Here we grow the flax and grain; here we raise the meat they eat, and the wool to keep them warm; we cut trees to build their houses and firewood to heat their stoves.
quote by Ernest Poole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cities Of White Men
Those men build many houses:
They dig the earth, and they build;
They cut down the trees, and they build;
They work always - building.
From the elevation of the mountainside
I behold the clouds:
The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky:
They build, and they tear down;
They build, and they dissolve. . . .
The cities of white men,
They are not beautiful like the cloud cities;
They are not vast, like the cloud cities. . . .
A wind-swept teepee
Is all the house I own. . .
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Stoves and sunshine
Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea--
The land of stoves and sunshine is good enough for me!
I've done the grand for fourteen months in every foreign clime,
And I've learned a heap of learning, but I've shivered all the time;
And the biggest bit of wisdom I've acquired--as I can see--
Is that which teaches that this land's the land of lands for me.
Now, I am of opinion that a person should get some
Warmth in this present life of ours, not all in that to come;
So when Boreas blows his blast, through country and through town,
Or when upon the muddy streets the stifling fog rolls down,
Go, guzzle in a pub, or plod some bleak malarious grove,
But let me toast my shrunken shanks beside some Yankee stove.
The British people say they "don't believe in stoves, y' know;"
Perchance because we warmed 'em so completely years ago!
They talk of "drahfts" and "stuffiness" and "ill effects of heat,"
As they chatter in their barny rooms or shiver 'round the street;
With sunshine such a rarity, and stoves esteemed a sin,
What wonder they are wedded to their fads--catarrh and gin?
In Germany are stoves galore, and yet you seldom find
A fire within the stoves, for German stoves are not that kind;
The Germans say that fires make dirt, and dirt's an odious thing,
But the truth is that the pfennig is the average Teuton's king,
And since the fire costs pfennigs, why, the thrifty soul denies
Himself all heat except what comes with beer and exercise.
The Frenchman builds a fire of cones, the Irishman of peat;
The frugal Dutchman buys a fire when he has need of heat--
That is to say, he pays so much each day to one who brings
The necessary living coals to warm his soup and things;
In Italy and Spain they have no need to heat the house--
'Neath balmy skies the native picks the mandolin and louse.
Now, we've no mouldy catacombs, no feudal castles grim,
No ruined monasteries, no abbeys ghostly dim;
Our ancient history is new, our future's all ahead,
And we've got a tariff bill that's made all Europe sick abed--
But what is best, though short on tombs and academic groves,
We double discount Christendom on sunshine and on stoves.
Dear land of mine! I come to you from months of chill and storm,
Blessing the honest people whose hearts and hearths are warm;
A fairer, sweeter song than this I mean to weave to you
When I've reached my lakeside 'dobe and once get heated through;
But, even then, the burthen of that fairer song shall be
That the land of stoves and sunshine is good enough for me.
poem by Eugene Field
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When we Indians kill meat, we eat it all up. When we dig roots, we make little holes. When we build houses, we make little holes. When we burn grass for grasshoppers, we don't ruin things. We shake down acorns and pine nuts. We don't chop down the trees. We only use dead wood.
0271 The Covering
It was not bright enough, not bright enough
to show itself to them, to all; to tempt
the world to bring it gifts; the coloured wool
would say to them look here, look here
it was not strong enough, not strong enough
to meet the heat, the cold; to venture
in the world’s bright gifts; the coloured wool
would warm it in the cold, the cold
it was not safe enough, not safe enough
to shield itself from hurt; to live its life
amid the strong, the weak; the coloured wool
would hide it from the hurt, the hurt
there was not care enough, not care enough;
the wool was knotted; slipped and slid
around its centre there; the coloured wool
is knotted here and here and here
there is not time enough, not time enough
to free the wool; the wool it would cast off
from off its centre there; the coloured wool
that never was the need, the need
there were not words enough, not words enough
to free itself; itself which never had the need
to bind itself in coloured wools; it did not trust
the bright, the strong, the safe, the care, the time.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I am a leader. Leaders always get heat. They're always going against the grain. Jimi Hendrix got heat; Bob Marley got heat; Miles Davis got heat. Every great artist got heat. Heat means you're doing something right.
quote by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: The Poor Lamb
I eat the grass that grows in the meadow;
I jump and play with joy after a drink;
I walk back home when comes the Eve’s shadow;
Death’s shadow lurks on me always, I think.
Warm clothes men make with my hide for winter;
My wool keeps them so warm in intense cold;
They walk me to the house where they slaughter,
And no one cares if I am young or old.
I say ‘baa-baa’ to call my dear mother;
I cry ‘baa-baa’ when I feed on the grass;
I say ‘baa-baa’ when ’tis rainy weather;
I cry ‘baa-baa’ seeing my master’s lass.
When I am born to die, giving them meat,
Why torture ’fore you earthlings can me eat?
poem by John Celes
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One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you want 1 year of prosperity, grow grain. If you want 10 years of prosperity, grow trees. If you want 100 years of prosperity, grow people.
