Names, once they are in common use, quickly become mere sounds, their etymology being buried, like so many of the earth's marvels, beneath the dust of habit.
quote by Salman Rushdie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Etymology, n.:
Some early etymological scholars come up with derivations that were hard for the public to believe. The term "etymology" was formed from the Latin "etus" ("eaten"), the root "mal" ("bad"), and "logy" ("study of"). It meant "the study of things that are hard to swallow."
quote by Mike Kellen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Are Unto Dust
You are made from the dust of the earth,
And the Wailing-Wall will be there for you;
For you are unto dust and you shall return unto dust,
And this is just the journey of the spirit.
To the realm of the unknown and to the things we do for love,
And until death put us apart on this side of the planet;
For the flesh goes back to where it belongs to!
Yes, back to the earth.
Death is part of us and we need to learn from others,
For we have to be prepared as well;
For he flesh goes back to where it belongs to;
And out of the dust we were made.
The dust became flesh and today we are human beings,
And from the knowledge of the things to come;
But naked we came and naked we shall return.
Shed no tears on this love,
For death comes for all of us on this earth;
And we need to learn from the facts around us as well,
For it is better to be very righteous than to be buried with evil deeds.
Life is a long road full of sand and,
All that is acquired on this earth is vanity!
Yes, vanity upon vanity! !
For you and i are unto dust and,
Unto dust we shall return at the end of of all things.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CXV: Common Thing
It’s not a kindness of heart
It’s not strong solidarity
It’s just a common thing
It’s not local wisdom
It’s not old tradition
It’s just a common thing
It’s not call of duty
It’s not sense of right
It’s just a common thing
It’s not formal greeting
It’s not automatic response
It’s just a common thing
It’s not a matter of guessing
It’s not a part of instinct
It’s just a common thing
It’s not natural reaction
It’s not act of compassion
It’s just a common thing
It’s not regular news
It’s not lack of awareness
It’s just a common thing
It’s not general knowledge
It’s not piece of memory
It’s just a common thing
It’s not statistic range
It’s not operational standard
It’s just a common thing
It’s not moral excuses
It’s not people ignorance
It’s just a common thing
It’s not public secret
It’s not rhetoric question
It’s just a common thing
It’s not different mindset
It’s not basic solution
It’s just a common thing
It’s not absolute law
It’s not blind obedience
It’s just a common thing
It’s not sweet revenge
It’s not getting even
It’s just a common thing
It’s not constant worry
It’s not planted fear
It’s just a common thing
It’s not usual bickering
It’s not daily fight
It’s just a common thing
It’s not die hard habit
It’s not strange behavior
It’s just a common thing
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Subconciously
at the surface is a roy
could be roy something else
you face him
beneath a roy could be a jerry something
that you have met but could not fully
remember
you are determined not to be confused
and so you focus on the road that the the yellow bus is taking you
it is nothing but imagination
you are in the house
doing nothing because writing is actually nothing
beneath you is someone else and it
(a thing or something) is telling you what to write
you are not alarmed
it is nothing it is nothing but words and words are nothing
as a matter of familiarity
beneath your mind is the heart
beneath that heart are so many things
you try to enumerate names
and more names
and places
until you reach a certain marker, shades of red,
pathways of veins, flowing blood, all kept and contained
within the sound system
and then you look at your hands
beneath it
someone so lovely and beautiful
someone you desired for long
beneath you
and then you stop.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Leaves Of Grass
The leaves of grass will not pass on
Though the millstones grind them into dust
For the earth shall give life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
And the brave must fall to honor the names
Of the ones who have gone before
And the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
If people could look into each others eyes
What a wonderful place this world would be
All strife would end, we could start again
And dreams like these must not pass on
But the brave keep falling to honor the names
Of the ones who have gone before
And the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
And the brave keep falling to honor the names
Of the ones who have gone before
And the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
The leaves of grass will not pass on
Though the millstones grind them into dust
For the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good Evening Mr. Waldheim
Good evening mr.waldheim
And pontiff how are you?
