Related quotes: I was disappointed, not because...

I was disappointed, not because we had lost the war but because our people had allowed it to go on for so many years, instead of heeding the few voices of protest against all that mass insanity and slaughter.

quote by George Grosz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Disappointed

The disappointed
All shuffle round in circles
Their placards look the same
With a picture and a name
Of the ones who broke their hearts
The disappointed
All congregate at my house
Their voices sob with grief
That they want to be chief
Of the tribe with broken hearts
Once, I had no sympathy
For those destroyed and thrown away by love
Seems, your ring upon my finger
Signifies that Ive become the spokesman of...
The disappointed
Will bear me on their shoulders
To a secret shadow land
Where a sombre marching band
Plays a tune for broken hearts
And day grows darker now
Everywhere, everywhere
The disappointed
Are coming in their millions
Theyre spilling from the bus
At a monument to us
Made of bits of broken heart
The disappointed
Are growing every second
They blot the sun to black
At the bottom of the pack
Im the king of broken hearts

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Workers, comrades, and you, women of the people, let not this festival of May, the second during the war, pass without protest against the Imperialist Slaughter.

quote by Karl Liebknecht
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Allowed This Disappointment

Hmmm,
Let's see!
If I am disappointed.
And you say,
You are disappointed.
And here we are listening,
To them express their disappointment.
Who allowed this disappointment,
To get 'this' disappointing?

'That's a good question!
Maybe those we elected to represent us,
Misunderstood it was not our disappointment...
We elected them to represent.
But instead...
To find solutions for the reasons 'why',
We were disappointed in the first place.'

You may have a point.
None of us really agreed to be freed of disappointment.
And we keep electing those to represent,
The best of our disappointments.
And this has never been what any of us wanted.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Lost Day

Lost is the day in which you have not found fulfillment in any area: work, private, or social.

Lost is the day in which you have not found a reason to smile: not about others, and not about yourself.

Lost is the day in which you have not been of any service: neither to others, nor to yourself.

Lost is the day in which you have not shared some love with another living creature.

Lost is the day in which you did not dedicate one positive thought to yourself.

Lost is the day in which your laziness prevented you to be constructive.

Lost is the day in which you allowed the setbacks and failures of the world to get the best of you.

Lost is the day in which you allowed your jealousy to conquer your compassion.

Lost is the day in which you undertook any act with a devious intention.

Lost is the day in which your mind prevailed your heart.

Lost is the day in which you allowed material gain to determine your decisions.

Lost is the day in which you sought out a prey among the vulnerable.

Lost is the day in which you discarded empathy.

Lost is the day in which you preferred ignorance, through discrimination of any kind, to embracement of equality.

Lost is the day in which you got lost in backbiting and any other kind of meanness directed toward another.

Lost is the day in which you failed to recognize the lesson in even the most dreadful experience.

Lost is the day in which you ignored the voice of your intuition.

Lost is the day in which you did not prioritize the ones you love over material gain.

Lost is the day in which you lowered yourself to hypocrisy.

Lost is the day in which you deliberately brought pain upon another living creature.

Lost is the day in which you allowed hope to get lost.

Lost is the day in which you forgot where you came from.

Lost is the day in which you forget where you're going.

Lost is the day in which you allowed an estrangement between your mind, your body, and your soul.

Lost is the day in which you were not creative.

Lost is the day in which you lost the connection with the source within...

poem by Joan Marques
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Of unsound mind: Financially

Danced in the rain in manic glee.
He had discarded misery,
embraced instead insanity.
He is from money worries free

If he’d been rich then it would be
seen as mere eccentricity.
Because he’s poor. Officially
he must be locked away. You see.

Part of the great conspiracy
Poor men are not supposed to be
allowed to plead insanity.
They have to act responsibly

and pay their debts with interest.
That’s why the money men invest
One mad man can infect the rest
and put the system to the test.

The bankers act dishonestly
but camouflage it craftily
and poor men aren’t allowed to see
They have been screwed right royally.

3-Jun-08

Http: // blog.myspace.com./poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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‘To the Slaughter-house’- A Cattle-song!

To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we cows all go;
We gave men milk and butter, ghee;
They want our beef now;
We’ve no other go.

To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we oxen go;
We tilled their lands and milled oil-seeds;
They want our hide now;
We’ve no other go.

