Before my grandpa built his own church, we went to the neighboring town, and it was a white community. You know, up north, mostly middle European people and Indians, Chippewa Indians. We were welcome to that church, but once we got in, they didn't know what to do with us.
quote by James Earl Jones
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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Sex & The Church
Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fruit And Nutter
I know some of my poems can be a bit absurd.
All you have to do is look at who writes them
he is a bit absurd too.
Anyone who plays Cowboys and Indians
at the age of sixty something
has to be a bit of a fruit and nutter.
However, saying all that
I really play Preachers and Indians
with a couple of sermons
thrown in for good measure.
They gave me the tag of Dodgy Dave,
the wife says it is because I dodge the Hoover,
but it’s because everyone thinks
I’m a bit of a fruit and nutter.
I stumble over my own sermons
and get locked up in jail for that
especially when I cannot read
what I’ve just written.
I have weird sense of humour
and all you have to do is ask my friends about that.
I have a saying
if you don’t come to my church,
my church will come to you
when you’re not looking.
When friends see me with a wicked grin
they know there’s a gag a foot
so they run and hide
and I wonder why.
What do I care
I’m just a fruit and nutter
and having a lot of fun with that.
11 September 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Church Is Built On Bloody Bones
The church is built on bloody bones,
Broken martyrs, burning homes;
The church is built on bloody bones-
Not singing angels, golden thrones.
The church is built on murder, rage,
Plunder, anger and pillage;
The church is built on murder, rage-
There's no escaping murders wage.
The church you choose informs your soul,
If you're shattered, if you're whole;
The church you choose informs your soul-
So be sure it's worthy goal.
poem by Patti Masterman
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His True Church
I know many religious people, and one Church with no steeple,
A church that’s built with no walls, built on only believing souls,
Built upon an Eternal Foundation, that being our very Salvation,
Built upon The One Cornerstone, and that is Jesus Christ alone.
Many, who worship in a building, to Truth alone, are unyielding,
Building a church on tradition, God’s Truth, with man’s addition,
Added to the work finished by, Jesus Christ who reigns on high,
Ignoring His words “it is finished”, Grace by many is diminished.
Men making a way to Heaven, not by grace but religious leaven,
Building church in a human way, as they lead many souls astray,
As many souls weekly perch, in the pews of a manmade church,
Relying on their religious activity, to help them work into eternity.
“I will build my Church” He said, that was Christ, who is the Head,
Head of His True Church on earth, filled with souls, by New Birth,
All members being Born Again, into His Church, not one of men,
You’ll find, you no longer search, as a member of God’s Church.
Jesus is the Way, Truth and Life, as Head of the Church of Christ,
And each of us is a living stone, built through faith in Christ alone,
His Church He proceeds to build, to complete as His Father willed,
Leading the only True Church friend, as others shall see in the end.
We used to root for the Indians against the cavalry, because we didn't think it was fair in the history books that when the cavalry won it was a great victory, and when the Indians won it was a massacre.
quote by Dick Gregory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Church On Comiaken Hill
for Sydney Pettit
The lines are keen against today's bad sky
about to rain. We're white and understand
why Indians sold butter for the funds
to build this church. Four hens and a rooster
huddle on the porch. We are dark
and know why no one climbed to pray. The priest
who did his best to imitate a bell
watched the river, full of spirits, coil
below the hill, relentless for the bay.
A church abandoned to the wind is portent.
In high wind, ruins make harsh music.
The priest is tending bar. His dreams have paid
outrageous fees for stone and mortar.
His eyes are empty as a chapel
roofless in a storm. Greek temples seem
the same as forty centuries ago.
If we used one corner for a urinal,
he wouldn't swear we hadn't worshipped here.
The chickens cringe. Rain sprays chaos where
the altar and the stained glass would have gone
had Indians not eaten tribal cows
one hungry fall. Despite the chant,
salmon hadn't come. The first mass
and a phone line cursed the river.
If rain had rhythm, it would not be Latin.
Children do not wave as we drive out.
Like these graves ours may go unmarked.
Can we be satisfied when dead
with daffodils for stones? These Indians--
whatever they once loved or used for God--
the hill--the river--the bay burned by the moon--
they knew that when you die you lose your name.
poem by Richard Hugo
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Some Have Steeples. Some Don't
What do I think of church?
'Yes! '
Church?
Like in 'church' church?
'Yes! '
Well...
Some have steeples.
Some don't.
Some have people.
Some wont.
Some are religiously political.
And some are politically religious.
My vehicle is my church.
And that's all I care about.
'Oh?
So your 'car' is your church? '
Oh.
No no!
My 'body' is my church.
It is my sanctuary.
Now...
Keep in mind,
I am not devoted to keep it as pure,
As it should be.
But I do the best I can,
Not to be led away by temptation.
But everyday I pray to be forgiven,
Of those 'sins' I know I should not enjoy!
However...
You can find me anytime,
Self righteously defending...
My point of view.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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City Of Dreams
Here where you are standing
The dinosaurs did a dance
The indians told a story
Now it has come to pass
The indians had a legend
The spaniards lived for gold
The white man came and killed them
But they havent really gone
We live in the city of dreams
We drive on the highway of fire
Should we awake
And find it gone
Remember this, our favorite town
From germany and europe
And southern u.s.a.
They made this little town here
That we live in to this day
The children of the white man
Saw indians on tv
And heard about the legend
How their city was a dream
We live in the city of dreams
We drive on the highway of fire
Should we awake
And find it gone
Remember this, our favorite town
The civil war is over
And world war one and two
If we can live together
The dream it might come true
Underneath the concrete
The dream is still alive
A hundred million lifetimes
A world that never dies
We live in the city of dreams
We drive on the highway of fire
Should we awake
And find it gone
Remember this, our favorite town
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grand Rapids
Air -- "Bright Alfaretta"
Wild roved the Indians once
On the banks of Grand River,
And they built their little huts
Down by that flowing river.
