dark day.
Two planes crashed into the Twin Towers, other hijacked
Plane hit the Pentagon and another one landed
In Pennsylvania and exploded; all aboard died.
Thousands innocent people lost their lives.
I vividly remember that infamous day.
Thousands of people could not get away.
Millions of people panicked, millions cried.
I will always remember that day, where countless lives
Were changed forever. Thank God that the number one
Killer is now dead. Thank God that other killers can simply run
And hide; they cannot plan like that anymore,
They do not have the means to hurt us anymore.
The Almighty God is good all the time,
Even after being the victim of an egregious crime.
I will always remember 9/11,
Even when I'll reach ninety seven.
May God bless America!
May God protect America!
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Faery Song
Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania, in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.
We who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Gie to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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A Faery Song
i{Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania,}
i{in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.}
WE who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Blues For The Widow Of The Victim Of A Racist Attck
Mourn, and mourn hard
Your tears shall fall wasted and uncollected
On this damp slab of concrete
Mourn though young widow
Weep because your husband is dead
Cry because the crowd has left and you're alone
And ganged up against by the priests and the
Celebrity pastors who piously tell you
To forgive and forget
Sob because you're surrounded by the officials
Whom the wise state has instructed to order you
To accept reconciliation without justice
Cry the river of your tears because
Your dear departed husband is dead
And your lovely children will know what it's like
To miss the soothing voice of their father
So brutally snatched away from them
And dragged behind a speeding vehicle and fed
To the lions for the sick amusement
Of a deranged and kaffir hating racist
Mourn for yourself mama
Now you'll face the world alone
With the dubious title of a single parent
Hanging on your fragile and emaciated neck
Mourn and cry and weep for the widows
Of the victims of genocide
Mourn and cry and weep for the sisters
Who are cornered and raped by their xenophobic neighbors
Mourn and cry and weep for the victims of the hurricane of
The internecine strife of ethnic cleansing and tribal warfare
Mourn and cry and weep for they
Who die unlamented in the flower of their youth
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Last of the thousand kisses
Every thing has a beginning
And every thing that began has an end
Good or bad
Pallatable or otherwise
Joyful or saddening
Things have an end as they had a beginning
Though, most of the times, we know as to
When things began
We do not really know as to
When they are going to end
There is a need for us to be
Prepared for the nemesis
Whether such an end is
Acceptable to us or not
We really do not know
Whether it is the last of the thousand good things we have done
Whether it is the last of the millions of breathes we have taken
Whether it is the last of the billions of beats our heart has performed
Whether it is the last of the thousands of suppers we had
Whether it is the last of the thousands of the tear droplets we shed
Whether it is the last of the thousands of hearty laughters we had
Whether it is the last of the thousands of affectionate hugs we made
Or
Whether it is the last of the thousands joyful intimacies
We had with our life partner
So
Let us enjoy every bit of every thing we do
Let us be involved
Let us be immersed
Let us be lost
Let us be perfect
Let us be self-satisfied
Let us be exciting the beneficiary of our deed
With whatever we do
As if it is the
Last of the thousand kisses
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Good Man
I
A good man never dies--
In worthy deed and prayer
And helpful hands, and honest eyes,
If smiles or tears be there:
Who lives for you and me--
Lives for the world he tries
To help--he lives eternally.
A good man never dies.
II
Who lives to bravely take
His share of toil and stress,
And, for his weaker fellows' sake,
Makes every burden less,--
He may, at last, seem worn--
Lie fallen--hands and eyes
Folded--yet, though we mourn and mourn,
A good man never dies.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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at Marina Beach, Chennai..
silvery sands of marina,
glitter under the moon light,
shine under the sun light.
The eagerness in waves,
touch her quite often,
unconditionally, unopposed.
The cool breeze that flows
through the sultry body,
makes the human possessed.
beautiful shores of intelligent marina,
not for sale and not for bare and bars,
though violent waves hurt her sometimes.
Thousands of hearts united,
on the fine sands of Marina, but
thousands buried underneath, unnoticed.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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I don't mourn the dead. I mourn the living.
quote by Stephen Evans
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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