I am a Westerner of Westerners!
quote by Taylor Caldwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The West won the world not by the superiority of its ideas or values or religion but rather by its superiority in applying organized violence. Westerners often forget this fact, non-Westerners never do.
quote by Samuel P. Huntington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The West won the world not by the superiority of its ideas or values or religion (to which few members of other civilizations were converted) but rather by its superiority in applying organized violence. Westerners often forget this fact; non-Westerners never do.
quote by Samuel P. Huntington
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Liberty is not the unique right of Americans or even Westerners, but is mankind's right.
quote by Virginia Foxx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ultimately, there is no compromise. Westerners will either retain their civilization, including the right to insult and blaspheme, or not.
quote by Daniel Pipes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a Westerner. We're not going to change the West by going East. The East has a lot to teach us, but essentially it's like a mirror, saying, hey, can't you see what's here in your own religion, what are you, stupid?
quote by Matthew Fox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Being married to a daughter of India is a natural complement of my being in this country for 30 years. My roots are very much in this country, even though I remain a Westerner.
quote by Francois Gautier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Adder
The adder is a British fish -
I'm sorry, I mean snake!
The error's one I've made and wish
I hadn't for its sake:
It drowned quite quickly for a fish,
Though slowly for a snake.
poem by South Westerner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At this camp I had the unique experience of showing all these seasoned Westerners that it was possible to make a fire by the friction of two sticks. This has long been a specialty of mine; I use a thong and a bow as the simplest way.
quote by Ernest Thompson Seton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Seahorse
The seahorse doesn’t do divorce:
It picks a spouse for life.
The wife’s the husband and, perforce,
The husband is the wife.
A husband, feeling rightly proud
(As husbands are, of course) ,
Will say of her who’s well endowed:
‘My wife’s hung like a horse.’
poem by South Westerner
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And I managed to arrange to get some research support and to stay in Hong Kong for another year and a half, interviewing people coming out of China, both Westerners and Chinese. And that was my first real research study on thought reform or so-called brainwashing.
quote by Robert Jay Lifton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love to love
I love to love
I love to love
Come sunshine, Come rain
I love to love
In prose and in verse I write
With skills and enormous strength I fight
In pearls and glittering diamonds I radiate light
An anecdote of life viewed from within my angled sight
I love to love
Come spring Come autumn
Take a walk in the park as the winds blow stubborn
I have long forgotten the traditions of culture
Westerners have globalised this idea of torture
But the ideology of love has never changed
A cooked up theorization that has not aged
Within love I must find love itself
The first person I must love is my only self
For many have come and gone
But I stand here always next to none
So being self-born in love is fun
I love to love
Come my virtues, come my vices
Which one comes first – let’s just throw the dice
For love is nice so say all those who are wise
As everything else in life comes with a price
Copyrigh 2009 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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They are Westerners
Have you seen else where a denim man with gaucho in hand,
Handling a huge horse with just a star in the shoe,
Boot that commands the land, hand that hints a man is coming,
Eyes that is deep as the Appalachian Mountains.
Whenever I look at them
With their eyes floating like rivers to all sides,
Guns the only thing to protect them from wild,
And their wind talker horse who guide them to the safety.
Those rolled tobacco in their mouth and few dollars to pay for all,
The puff when it rolls and the sea of alcohol it gets enforce,
Those shabby jackets, lands in a seat and the shirt collars which kisses the heat,
Dusts are coming from their body which shows how much work they are meant for.
They do not know what the fear is,
They even do not know what begging is,
They know only to work and earn,
Field their land with stables and graze all the horses and buffaloes.
They are stronger than a Spanish bull,
So they enjoy commanding horse and bull,
Their style is the venture for,
These are the man to whom every one looks up and say westerners.
poem by Sambidhan Acharya
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I Can't Find a Doll with a Chinese Face!
I've watched your children, playing in the sand,
Pretty little girls with a yellow hair-band,
Cheeky little boys with their snub-nosed faces,
Kicking and a-tripping over dragging shoe-laces,
Little brown eyes, and stubby little hands,
They laugh and delight, these children of the Han.
