The village had a mill near it, situated on the little creek, which made very good flour. The population consisted of civilized Indians, but much mixed blood.
quote by Zebulon Pike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
We’re Indians First and Lastly!
We’re Indians firstly!
And that’s the way, we’re known all o’er the globe;
And that is what we tell the world around;
This is our primary identity.
We’re Indians firstly!
We may belong to any state by birth;
Then come our language, creed, community;
We’re Indians primarily!
We’re Indians firstly!
United are we by the tricolor;
The soil is one, though states be many;
We’re Indians basically!
We’re proud of our rich our Indian heritage;
Our thirst is quenched by rivers of India;
Our hunger is appeased by crops grown here;
We’re Indians first and ultimately!
Let none dare try to sow seeds of discord;
The Indian’s free to live in any state;
When asked, let always be our reply,
‘We’re Indians firstly!
God gave one sun and moon to all of us;
We live under the sky, our common roof;
We enjoy freedom got by same ‘Struggle’!
We’re Indians all, firstly!
We’re Indians firstly!
Our patriotism is Indianness;
Our pride’s in being born as Indians;
We’re Indians first and lastly!
All Indians are our brothers and sisters;
We love our fellowmen as our brethren;
Same blood of oneness flows within us all;
We’re Indians first, always, ultimately!
‘Jai Hind! Jai Bharat! Jai bharatiya! Jai bharatvaasi!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-2-2010
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everybody is Getting Out of Town
Population getting out of town,
Population wearing running shoes,
Population wondering which road to choose,
Everybody's getting out of town.
They all want to leave; they would if they could,
But right now the road ain't no good,
If you ain't crying, you might as well laugh,
While you're trying to get out of town.
Power plant, glowing in the dark,
Nobody sure what set off the spark,
They say the island is sinking fast,
Everybody's getting out of town.
Population looking for a sign,
Whose fault is it, living on the fault line,
Better do better if there IS a next time,
But for now, just get out of town.
Population looking for something to eat,
Population looking for what was the street,
If you leaving, all you got is your feet,
Good luck getting out of town.
poem by Richard Jarboe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cripple Creek
1: well I married a wife in the month of june,
Married her up by the light of the moon.
We live down on cripple creek.
Weve been there about a week.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
2: now cripple creek girls about half-grown,
Jump on a man like a dog on a bone.
Roll my pants up to my knees,
Cross on cripple creek a-when I please.
Chorus: Im a-goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
Goin down to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Goin down to cripple creek to have some fun.
3: well Im goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run.
Im a-goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
Chorus: Im a-goin to cripple creek, Im goin on a run,
Goin to cripple creek to have some fun.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Breadline
In the baked dough of flour, water and yeast
they were chatting merrily while baking.
The robust baker listens; ' flour said' I was in a big field
and then after the crop they took me to a mill and they grind.
Water laughed and said' I don't know where I have come from? '.
Yeast said 'I was a fungus dear; not only in the bakery
in the brewery too a good demand for us.
I heard that they make bread, cake and so many varieties out of us.
Our price goes high everyday and a poor cannot afford.'
History says; Marie.Antoinette said to the poor
'if you cannot eat bread then why don't you try cake? '
And the following day they invaded the fortress Bastile.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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He who has been at the mill has flour on his hat.
If you don't want flour, do not get into the mill.
The only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not a sufficient warrant.
John Stuart Mill in On Liberty (1859)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Village Far Far Away
Far, far away is my village!
Where fireflies of my childhood
Still glow in thick folliage
Of Pipal trees.
My lisping words
As they fell from my lips
Are still alive
On old, bent, dying stairs
Of the long-deserted house!
Like rapiers thrust into silence.
Far, far away is my village!
Where darkness
Spreads its wing before it is evening
Tick-tocking sound of the flour mill
Long flights of birds
Going far, far away
Tinkling bells
All become a single tune
To drown into the dark lake
Of night.
Far, far away is my village!
Where I saw
Dreams of happy days to come
While learning my lessons
In the dim light
Of hurricane lamp.
Far, far away is my village!
Where reflections of my first love
Still linger
Where paths are shrouded
In sadness
And loneliness laced with secret longings
Peoples fields, ponds, the school
And trees herded together.
Far, far away is my village!
Where wind still finds
Its way in moonlit nights
Through silent streets
And sleepy courtyards
Calls for me in silence
And turns back, not finding me.
Wind has the same old habit
The same old routine
But life has trampled me
Under direction-less feet
Of crowds in cities.
(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you don't want flour on your shoes, don't go into the mill.
I'm An Indian Too
Like the Seminole, Navajo, Kickapoo
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Just like Battle Axe, Hatchet Face, Eagle Nose
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Some Indian summer's day
Without a sound
I may hide away
With Big Chief Hole-in-the-Ground
And I'll have totem poles, tomahawks, pipes of peace
Which will go to prove
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
With my chief in his teepee
We'll raise an Indian family
And I'll be busy night and day
Looking like a flour sack
With two papooses on my back
And three papooses on the way
Like the Chippewa, Iroquois, Omaha
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Just like Rising Moon, Falling Pants, Running Nose
Like those Indians
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
Some Indian summer's day
Without a care
I may run away
With Big Chief Son-of-a-Bear
And I'll wear moccasins, wampum beads, feather hats
Which will go to prove
I'm an Indian too
A Sioux
A Sioux
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Country Comfort
Soon the pines will be falling everywhere
Village children always fighting for fair share
And the six-o-nine goes roarin' down the creek
As Parson Lee prepares his service for next week
I saw grandma yesterday down at the store
Well she's really lookin' fine for eighty-four
And she asked me if some time I'd fix the barn
Poor old girl, she needs a man down on the farm
Chorus:
And it's good old country comforts in my bones
Just the sweetest sound my ears have ever known
Just an old fashioned feeling in my bones
Country comforts and the road that's going home
Down at the mill they've got a new machine
Foreman says it cuts manpower by fifteen
"Oh, but that ain't natural" old man Grayson says
'cause he's a horse-drawn man until his dying days
(Chorus)
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am not aware that any community has a right to force another to be civilized.