You have so much in common
In the things you do
And here comes jesse jackson
He talks of common ground
Does that common ground include me
Or is it just a sound
A sound that shakes
Oh jesse, you must watch the sounds you make
A sound that quakes
There are fears that still reverberate
Jesse you say common ground
Does that include the plo?
What about people right here right now
Who fought for you not so long ago?
The words that flow so freely
Falling dancing from your lips
I hope that you dont cheapen them
With a racist slip
Oh common ground
Is common ground a word or just a sound
Common ground
Remember those civil rights workers buried in the ground
If I ran for president
And once was a member of the klan
Wouldnt you call me on it
The way I call you on farrakhan
And pontiff, pretty pontiff
Can anyone shake your hand ?
Or is it just that you like uniforms
And someone kissing your hand
Or is it true
The common ground for me includes you too
Oh, oh, is it true
The common ground for me includes you too
Good evening mr.waldheim
Pontiff how are you
As you both stroll through the woods at night
Im thinking thoughts of you
And jesse youre inside my thoughts
As the rhythmic words subside
My common ground invites you in
Or do you prefer to wait outside
Or is it true
The common ground for me is without you
Or is it true
The common ground for me is without you
Oh is it true
Theres no ground common enough for me and you
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Red Ant In This Labyrinth
it hard to accept
the truth that the one who will guide you through this labyrinth is a
mere
red ant, the one insigficant red ant, the one you have always killed
by the nail or your thumb when no one minds when no one ever knew
how red ants die their ordinary deaths and how they are not buried
how they die their skin and two main bodies all bursting under the sun
how they turn into mere dust
you do not
even remember
this is the red ant
this is insigficance the most ordinary of all ordinary creatures
in the labyrinth
of zigzag paths, and rooms closing and opening and deep and down
and up and side to the left to the right,
the blind red ant sees
leading us all to the light
away from arrogance.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Are We?
WHAT ARE WE?
What are we?
Dust of the earth
Dust of the stars
Thinking dust
Dreaming dust
Loving dust
Dust of Dust
God’s Dust
What are we?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Disposable Syringes
Disposable syringes are used once,
Injected into the veins
Through which diseased blood runs,
Then they are discarded for ever,
The users throw them into the waste-baskets
And then they are further disposed of
Lest one should come into contact
And find himself infected,
So they are buried deep beneath the layer of earth.
Our leaders are the disposable syringes,
They are used once by pioneers of the world,
To protect their interests, to get them a reach
To sources of the soil, minerals and oil,
Then they are thrown, discarded,
Either murdered, or hanged,
And buried deep beneath the layer of time.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Garden of Faith
Death disrobes the body of our fancy garments,
And clothes us with more common fashion:
A mere loincloth of sky blue silk,
So that we may feel the warm passion,
Of resurrection’s gorgeous spring
And the spiritual blessings it will bring.
So sleep on calmly with Jesus,
Beneath your coverlet of blue skies,
And know that the summer garden of ease
Will be there when you arise,
Like a lovely blossom given birth
From a shriveled seed in the earth.
poem by Albert Price
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Any religion...is for ever in danger of petrifaction into mere ritual and habit, though ritual and habit be essential to religion.
quote by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hecate's Due
You who are dead,
Do you know
They've dug up half the irises
That used to grow
Here in the quadrangle a year ago?
Those left are mere
Points of blue
That can't make sky of earth, as once
They used to do,
Didn't they? Buried flowers . . . Proserpin's due.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Hecate's Due
You who are dead,
Do you know
They've dug up half the irises
That used to grow
Here in the quadrangle a year ago?
Those left are mere
Points of blue
That can't make sky of earth, as once
They used to do,
Didn't they? Buried flowers . . . Proserpin's due.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Sonnet: ‘World’s Celebrities? ’
O world-famous figures, Celebrities!
What use have you been to the common-man?
Your life got spent in alluring cities;
Your selfishness tilts down the weighing-pan.
O, how much wealth need you to acquire?
And how much wealth can you spend on this earth?
And how much wealth do you utmost require?