To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we sheep all go;
We grazed their meadows, eating grass;
They want our mutton now;
We’ve no other go.

To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we cattle go;
We served mankind as God said so;
Selfish men want our flesh now;
We’ve no other go.

To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we animals go;
Jostled, huddled, unfed, crowded;
Men want our lives now;
This is our last ride, we all know;
We’ve no other go.

poem by John Celes
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Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder” (The Billion-Dollar Question)

We must all stay aware…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder….,
It’s been increasing for years….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

Can’t dare turn our backs….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
It’ll sneak up and kill us…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

It’s hard to believe and conceive….
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
That’s why so many are blind….,
To the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !

We’ve seen the bloody attacks…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
So we must face the facts….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

Yes they’re after us all…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
Their radical religion condones it….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !

Can we control it or stop it….,
So it won’t go any further….? ? ?
That’s the billion-dollar question….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !

poem by Trade Martin
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But For Being Lost

As black imbued black, so was rendered the pitch of darkness
That befogged this godforsaken yard of graves -
And too the dank, ‘til now forgotten chapel that
Did little to grace these forlorn grounds.

Yet here stood I, seemingly first to tread this weed-ridden soil
Since times of yore when life had erstwhile blessed this land.
But for being lost in solitude - as does a country wanderer -
Would I not have happened across this morbid landscape.

And though detail rendered barely visible to my naked eye –
For desperately had the moon tried to break through this jet fog –
A sense of something suffused the place.
Was it those tormented spirits desperate for absolution,
Or perhaps the gargoyles teasing me on whether they be of stone or living flesh?

I was drawn to the oak door as it enticingly opened in passage for me.
The organ called from down the nave and through the pale orange of unsteady light
- that which could only be mustered from the few discoloured, moribund candles.
Could I also hear a distant choir of stern voices, as if in effort to scold me?

As I approached, those tarnished pipes came into view.
Standing erect with gothic pride, they bore down on me with patronising air -
Exaggerated by the disjointed sneering of minor chords,
As if to state that insignificant I had henceforth no grant of solace.

In answer, I steadied my rocking legs and racing mind to wonder of this scenario.
And in doing so, I found myself waking from a cramped dream –
Whence the message dawned: mine had been such a claustrophobic life.

lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost
lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost lost

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Same Man I Was Before

Im not the same man I was before
I havent changed my perception
I havent lost my protection
I havent lost, havent lost, havent lost
What I have, lost intentions
Two by two coming through the door
(singing like a bird)
Boys and girls voices joined in song
(voices in the air)
Fire crackers making so much noise
(flying in the air)
They all start yelling at me
. . . . . everything you do is wrong
Im not the same boy I was before
But Ive not changed my desires
Ive not extinguished the fires
I havent lost wide eyed wonder
I havent lost, havent lost, havent lost
The stupid fear of thunder
Two by two walking hand in hand
(walkin in the air)
The bone come marching from the promised land
(comes from everywhere)
Their voices carry like the sound of glass
(breaking on the ground)
It burns my ears when they sing
. . . . . everything you do is wrong
Im not the same ghost I was before
But I still converse with the spirits
When people talk I dont hear it
I walk through doors when no one sees me
I disappear, I disappear, disappear
Whenever it may please me

song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Similar Worlds

The world married to another world,
Pleasing us with its thoughts always.
May it be forbidden to slaughter someone else,
Placing blame on others for their own misdeeds.
Heaven created a slaughter to be known widely
And then the slaughter was not known widely,
Instead there was no slaughter.
For it was the world that held slaughter in its own hands,
Worsening ties with some people elsewhere.
A shining new working planet evolved
And flew one way and only a way that was an orbit,
For it was not a flat world, but round,
Like the balls it contained of spherical shape
Most pleasing to the sight.
Each world was a majestic creation
And these worlds were similar.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Vow Of Silence

Kron joins the monastery;
he must stay in isolation
and is allowed to say 2 words
every three years

3 years pass
and Kron is brought before
the Elders
and he is allowed his 2 words
“Cold room, ” he says

3 years later
again Kron is brought before
the Elders
and he is allowed his 2 words
“Bad food, ” he says

3 years later
again Kron is brought before
the Elders
and he is allowed his 2 words
“I quit, ” he says

“Not surprising, ” say the Elders
“All you have done since you came here is to complain”

poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Phantom Seed

Vanity plays his tricks on the living,
For the deceased he can do no favours.
Sanity lays her licks on the morning,
Asking the Priest if he’ll join in the labour.