So why do their Ma ma's buy them little dolls
With blond hair and blue eyes from western malls?
Kan kan woman if you can can see,
Look in the mirror at your rare beauty;
Who's got the hair that would steal men's glances,
Coal black and straight, that your face enhances,
High cheek-bones, and your almond eyes
Now look at your child, be proud, be wise,
Why make them think they're less than they are
Than a blond haired bimbo in a western bar?
Sons of the dragon, and little princesses,
Need to be loved, to be held - caresses!
They should be playing with a doll just like them
Not something borrowed from a Disney production,
Toss all the Barbies and the blue-eyed babies,
Revel in the glow of your eastern features,
I'm just a westerner, wandering the place,
But I can't find a doll with a Chinese face!
poem by David Lewis Paget
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James Whitcomb Riley
(From a Westerner's Point of View.)
No matter what you call it,
Whether genius, or art,
He sings the simple songs that come
The closest to your heart.
Fur trim an' skillful phrases,
I do not keer a jot;
'Tain't the words alone, but feelin's,
That tech the tender spot.
An' that's jest why I love him,--
Why, he's got sech human feelin',
An' in ev'ry song he gives us,
You kin see it creepin', stealin',
Through the core the tears go tricklin',
But the edge is bright an' smiley;
I never saw a poet
Like that poet Whitcomb Riley.
His heart keeps beatin' time with our'n
In measures fast or slow;
He tells us jest the same ol' things
Our souls have learned to know.
He paints our joys an' sorrers
In a way so stric'ly true,
That a body can't help knowin'
That he has felt them too.
If there's a lesson to be taught,
He never fears to teach it,
An' he puts the food so good an' low
That the humblest one kin reach it.
Now in our time, when poets rhyme
For money, fun, or fashion,
'Tis good to hear one voice so clear
That thrills with honest passion.
So let the others build their songs,
An' strive to polish highly,--
There's none of them kin tech the heart
Like our own Whitcomb Riley.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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First Encounter - Tony Leung the Actor
male bonding
he seeks and finds the comfort zone
to carry on our conversation
It was in Singapore that I first met Tony Leung, one of Hong Kong's best actors. The following is lifted from http: //orientalis.wordpress.com/
Tony Leung’s talent is undeniable - arguably the world’s best actor in the judgement of many. This Hong Kong native is lauded the world over for the soulful expressions conveyed by his eyes alone. Most Westerners are familiar of Mr. Leung through his collaborations with director Wong Kar-Wai’s many art house flicks. Most recently he’s appeared in Andrew Lau’s “Infernal Affairs” (remaded as Scorsese’s “The Departed”, though the original is much better) , Zhang Yimou’s “Hero”, Wong Kar-Wai’s “2046″ . To date, Mr. Leung has not ventured into any English speaking roles due to what he considers as a dirth of quality roles given to Asian actors in Hollywood. However, this might change as there are rumors of his English film debut in a lead as a detective.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Goddess Reviled-goddess Restored
Roman Church slew Goddess divine
Replaced her with patriarchal rule
Plundered her sacred pagan shrines
With vile contempt, hatred, ridicule
A day nears when balance is restored
When women take their rightful place
When women are not abused, abhorred
When men/women move to interface
Lo, to wicked men standing against
Return of balance to Mother Earth
Change that comes at God’s behest
Who ushers in humankind’s rebirth
Husbands... respect, honor and love your mate
For in these precious souls, rests mankind’s fate
ROTMS
“Our exile has not only been from the Goddess, but also
from nature. It is not surprising, considering that most
westerners live apart from their environment, protected
by concrete roadways, consuming machine-processed foods
and filled with media information to the detriment of the
experience of our own senses. The seasons go unnoticed, we
seldom touch the earth, eat fresh food or observe the world
personally. The sacred is a forgotten dimension in our society
which we ignore at our peril.”