quote by John Stuart Mill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We had grain but no mills, so I designed a special mill of wood so we could make flour.
quote by Mikhail Kalashnikov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After all the fertile land in the immediate neighbourhood of the first settlers were cultivated, if capital and population increased, more food would be required, and it could only be procured from land not so advantageously situated.
quote by David Ricardo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0258 While the enamel holds
I've just made a passable loaf:
the mixing bowl could almost
be called a Thanksgiving Bowl -
maybe, could start a fashion:
it's made, not of catering-trade steel
which spins nicely on the worktop
nor of plastic, but
of enamel, made about 1929 I guess,
by Kockums of Sweden, size 28 cms
it's clearly stamped -
Kockum's whose proud claim is that
'it lasts a lifetime' - if
you're fortunate enough to be able
to test it thus...
my mother used it to make cakes
- I can hear the scratch of sugar, butter, flour, right now;
sometimes the smell of lemon or vanilla too. And
for her, too, gratitude, I guess,
while she used it, hands and thoughts,
although she could not put it to
the Kockum's test...But the silvery marks
of the fork, or whisk, or careful knife that
left little for me to lick,
disappeared from its strong enamel
and now I use it to make bread
wondering how many of
the current users could verify
to Kockum's management
their proud claim
for it was only late in life that
my mother told me that this bowl
this small 28 cm bowl
was my first baby bath
so as I use it with these mixed emotions
mixed together in this mixing bowl
receptacle of love on love
and thanksgiving
I note with some reflection
that recently, one slight chip
in its circular bowl has appeared
due perhaps to carelessness, not in
the preparing but the washing-up...
and think I'd rather think
(you see - the baby turned out intellectual)
my life were rounded by my failures in my care
than the life of an enamel bowl
however guaranteed
perhaps we'll go together...
dust to dust, flour to flour,
flowers falling to nourish
the seeds of flowers to come
I must remember to ask
my executors to write Kockum's
and confirm their not so often
substantiated claim
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dawns Highway
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind.
Me and my -ah- mother and father - and a
Grandmother and a grandfather - were driving through
The desert, at dawn, and a truck load of indian
Workers had either hit another car, or just - I dont
Know what happened - but there were indians scattered
All over the highway, bleeding to death.
So the car pulls up and stops. that was the first time
I tasted fear. I musta been about four - like a child is
Like a flower, his head is just floating in the
Breeze, man.
The reaction I get now thinking about it, looking
Back - is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead
Indians...maybe one or two of em...were just
Running around freaking out, and just leaped into my
Soul. and theyre still in there.
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young childs fragile eggshell mind.
Blood in the streets in the town of new haven
Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of venice
Blood in my love in the terrible summer
Bloody red sun of phantastic l.a.
Blood screams her brain as they chop off her fingers
Blood will be born in the birth if a nation
Blood is the rose of mysterious union
Blood on the rise, its following me.
Indian, indian what did you die for?
Indian says, nothing at all.
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XIII:The light that rises from your feet to your hair
The light that rises from your feet to your hair,
the strength enfolding your delicate form,
are not mother of pearl, not chilly silver:
you are made of bread, a bread the fire adores.
The grain grew high in its harvest of you,
in good time the flour swelled;
as the dough rose, doubling your breasts,
my love was the coal waiting ready in the earth.
Oh, bread your forehead, your legs, your mouth,
bread I devour, born with the morning light,
my love, beacon-flag of the bakeries:
fire taugh you a lesson of the blood;
you learned your holiness from flour,
from bread your language and aroma.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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All Mixed Up
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
And no I cant find no reason
To explain the way that I feel
I remember things being clearer
At one t ime things were more real
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed up about you
Im not lookin for sympathy
Im just frightened by this apathy
Like footsteps way in back of me
On a narrow street of stone
And if time will answer all questions
Then perhaps a film will be shown
Everyone could mail-order tickets
Yeah, you could sell a lot of shirts
For the last picture show
Im all mixed up, Im all mixed up about,
All mixed u p about you
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Country Comforts
(bernie taupin, elton john)
Soon the pines will be falling everywhere
Village children always fighting for fair share
And the six-o-nine goes roarin down the creek
As parson lee prepares his service for next week
I saw grandma yesterday down at the store
Well shes really lookin fine for eighty-four
And she asked me if some time Id fix the barn
Poor old girl, she needs a man down on the farm
Chorus:
And its good old country comforts in my bones
Just the sweetest sound my ears have ever known
Just an old fashioned feeling in my bones
Country comforts and the road thats going home
Down at the mill theyve got a new machine
Foreman says it cuts manpower by fifteen
Oh, but that aint natural old man grayson says
cause hes a horse-drawn man until his dying days
(chorus)
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I enrolled to my old school
Yes it's still situated in the same place.
And it's very hard to find.
Surrounding almost changed.
They have flatten with bulldozers all and made skyscrapers around.
A concrete city! But it's situated in the same place.
My old teachers were not there and the belfry hall is very old.
Thatched roof converted to tin sheets and there were few more class rooms.
Mango and Jack-fruit trees no more.
Where were my old friends?
The Principal is my friend's son
Who was surprised?
When I asked that I want to enroll.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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