Only when all contribute their firewood can they build up a strong fire.
Build a Hut
Build a hut
Build a hut
Build hut from bottom to top
Dig a hole
Dig a hole
Dig for the strongest bones
Make a roof
Make a roof
Make it a leakless room
Raise the wall
Raise the wall
Raise till all the wind fall
Lock the door
Lock the door
Lock and keep the wolves outdoor
Set the window
Set the window
Set to see your neighbor’s widow
Light your hut
Lighten your heart
And enjoy a cup of chocolate
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Mother earth is crying
Mother earth is crying
The way man is treating
Water in scarcity
Rivers not deep
Houses and houses
Whole earth
Filled with factories
Their waste spoiling the soil
Creating a big turmoil
Greenery decreasing
Trees cut without thinking
Forests shrinking
Cities are increasing
Animals are dying
Snow melting
Heat is increasing
Mining and digging
Are like stabbing
Mother earth on the chest
For few grand
Lakes are full of filth
Fewer trees for shelter
Fewer birds now chirp
Let wisdom arrive
Don’t play with nature
Otherwise all will cry
No man will survive
Humans now wake
For your own sake
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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For Molly, Concerning God
Is God the one who eats the meat
off the bones of dead people?
-Molly Miranda Jong-Fast, age 3 1/2
God is the one,
Molly,
whether we call him
Him,
or Her,
treeform or spewing
volcano,
Vesuvius or vulva,
penis-rock,
or reindeer-on-cave-wall,
God is the one
who eats
our meat,
Molly,
& we yield
our meat
up willingly.
Meat is our
element,
meat is our
lesson.
When our bodies fill
with each other,
when our blood swells
in our organs
aching for another,
body of meat,
heart of meat,
soul of meat,
we are only doing
what God wants
us to—
meat joining meat
to become insubstantial air,
meat fusing
with meat
to make
a small wonder
like you.
The wonder of you
is that you push
our questions
along into
the future—
so that I know
again
the wonder of meat
through you,
the wonder of meat
turning to philosophy,
the wonder of meat
transubstantiated
into poetry,
the wonder of
sky-blue meat
in your roundest eyes,
the wonder of
dawn-colored meat
in your cheeks & palms,
the wonder of meat
becoming
air.
You
are my theorem,
my proof,
my meaty metaphysics,
my little questioner,
my small Socrates
of the nursery-schoolyard.
To think that
such wonder
can come from meat!
Well then,
if God is hungry—
let Him eat,
let Her eat.
poem by Erica Jong
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I'll build you a house!
You lady so bewitching, is your charm,
You lady, disarmed is me, your arrow, my heart is struck
As weaver birds do their houses, on tree tops
As ants make, colonies, for their queens,
As my ancestors, spear in blood they had dipped,
That, their grand sons, would build houses, for their loved ones
So, I'll build you a house, my queen,
Where my ancestors had pointed, with their walking sticks
A place with tall grass where marks were made with sticks
We'll watch the sunsets, and bless the rising moon.
I'll build you a house, my queen!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Us And Our Dreams
we have enough
firewood
to feed a fire
for our
long night
together
now we must
sleep and dream
about firewood
still?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Who Will...
who will make your socks, your shoes?
those left barefoot in poverty!
and who will make your beds?
those who sleep on dirt floors!
who will grow your food?
those whose children are hungry!
who will bring you your oil?
those whose blood stains the sands.
who will write your poetry?
those held in your tiny cells!
who will build your houses?
those who sleep in their cars!
who will build your roads?
those who wander with no direction!
who will you send to war?
those who grew up on the abject streets!
who will march for your freedom?
and whose head will they demand?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If you are going to build something in the air it is always better to build castles than houses of cards.
quote by Georg C. Lichtenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chop your own firewood and it will warm you twice.
Unusual Heat
My mind tells me, what will be, shall be
Not a thing I can do about it
cause in my heart I cant do without it
Its so cold out here, like minus ten degrees
And Im trying to get through to you
Ive got my heart on ice, and its about to freeze
Only you, can pull me through
cause I want some of your unusual heat
I need more and more, unusual heat
My body tells me, hold on, I gotta hold on
But Im so cold and hungry
All stretched out like a month of sundays
Ive been out of my head, from that very first day
Searching for somebody like you
Ive been stumblin around, every step of the way
And only you can pull me through
cause I want some of your unusual heat
And I need more and more, unusual heat
I need it every way, every minute of the day
Baby Im yours,Ill do anything you say
If you just give me some of your warm unusual heat
Its so cold out here, Im about to freeze
And Im still trying to get through to you
Ive got my heart on ice, oh baby please, please, please
Only you, can pull me through
Cause I want some of your unusual heat
And I need more and more, unusual heat
I need it every way, every minute of the day
Baby Im yours,Ill do anything you say
If you just give me some of your warm
Baby wont you keep me warm, with your unusual heat...
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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