Caitlin Mathews
poem by Ray Lucero
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You ask me to leave (Pantoum poetry)
The “pantun” is a Malaysian poetic form that was introduced to the West by French novelist, essayist, and poet, Victor Hugo (1802-1885) , hence the French spelling, “pantoum.” Westerners have taken creative liberties with the Malaysian form, which tends to follow a standard rhyme form of ABAB, where multiple, rather than single subjects, are introduced. While pantoums can have unlimited stanzas, you might want to begin with a 3-stanza poem until you get the hang of it:
Stanza 1: Line 1/Line 2/Line 3/Line 4
Stanza 2: Line 5 (repeat of line 2 in stanza 1) /Line 6 (new line) /Line 7 (repeat of line 4 in stanza 1) /
Line 8 (new line)
Stanza 3/Last Stanza (This is the format for the last stanza regardless of how many preceding stanzas exist) : Line 9 (line 2 of the previous stanza) /Line 10 (line 3 of the first stanza) /Line 11 (line 4 of the previous stanza) /Line 12 (line 1 of the first stanza)
And you ask me to leave all behind
Now when our moment in time is done
Going nowhere with nothing in mind
'Cause you're my world and my special one
Now when our moment in time is done
I love you like there's no end in sight
'Cause you're my world and my special one
You're still on my mind all day and night.
I love you like there's no end in sight
You're inside me filling my soul's space
You're still on my mind all day and night.
I feel still cuddled in your embrace
You're inside me filling my soul's space
Going nowhere with nothing in mind
I feel still cuddled in your embrace
And you ask me to leave it all behind
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Have No Human Rights
They blow us up they shoot us down,
They have us frozen with fear,
We let them preach hatred on our streets,
Yet still they are living here.
Why, you ask is this the case,
Is our country really blind,
Known terrorists roaming free,
We must be out of our mind.
They take our housing and benefits,
But we've not to make a fuss,
Despite the fact their only wish,
Is to kill everyone of us.
If I hated a country with such bile,
My residence just wouldn't last,
If I couldn't accept their way of life,
I'd get the hell out fast.
Yet Britain is such an easy touch,
They know they've got it made,
For affording them freedom and democracy,
Contempt is what they trade.
While they're being allowed to preach,
That all westerners must die,
When we try to throw them out,
They go to court and cry.
They portray themselves as warriors,
Who love to cause us alarm,
Yet when we try to deport them,
They claim they're scared they'll come to harm.
This shows them up for what they are,
With our rights they've been empowered,
Yet they refuse leave a country they hate,
That is the mark of a coward.
We can't extradite to America,
Regardless of how many they kill,
There's a chance that they might execute,
While we don't have the will.
They will use the very laws they hate,
To throw dirt back in our face,
While we sit back and let them,
It's a national disgrace.
Our laws these bastards preach against,
Shows where their morality sits,
They're not only bloody cowards,
They're a bunch of hypocrites.
What rights do they give their victims,
Who will never have any choice,
None is the easy answer,
They have taken away their voice.
As for legal fees we pay their bill,
While they sit back and laugh,
British lawyers making millions,
Paid by the government on our behalf.
I think it's time we let them know,
No ifs, or buts, nor mights,
If you want to practise jihad,
'' You Have No Human Rights '
The Stake
The dig was held at Sozopol
Beside the Black Sea shore,
Where Iskra Angelova
Came parading, past my door.
She asked me, was I Stevens,
From the Bramling Institute?
But my eyes were full of lips and hair,
And so I sat there, mute!
She had those Slavic cheekbones
And those bright, wide honeyed eyes,
And a smile that told my fortune,
Partly truth, but mostly lies,
And I knew we'd be together
While we foraged at the site,
So I smiled at her in greeting,
And her eyes beamed in delight!
‘I'm glad you're so much younger
Than that pesky Androvich,
He's a fusty Russian scholar,
Dull as water in a ditch! '
And she laughed, we laughed together
For I knew just what she meant,
Though her English wasn't perfect
She could hold an argument!
Through the days and weeks that followed
Digging dirt and sifting bones,
In that medieval churchyard
Full of grief and standing stones,
We worked side by side together
In the graves, and touching hands,
Me, the western anthropologist
And her, from eastern lands!
