All great people glorify their history and look back upon their early attainments with a spiritualized vision.
quote by Kelly Millar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autobiography
My father made the walls resound,
He wore his collar the wrong way round.
When I was five the black dreamscame;
Nothing after was quite the same.
When I woke they did not care;
Nobody, nobody was there.
In my childhood trees were green
And there was plenty to be seen.
When my silent terror cried,
Nobody, nobody replied.
I got up; the chilly sun
Saw me walk away alone.
My mother wore a yellow dress;
Gentle, gently, gentleness.
The dark was talking to the dead;
The lamp was dark beside my bed.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
Come back early or never come.
poem by Louis Macneice
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Three Kinds of People
The books of my history
Begins with comedy
And end with tragedy
“Son”, do you know this
Spontaneous?
If you don’t know
Don’t mind
Your father will tell you.
There are three kinds of people
But the history knows only two
The first are foxy foxes
Who do right things and
Great good deeds
They stand at the top of history
The second are mad dogs
Who do wrong things and
Great evil deeds
They stand at the bottom of history
The third are piggy hyenas
Who are neither wise nor foolish?
Who cannot do right or wrong?
The history doesn’t know them
They have no chapter in history book
Can you choose among them for
Your inspiration and if you
Can heed my advice
The foxes are the best stars
To stick to.
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Brothers, let us glorify freedom’s twilight
Brothers, let us glorify freedom’s twilight –
the great, darkening year.
Into the seething waters of the night
heavy forests of nets disappear.
O Sun, judge, people, your light
is rising over sombre years
Let us glorify the deadly weight
the people’s leader lifts with tears.
Let us glorify the dark burden of fate,
power’s unbearable yoke of fears.
How your ship is sinking, straight,
he who has a heart, Time, hears.
We have bound swallows
into battle legions - and we,
we cannot see the sun: nature’s boughs
are living, twittering, moving, totally:
through the nets –the thick twilight - now
we cannot see the sun, and Earth floats free.
Let’s try: a huge, clumsy, turn then
of the creaking helm, and, see -
Earth floats free. Take heart, O men.
Slicing like a plough through the sea,
Earth, to us, we know, even in Lethe’s icy fen,
has been worth a dozen heavens’ eternity.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Tye
I was once a great queen of Egypt,
Though I ‘am just a lifeless mummy now,
I was once at the heart of Egyptian life,
I became first queen of real power,
I helped shape history through my actions,
My name still lives on today,
People still carry my name after all these years,
I have become as close to immortal as any human can,
History still remembers who I was,
The Tye name lives on across the world,
People still us my name with pride,
Though I died so long ago I still live on,
Showing the world what I achieved,
I was the first woman to become an equal to men,
People respected me for my wisdom and intellect,
I paved the way for all those who followed me,
I was the first of many great queens though-out history,
I ‘am a sign of what could be achieved by one person.
poem by Christopher Tye
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Survive
Whatever happened to you
The one that was so beautiful
I could count on you to make my life a little brighter
I always thought you were built to last
But I never saw anything fall apart so fast
You were born in freedom
To be a slave to your inhibitions
Inventing excuses and proving the right to back up your condition
But a soul like that aint tied too tight
And its liable to scatter all over the night
Seasons change
Some people get old and die
Great cities are built up and torn down
But I see youre still alive
Seasons change
Some people get old and die
Great cities are built up and torn down
So how could you survive
Im not asking for much
Only for time to stop
And history to go unrecorded
And people not to be people
People not to be people
People not to be people
People not to be people not to b
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's The Conquerors Who Write The History
As they chased the wild bison on horse back they whooped and cheered loud
And they were great hunters so noble and proud
But now on the prairies the bison are rare
And the people who hunted them no longer there.
Of the great Northern Land the first people till the invaders came
And their tragic dispossession is a thing of great shame
Conquered and put into reservations for to grow old and die
The rights of Indigenous people to them did not apply.
It's the conquerors who write history as we have been told
And men they have murdered for Land and for Gold
But what matters most when history we trace
That a Country's first people must take pride of place.
You great country singers with your golden guitars,
You politicians and tycoons and billionaire movie stars
There once was a people far greater than you
And to Mother Nature they were far more true.
And the workings of Nature they did understand
And they were the people who cared for the Land
And they were displaced and oppressed and down trod
By those who believed in a different God.
They once were great warriors, wise, noble and proud
And they gave us Chief Seattle and wise Chief White Cloud
And their profound words of wisdom still living today
And such things of great beauty will never decay.
The truth may seem bitter but the truth we must face
That a Country's first people should take pride of place
And around the World Indigenous people are not treated well
Though they have such marvellous stories to tell.
The conquerors write the history as conquerors do
But to the true history they never are true
And the conquered the history never will write
And we are conditioned to believe that might is always right.
The changes keep happening and nothing seem to last
And the great herds of bison a thing of the past
And those who once hunted them were locked away
And in reservations were forced for to stay.
Out on the lone prairie their ghosts still reside
At midnight the hunters their spotted horses ride
As they chase the wild bison across the great plain
The past in the moonlight comes to life again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
poem by Francis Duggan
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Twilight Of Freedom
1
Let us glorify, brothers, the twilight of freedom --
The great twilight year.
A weighty forest of nets is lowered
Into the bubbling waters of night.
