In my blood there is no Jewish blood. In their callous rage, all anti-Semites must hate me now as a Jew. For that reason I am a true Russian.
quote by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Witnesses
Without rests, the anti-Semites
work day and night
to let us forget
'The Final Solution',
'Night of Broken Glass',
'The Sacrificed by Fire'.
The Chosen always hated
but before the Nazis took power
lives were as usual.
It can happen again,
if we don't teach it in the schools.
It can happen again,
if we don't preach it from the pulpit.
It can happen again,
if we don't sing it on the choir.
It can happen again,
if we don't let history
bust anti-Semites heads
when we go global.
How can a people
who give so much
suffer so much?
People of conscience are witnesses;
we will blind them with the truth.
We will speak from the heap.
We are Christians and Jews,
ignorance will not divide us.
It will not happen again,
again,
again,
again.
poem by Buxton Shippy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If You Want Blood You Got It
Its criminal, there ought to be a law
Criminal, and you know what were shootin for
Shouting at the other guy
When his back is turned
Dont know the reason why
Aint it bout time you learn
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Wha-ooh
Its animal, livin in the human zoo
Its animal, and I know what you gotta do
Its the curse of the working man
Givin more and gettin less
Doin everything he can, cleaning up the mess
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Ooooh (shove it)?
You want blood, you want blood
After you
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks,
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood On The Floor
Written by jeremy spencer.
Well goodbye world
Its sad but true
Got a date with the hangman
I have to leave you
I shot my darlin
Three times of more
The reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor
The nights are so lonely
The days are so long
Im in the jailhouse
Cause they say Ive done wrong
I dont say Im sorry
I just say Im sore
The reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor (blood on the floor)
Well I came home one night
She were lyin,
With her legs around
Another mans bod
She saw me, stared laughin
But she cried, when she saw my gun
Goodbye world
I guess we must part
Theyre taking my life
Cause I shot my sweetheart
I dont say Im sorry
I just say Im sore
The reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor
Oh the reason Im goin
Is blood on the floor
Oh the reason Im goin
Is the blood on the floor
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Reason And The Anti-reason
Submission to God without reasoning repels me a lot,
Puppet-ism makes my blood hot,
Bleeds me into two horns,
Reasoning encourages me to ask,
Are the hands of the supreme to judge?
Atheism with profound reason,
Makes me more angry-
Reason is chocked in the clutches of anti -reason.
If expansion is the rule of reason,
Shrinking is, of course, the anti-reason.
Wisdom prefers to take a line-
A line of golden mean,
This makes me a fan of God,
A man of free thinking-full of liberty,
Having a pleasure to live in this world with high dignity.
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Zapien
The light went dim in the street of hate
Another night falls It`s your fate
Stage is set, come see the show
Nail them up
and let the blood flow
I hate my hate, hate is flown away
I hate my hate, why would you go away
I hate my hate, please stay
Heal our physic wounds with fear
let our kin dissapear
The show is over, it`s time to go home
Kill your children
let the blood flow
I hate my hate, the endless stain
I hate my hate, ease the pain
I hate my hate, hate is me
Zapien business, survival of the fittest
Killer instinct, we are on the brink of extinction
poem by Oscar Mork
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood Red Roses
Blood red
The roses she'd
Always received
Blood red
Blood red
The sole chroma
Of her world
Blood red
Blood red
Spurted out from
His thorn-like barbs
Blood red
Blood red
Her anguished life
Assiduous
Blood red
Blood red
Her favorite
Shade of roses
Blood red
poem by Alice Vedral Rivera
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What I Hate
I hate looking myself in the mirror
I hate knowing I have fear
I hate seeing what isn't there
I hate feeling that I am scared
I hate believing what isn't true
I hate believing and trusting you
I hate crying myself to sleep
Forgive me for I have dreams
I feel left out and all alone
With no one to call my own
My eyes are red and I cry blood
Please help me or I'll cry a flood
My friends see what I let them see
If they could only see the true side of me
and as i die inside with pain
Cause believe it or not I have a heart
That's been slowly torn apart.
poem by Chelcie Reaves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Fall
The blood runs cold through my viens
But still my heart beats even faster
I am afraid
Now fear turns to rage
Rage into hate
Hate into emptiness
Emptiness to isolation
I am alone
A hollow shell of my former self
Now one final step and the wind rushes by
One pain to end it all
This is my last fall
poem by Tanner Geldart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Syrian Military Attacking Killing Civilians
Syrian military
tanks aircraft are attacking
are killing civilians
with Russian
political military...
aid civilian Arab
blood flows
blood red black rose withers
those Russians
those Russians
living before frost
ice thaw
say how can you expect...
dictators
to leave
blood red black rose withers
without sowing
killing fields
with thousands
millions of rebels
exterminated
are not model...
civilians
not citizens
blood red black rose withers
plus misfits
did not conform
to official
party policy
insanity insanity...
there can be
only party
blood red black rose withers
Russian tradition slay civilians
put in ice box grave Gulag...
have they not heard
Stalin is dead...
dictatorship is dead...
martyr minds
beyond the wire noose...
blood red black rose withers
beyond the wire noose...
are already free
blood red black rose withers
do not blame Arab
dictator
for civilian deaths
in Aleppo? ? ?
without Russian Chinese
political muscle flexing
merciless
backing blood would not flow
backing blood would not flow
in black rose freedom
blood red black rose withers
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bad Blood
Stinging sensation, a bad combination,
Tearing at each other all the time.