And how much wealth can give you immense mirth?
Just think awhile, the world has such poor souls!
Half-naked silhouettes with famished frames;
Could you not put your wealth to better roles
And see the ‘Book of Life’ record your names?
Your progeny can’t sleep on money-beds!
Excessive wealth can turn them mere block-heads.
9-23-2002
poem by John Celes
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A scar not healing!
Blank horizon, swashing waves,
A tear dropp mixes
With ash, heavy heart bleeds
Mound on earth, beneath lies
One whose struggles
One whose sacrifices
Fed me,
Gave me,
Light and bread
Hollow is my heart, mound on earth
A scar not healing, dad, buried on earth!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Arc of Soul Mates
The arc of my brain reshaped for
The room to fill senses and madness
Acronyms and seduction amalgamated
Boundaries of essence essentials
Drawing the lines of segregation
The day would come when the sun
Touches the earth and everything turns
To dust but it’s you and me
Remnants of love’s great
Bolstering history of ancient trade
Centuries left shying away
Remember when death calling on us
Gardens of soul mates winding
Thames River became wild
Kilimanjaro’s peak crushing to debris
Birds of Nazarenes cease to fly
Virgin Alice refuses marriage
Red nights seem eternal
The moon no longer shines
Sounds of music blistered the ears
Little house on the prairie abandoned
Cell phones stop ringing
Netizens quit surfing
Remember when our bodies were buried
Hurricane pays earth a visit
The oceans swaying and coastal flooding
The trees were browning
Snows avalanching
Icebergs melting
Catastrophes seem to elope with human casualties
Shrines were filled with chants
Worshiping our names
Oh dear, Oh me
What’s these got to do with us?
It’s the seals and bindings of our hearts and souls
Eventually capturing theirs
An epic….....
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Her Only Bad Habit Is Me
We walk hand in hand
through our world today.
We will walk that way forever,
if bad habits don’t get in the way.
Now she has only one bad habit,
and that habit is me.
If I do something wrong,
she does not see my failing there.
She would rather go on loving,
the man she chose to care.
Now my bad habit shine like a beckon,
but she does not really care.
So though we wander with love,
through to the sunset somewhere.
I think of how lucky I am,
with everything I see.
So glad she has only one bad habit,
and that habit is me.
14 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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Veterans
When the last charge sounds
And the battle thunders o'er the plain,
Thunders o'er the trenches where the red streams flow,
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe?
When the last post sounds
And the night is on the battle-field,
Night and rest at last from all the tumult of our wars,
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, with duty done like yours, we lie beneath the stars?
When the great réveillé sounds
For the terrible last Sabbath,
All the legions of the dead shall hear the trumpet ring!
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, beneath your torn old flag, we rise to meet our King?
poem by Alfred Noyes
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23feb Wait For Last Miracles Last Pockets Of Hope
day’s heat hot dust sweat
day’s heat hot fear sweat
day’s heat fear darkness trapped
night fear earth blanket sweat
night fear earth darkness sweat
night fear chill fear buried alive
with reverence we dust dig
with reverence we hope dig
decay steals into noses silence says
dig in ruins of other buildings
dig in ruins where hope lays trapped
dig where dogs nose hope life trapped
these dead here will wait for last rites
these dead will wait to be reverence buried
wait for last miracles last pockets of hope found
poem by Terence George Craddock
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They Say I Am Mad, But....
i spend a lot of time
talking and listening to...
dogs and cats,
trees, abandoned buildings,
gardens plowed...
old outhouses,
worn out shoes,
candles burned down,
and wet matches!
i follow spirits in the night,
bathe naked in the moonlight.
whisper to old tire swings,
pray with tin roofs....
listen to the agonies of slugs and snails,
and rescue turtles from homicidal men.
i write names in tire tracks,
and sweep footsteps into dust.
i burn old coveralls
in sacrificial offering.
i search the endless night
for the howl of the wolves...
and mourn for the buffalo,
and all animals kept in pens.
i found van gogh's ear,
buried it beneath the willow.
they say i am mad...
but i know myself!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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