So the first kiss was much sweeter
Than of any I had known,
And we struggled in the darkness
Of my room, once left alone,
For her appetite, voracious,
Was demanding to the core,
As she wrapped herself around me
I would dread her whispered: ‘More! '
I was tired and not quite with it
When we came upon a sight
That had Iskra sitting, trembling,
She crossed herself in fright,
For the skeleton beneath us
Had a stake right through the heart,
So I knelt, and then unthinking
Grabbed the stake, pulled it apart!
She went white, jumped up crazy, screamed:
‘You don't know what you've done! '
As a cloud, way up above us
Moved, and blotted out the sun,
While I sat bemused and staring
At the iron stake I held,
It was rusted, red with ochre
Or with blood - I couldn't tell!
Then Androvich came over
And he grunted, and he moaned:
‘You're not to touch not anything
Until I've seen, ' he groaned.
‘Just give me…! ' and he snatched
The rusty stake from out my hand,
‘You westerners know nothing
Of the peoples in this land! '
That night I watched as Iskra
Wandered out along the beach,
I knew that I'd done something
That had put her out of reach,
She wouldn't listen to me
Or respond to what I said,
But then she turned toward me:
‘You have gone and raised the dead! ''
‘It's only superstition, ' I began,
But then she cried,
And went off to her room and
Locked the door, left me outside,
I heard the passage door creak open,
Then an awful shriek…
I found Professor Androvich
Next morning, on the beach!
His throat was torn and mangled,
Though there wasn't any blood,
His face pale white and shaken,
But one thing I understood,
The stake that he had taken, now
Was thrust - it made me wince!
But Iskra, she was nowhere,
And I haven't seen her since!
6 June 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Persian Dreams
Dreams of old Khayyam's Rubayat
And glazed brown shiny doors of old
Now open up to darkened candy stores
Burst from imagination's folds
The doors fly open and alas
I see but bare walls of an empty room
No comics stands or chocolate bars
No Brownie Hawkeye cameras to buy
The candy store was dark and narrow then
So rich with hidden treasures in its womb
For the most part I could not afford
I was but twelve and thirteen then
It must have been in late teenage
That Persian poets came into my life
With jugs of wine, and loaves of bread
Words that could last a lifetime and beyond
So when I woke at three a.m.
The candy store, its doors and shelves
Lay on my pillow, as did phrases of that poem
You know the one, about the keys and veils
I had been walking with two friends
With arms entwined, it was a cheerful time
And clear as I am speaking to you now
I said the lines, I know I did
'There was a door to which I found no key
There was a veil past which I could not see
A little talk there was of me and thee
And then no more of thee and me'
Why did it come to me so clear
And in a dream of places long gone by
Of unknown hopes and wishes of a child
A dream so bright, I felt quite young again
It may be I am growing old
And oriental veils are calling me
Beyond those locks and doors
And deserts of the mind that Omar knew
Will there be candy stores that open wide
To me in spirit as I float
Will bites of chocolate-coated treats
Fill every mouth with widened throat
Is Khayyam's world or afterworld
More sweet then than the one we heard
In Hamlet's saddened speech to walls beyond
The harsh and cold stones of the Danish fold
We Westerners do shine in ghastly tomes
On hell and purgatory drear
Infernos burning all the wicked bones
And squeezing out all forms of fear
So is the truth then in a candy store
Or in a jug of wine beneath the bough
My dream may be the advocate
The tipping of the mortal scale
For as I live, it is quite dear
To contemplate a warm place full of glazed and colored tiles
With mustached, handsome lovers lying near
To bring the first fruits and the harvest's smiles
Perhaps I was a gypsy in Bombay
Or slave girl in the steppes of Caucasus
In times long gone, remembering no more
Except in dreams that grow at three a.m.
Though born to frozen northern lands this time
I cannot feel the sting of Yorick's skull
Or Vikings frosty search for whales and cod
They leave me cold, if you forgive the pun
When all is said and done and I pursue
The hot and heavy struggles of a poet's pen no more
Who will then reach for me beyond the veil
Will it be Omar with the grizzled Rumi, bard or yore?
poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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