In a pleasant valley fair,
Where flows the river rapid,
An Indian village once was there,
Where now stands Grand Rapids.
Indian girls and boys were seen,
With their bow and quiver,
Riding in their light canoes
Up and down the river.
Their hearts were full of joy,
Happy voices singing
Made music with forest birds,
They kept the valley ringing.
Indians have left and gone
Beyond the Mississippi.
They called the river Owashtenong
Where stands this pleasant city.
Louis Campau the first white man
Bought land in Grand Rapids.
He lived and died, an honored man
By people of Grand Rapids.
When Campau came to the valley
No bridge was across the river;
Indians in their light canoes
Rowed them o'er the water.
Railroads now from every way
Run through the city, Grand Rapids;
The largest town in west Michigan
Is the city of Grand Rapids.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Colonel Buffalo Bill
Who's got the stuff that made the Wild West wild?
Who pleases ev'ry woman, man and child?
Who does his best to give the customers a thrill?
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Who's got the show that gets the most applause?
Five hundred Indians and fifty squaws
Ten feature acts and there's the special feature still
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Did you ever see a cowboy rope a steer?
-No, we haven't
Or an Indian with feathers throw a spear?
-No, we haven't
Or a marksman shoot an earring from an ear?
-No, we haven't
Did you ever see a hold up?
-No, sir
Then gather closer
And let me give you some of the atmosphere
The hour is midnight and all is still
We see the stagecoach climbing up a hill
Going along a mountain trail carrying passengers and mail
Never suspecting danger as they roll along
The watchful driver is in his seat
His trusty rifle lying at his feet
Some of the passengers inside seem to be dozing as they ride
Never suspecting there is something really wrong
Suddenly there's a shout
-What is it all about?
What is it all about you ask? It's Indians
-Indians!
Indians
-Indians!
Very notable, cut your throat-able Indians
-Indians!
Just when they've taken ev'ryone by force
Who makes an entrance on a big white horse?
Who starts a' shootin' till there's no one left to kill
-Gen'ral Grant?
No! Colonel Buff'lo Bill!
-Certainly this is quite a thrill, better than all the vaudeville
-Let us be on the go and see the show with Buff'lo Bill
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Indians will come up and say that a story reminded them of something very specific to their experience. Which may or may not be the case for non-Indians.
quote by Jhumpa Lahiri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First, take the government of the Indians out of politics; second, let the laws of the Indians be the same as those of the whites; third, give the Indian the ballot.
quote by George Crook
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nutbush City Limts
Words and music by tina turner
Theres a church house, gin house,
School house, outhouse.
On u.s. 19,
Hey, the people keep the city clean.
They call it nutbush, nutbush,
Nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
25 is the speed limit,
Motorcycles not allowed in it.
Go to town on saturday,
Go to church on sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Say it again...
Work the fields on weekdays,
Have a picnic every labor day.
Go to town on a friday,
Be in church on a sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Little old town,
Down in tennessee.
A real quiet community,
A real quiet southern community.
Not much happens in nutbush;
You can hear the corn grow.
Got to watch out for the police,
Drivin through nutbush.
Got to watch out for the police,
If youre drivin through nutbush.
Watch out for the police,
Watch out for the police.
Keep an eye out for the police,
Keep an eye out for the police.
An eye out for the police.
Nutbush city limits,
Nutbush city limits,
Nutbush city limits.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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60th Republic Day Celebrations in India (Jan 26th 2010)
Unfurl the tricolor flag, Indians!
And hoist it high upon the mast;
And let it move in freedom’s wind;
And make the country, Indians, proud!
Salute the national flag, Indians!
And sing the song of freedom’s love!
Remember how freedom was won
By Fighters’ Struggle, sacrifice!
Pray for the lives lost in the fight,
And emulate their examples;
Learn to be patriotic more,
And do your duty with fervor.
Take oath to serve our motherland;
Bharat is home of Indians;
We love its varied heritage;
All Indians are our fellowmen!
Let’s foster love, peace, harmony;
Let’s make the country better still;
Let’s unite against terrorism;
Let’s make India, a nation strong!
Jai Hind! Jai Bharat!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-26-2010
poem by John Celes
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Give these Indians little farms, survey them, let them put fences around them, let them have their own horses, cows, sheep, things that they can call their own, and it will do away with tribal Indians.
quote by George Crook
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The tide of immigration in Canada has not been as great as along our frontier. They have been able to allow the Indians to live as Indians, which we have not, and do not attempt to force upon them the customs which are distasteful to them.
quote by Nelson A. Miles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bedtime Story
I'm going to tell you a bed time story
it's the one my Grandpa told long ago to me.
But the bed time story I will tell you tonight
will become a part of, now your families history!
It will tell of the days of covered wagons
that once rolled across the prairies green!
And tales of hunting and fishing
you will invision all of my story telling scenes.
Of indians and cowboys!
around the camp fires and hunting buffalo!
And homes built from the lands trees
and those fields, that the farmers plows tilled to grow.
I will tell you a bed time story
that you will tell your own children one day!
I will tell it the way my Grandpa told it to me
then you can tell your story, in your way one day!
poem by Linda Winchell
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Nobody would take checks from Indians, nobody would give them any credit, and nobody would let them drink in the bars. There was a rudeness, a brusqueness, with which the Indians were treated constantly. At a very young age, that had entered my consciousness.
quote by James Welch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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