You are rising into desolate years,
O sun, judge, people.
2
Let us glorify the fateful burden,
Which the nation's chief takes up in tears.
Let us glorify the twilight burden of power,
Its unbearable weight.
Whoever has the heart should hear, time,
How your ship is sinking.
3
We tied the swallows into battle legions
And so, the sun's obscured; all of nature
Warbles, whirls, lives;
The dense twilight through the nets
The sun's obscured, and the land sets sail.
4
But still, let us try: an enormous, awkward,
Screeching turn of the wheel.
The land is sailing. Take courage, men!
Dividing the ocean, like a plow,
We will recall even in Lethe's frost,
That our land cost ten heavens.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Faith is spiritualized imagination.
quote by Henry Ward Beecher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We've Not Learned From War History The Facts Never Lie
We've not learned from war history the facts never lie
For God and for Country many still fight and die
The flowers do not bloom brighter on the dead soldier's grave
As the one who died of old age and was not known to be brave.
With the words we've not learned from war history
I happen to be one of those who agree
One war leads to another it does seem to me
And we still have War Memorial day in the twenty first century.
Where there is mistrust between people hatred come to the boil
In war over borders and war over oil
And in wars over God far too many have died
To antiquated thinking many do remain tied.
Out of war and it's suffering many heroes are made
And to honour the war dead another parade
And for as long as those who glorify war do have things their own way
The flower of peace will never see light of day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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~ His[s]tory ~
History Maker ~ Fossilized Custodian
History Breaker ~ Reckless Bohemian
History Reformer ~ Abortive Artisan
History Seeker ~ Obsessive Varifocalian
History Writer ~ Hyperbolic Historian
History Critique ~ Diplomatic Confucian
History Reader ~ Befuddled Bookman.
Better Opt For ~ Gymnastic Geography
Enjoy Floor Exercise ~ In Poetry.
Won’t You?
If Not Check Cervical Spine
For Etiology Of Vertigo Sign.
==
Glossary: Humbly given for what I tried to express: ~
Varifocalian: Metaphorically used relating to a lens that is graduated to permit any length of vision between near and distant.
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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The vision that you glorify in your mind, the ideal that you enthrone in your heart - this you will build your life by, and this you will become.
quote by James Lane Allen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Habits And The Development.
Early birds wake up early to get the juiciest fruits,
Modern Men fail to sleep by working three shifts,
Countries where men are awake with bustling cities,
Where their forefathers were smart and intelligent,
To forecast the future of their children of children,
Without the corruption of corrupted vision.
Our forefathers were the reason for our failures,
Of having inefficient population and the leaders,
Who have failed to wake up early morning,
To look at the rising sun that glowing,
In the countries, where the roads are vacant,
Where railway and bus stations are empty,
Where people are still in bed at six and after,
There, people live in poverty and despair.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Capitol Art
Snuggled in the Nation’s Capital
You’ll never believe what we saw
An art gallery so wonderful
It was truly an exceptional draw
Cowboy art sure takes you back
To the old western days
Cowboys with rope in hand
Gathering up all the strays
An early part of American history
And the perfect place in which to find
In our Capital in Washington DC
We must not leave history behind
If you ever get a chance, my friend
To tour this extraordinary place
Take advantage of this art gallery
For history we should never waste!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Complacency Kills
So many people know what's wrong
but still are singing the same old song.
They know our government's filled with sin
but they accept the predicament that we're in.
We've become complacent and accept our fate.
They are the eaters. We are the bait.
They gobble up hope with an iron hand
and tell us we have freedom in this land.
Too many lies have filled our ears
over and again all through the years.
We are taxed to death and they still want more.
They need more taxes for another war.
They get richer as they take what we earn.
They take away our dreams and still we yearn
for change to come and light to shine.
That's a fool's way of thinking, a clinging vine
that hangs on to a vision that's not real.
For every government is set up to steal.
So why can't people take back what's theirs?
Because they're too busy saying their prayers.
Well God helps those who help themselves.
Read the history books gathering dust on shelves.
Then you'll see that it's all up to we
to change what's becoming our history.
Visit my bookstore at
stores.lulu.com/reizerj
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Arms are instruments of ill omen. . . . When one is compelled to use them, it is best to do so without relish. There is no glory in victory, and to glorify it despite this is to exult in the killing of men. . . . When great numbers of people are killed, one should weep over them with sorrow. When victorious in war, one should observe mourning rites.
History is Bunkum
History is Bunkum
History is often written by the victor
A web of deceit woven by the writer
To glorify the deeds of his master
And decry the good deeds of the loser:
His name is vilified
His good deeds set aside
His just cause demonised
Only the winner is glorified
History is father and mother of lies
Fabrications the writer describes
Leaving us an account after his demise,
A legacy that hopefully fools and survives
The passage of time testifies to its credibility
Self-interest confers on it the seal of authenticity
It is then paraded as the voice of truth and sanity
But we all know it is mostly hot air and vanity.
poem by Isam Hussain
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When it went on the air, the sales department hated it. It was the highest advertising pullout show in the history of NBC. At the early focus groups, people were saying, 'Who are these people? Why should we watch them?
Today, as we look back on the history of our nation and take note of how far we have come as a people, we are reminded that we owe a great debt to those who fought valiantly for the freedoms that we easily take for granted.
quote by Sam Brownback
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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