Clarity stares down the haze before dawn,
Twilight adorned spins still, ever winding
Thread so slim that you may only catch a
Glimpse by the angel of your light.

Wasting away at a whim are the monstrosities
We left breeding in the courtyard. Holding as
They are a protest against the insanity of the Guard.
They protest interference in a war, worn out in exhaustion.

Plant the phantom seed,
To feed the burning citadel.

poem by David Lacey
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I think people are just really disappointed, disappointed with Blair as well, who's just like Bush's lapdog. I think everyone's just disillusioned with politics in our country, and it must be the same in your country.

quote by Paul Weller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People Always Talking

People always talking, voices never quiet,
Talking over beauty, messing with delight,
Gossiping their lives away, caught up in the lies-
People talking years and years, until they finally die.

People always fighting, people never still,
People never happy; going at it with a will.
Never satisfaction, or noting what they feel,
Taking what is not theirs, compunctionless to steal.

People in the graveyards, finally at rest,
Never realizing, that it was for the best;
People with no destiny, done with all their tests-
People with their last breath, that never could confess.

poem by Patti Masterman
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Heading The Call

A flash in the night, a journey through time
the Templars are back on the streets
Guarded by prowess and the will to survive
all led by the guiding light
Angels of mercy, guardians of time
Shackled and chained through the eternal flame
the hammer will slowly arise
Heeding The Call, one and for all
never surrender, with glory well fall
Brothers unite, lets stand up and fightfulfilling our fate, we
are Heeding The Call
One step ahead, revealing the past
united, together we stand
The call of the thunder, the sign to begin
this final crusade we will win
Angels of mercy, our journey must proceed
With hearts all filled up with chivalry
the lifeblood that we all need
Heeding The Call, one and for all
never surrender, with glory well fall
Brothers unite, lets stand up and fight
fulfilling our fate, we are Heeding The Call
Oh, oh, oh
Heeding The Call, one and for all
never surrender, with glory well fall
Brothers unite, lets stand up and fight
fulfilling our fate, we are Heeding The Call

song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Day After Day

She lives in a house
That reflects her state of mind,mind
Organised chaos
In this labyrinth she hides,hides
She got locked up years ago
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper
Whisper and whisper
And day after day
Marinated in wine and tobacco
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper and
Day after day
After day
Pink fluffy dinosaurs
Are almost back in town,town
Pulling all the strings
That will finally bring her down,down
She got locked up years ago
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper
Whisper and whisper
And day after day
Marinated in wine and tobacco
All these voices whisper
All these voices whisper and
Day after day
After day

song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Diary Of a Madman

What could it mean.
Living beyond shame and fear of the unknown.
Insanity is incredible
And sanity is unstable
The diary of the insane is history.
And memory is long lost in the desert
Of the heart.
To an insane,
Sanity is insanity
And insanity is sanity.
The soul of an insane has gone far beyond earth.
But the sane is oblivious
Of the fate of his own soul
After the final call.
Above all,
Is sanity sane?
No. For bad temperament is
Madness in itself.

poem by Efe Benjamin
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Early Works - People On The Move

People on the move
a tidal wave of faces
and a carnival of colours
a rumble of voices
a mass of bodies moving
on a seemingly endless trek
going anywhere and no where
people on the move.

14 July 1995

poem by David Harris
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Heeding The Call

A flash in the night, a journey through time
The templars are back on the streets
Guarded by prowess and the will to survive
All led by the guiding light
Angels of mercy, guardians of time
Shackled and chained through the eternal flame
The hammer will slowly arise
Heeding the call, one and for all
Never surrender, with glory well fall
Brothers unite, lets stand up and fight
Fulfilling our fate, we are
Heeding the call
One step ahead, revealing the past
United, together we stand
The call of the thunder, the sign to begin
This final crusade we will win
Angels of mercy, our journey must proceed
With hearts all filled up with chivalry
The lifeblood that we all need
Heeding the call, one and for all
Never surrender, with glory well fall
Brothers unite, lets stand up and fight
Fulfilling our fate, we are heeding the call
Oh, oh, oh
Heeding the call, one and for all
Never surrender, with glory well fall
Brothers unite, lets stand up and fight
Fulfilling our fate, we are heeding the call