A need for aggression, a way of expression.
Where is the reason for the crime?
Bonded by hatred, sentenced to endless toil and strife.
Waiting for the time, to take away your life.
A fist full of fury, no judge and no jury,
There is a time and there's a place.
A rightful decision with perfect precision.
I think it's time to end the human race.
Bonded by Hatred...
It infects me, it annoys me,
It destroys me.
There's no reason for this treason,
Or what you've done.
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
It infects me...
Bad Blood...
song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Blood
Stinging sensation, a bad combination,
Tearing at each other all the time.
A need for aggression, a way of expression.
Where is the reason for the crime?
Bonded by hatred, sentenced to endless toil and strife.
Waiting for the time, to take away your life.
A fist full of fury, no judge and no jury,
There is a time and there's a place.
A rightful decision with perfect precision.
I think it's time to end the human race.
Bonded by Hatred...
It infects me, it annoys me,
It destroys me.
There's no reason for this treason,
Or what you've done.
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
It infects me...
Bad Blood...
song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without a Jewish state, the iron truth of history is that the Jewish people sooner or later become even more vulnerable to the next wave of anti-Semitism.
quote by Jack Schwartz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing But the Blood
What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
For my pardon this I see -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
For my cleansing, this my plea -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Nothing can for sin atone -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
Naught of good that I have done -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
This is all my hope and peace -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
This is all my righteousness -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
CHORUS
Oh! precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood Was On Sheet
Was it necessary to see,
what you wanted me to see,
when I was keeping open my wound
to hear the unheard scream?
What was that which was getting in air?
A little disjointed time, asking
peace for the land
to stop the moulding on the medallions?
The divide and hate the hate and divide
the kill the kill the kill of mercy
and this was to be believed, not to believe
in the grim fate of the fall.
Pain was you was me was him
the guilt of chewing polluted words
to accept the uncertain,
the naked lies.
Blood was on shirt blood was on sheet
blood was on paper blood was in eyes.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood-Thirst
Not many people enter the contentment,
A reader of stories creates a dismal fact
Because he or she desires the bringing of facts.
In the broad bold night of the days we extend
Is a party of vampires and their victims;
Empower them to express their blood-thirst
So their realities are recognised and met
By the blood of our fathers,
The blood of our victims.
Find and seek the whole book created by us,
We freely ingest the liquid of love and hate,
The blood of blue and red,
Our blue blood is red, our blood is bled
Like a bloody liquid of the night.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothin But The Blood
Words & music:michael w. smith and chris harris
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
What can wash away my sins
(theres) nothing but the blood of jesus
What can make me whole again
Nothing but the blood of jesus
This is all my righteousness
Its nothing but the blood of jesus
This is all my hope and peace
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grey Wolves Grey
The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.
As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.
He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.
And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.
And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music and Lyrics
What is the music?
The music is blood
Flowing endlessly
The music is the blood
Pumping the air that I breathe
The music’s in my blood
Though no one can see
What is the lyric?
The lyric is the body
That moves to the beat
Made to make rhythums
And rock to the beat
The lyric is the body
That I move so skillfully
The lyric is my body
That no one can take from me
So I say
In praise to my glorious blood
And my temple of a body
Hail!
They are a nonstop stereo
To my nonstop rhythum and flow
You cannot move without joy
You cannot sing without love
Your heart will not pump
With hate at it's core
Your beat will not prosper
Without a proper score
So what to say to those whose hate?
Hate to dance? Hate to sing?
Hate to music? Hate to enjoy anything?
Hate me? Hate you?
Hate one? Hate two?
Hate color? Hate skin?
Hate women? Hate men?
We shall say dance
For that is what we do
We shall say make music
It is the only cure
So, don't hate my music
Don't hate my dance
It flows like a river
It rings inside your head
It shines like a light
It rings like a bell
It opens the gates of heaven
And closes the gates of hell
Sing and dance with all your might
Sing and dance with an adversaries knife
For you stand victorious
In rhythum and heart
For you stand victorious
And music is in your heart!
poem by Ashley Storey
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Watch My Blood Rain
The blade looks enticing
It's difficult to explain
The ideas of slicing
Watch my blood rain
The cut is deep
Some say I'm insane
It puts me to sleep
To watch my blood rain
The redness is real
I cannot refrain
I know I truly feel
When I watch my blood rain
I sit and I cry
Life is nothing but pain
I ask myself why
I watch my blood rain
My spirit is bound
By this ball and chain
My soul has been downed
Then I watch my blood rain
The anguish is true
My heart has been slain
One day I'll break through
For now I'll watch my blood rain
poem by Haley Nicole
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Temporary Poem Of My Time
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.
Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?
Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.
Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.
Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav
poem by Yehuda Amichai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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