In 1978, the tradition of running from village to village with a message was revived. that first run was from Davis to Los Angeles, a distance of 500 miles.
quote by Dennis Banks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Global Village
Global village
Though we are all human
we are made to be different
by forces beyond our clout
Yet they want remake us
in a new image of their choice
in a village too big to be safe
The world they now call
a single village in the globe
with a big brother to match
As long as we are second class
within that large village fashioned
we would be subjected to
someone’s standards
someone’s culture
someone’s technology
someone’s understanding
someone’s world view
someone’s theories and concepts
They try hard in harder ways
to make us part of that village
but we know we are different
and shall strive to leave outside
that fashioned unsafe village
poem by Yusuf Adamu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Crowing of the Roosters
Come to the village
and listen to the crowing roosters
up the branches of the trees
announcing the breaking
of a bright new day.
Come to the village
Walk the miles of the road
Have a pause from the roaring buses,
The dazzles on the streets
And the endless list of activities.
Come to the village
And learn from the roosters
Resting on the silent trees
Communing with nature
And speaking to man and woman
The great early morning of peace.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Village Idiot
Did you see the lad, on the corner
He was standing drinking wine
Wears his overcoat in the summer
And short sleeves in the winter time
Takes his holidays, down at the bookies
Well he knows how to pick a horse
Village tramping round the countryside
He wears a smile, but he doesnt say much
Village idiot, hes complicated
Village idiot, simple mind
Village idiot, he does know something
But hes just not saying
Dont you know hes onto something
You can see it, you can see it in his eyes
Sometimes he looks so happy
As he goes strolling by
Oh village idiot, hes complicated
Village idiot, hes got a simple mind
Village idiot, must know something
But hes just not saying
Well you all know hes onto something
You can see it in his eyes
Sometimes he looks so happy
When he goes walking by
Sometimes he looks so happy
When he goes walking by
Sometimes he looks so happy
When he goes walking by.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inspired by Issa - My Home Village
my home village
the virgin mary still stands
young as ever
my home village
old friends like me
away from home
my home village
old friends live in
new homes
inspired by
my home village-
the winter rain targets
a standing Buddha
-Issa,1816
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Village Green
Out in the country,
Far from all the soot and noise of the city,
Theres a village green.
Its been a long time
Since I last set eyes on the church with the steeple
Down by the village green.
twas there I met a girl called daisy
And kissed her by the old oak tree.
Although I loved my daisy, I saw fame,
And so I left the village green.
I miss the village green,
And all the simple people.
I miss the village green,
The church, the clock, the steeple.
I miss the morning dew, fresh air and sunday school.
And now all the houses
Are rare antiquities.
American tourists flock to see the village green.
They snap their photographs and say gawd darn it,
Isnt it a pretty scene?
And daisys married tom the grocer boy,
And now he owns a grocery.
I miss the village green,
And all the simple people.
I miss the village green,
The church, the clock, the steeple.
I miss the morning dew, fresh air and sunday school.
And I will return there,
And Ill and daisy,
And well sip tea, laugh,
And talk about the village green.
We will laugh and talk about the village green.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miles Davis fully embraced possibilities and delved into it. He was criticized heavily from the jazz side. He was supposed to be part of a tradition, but he didn't consider himself part of a tradition.
quote by Bill Laswell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Story Of Ali Rıza And Ahmet
How strange is the story of
Ali Rıza and Ahmet
One lives in the village
The other in the city
And every morning
The one in the city goes to the village
And the one in the village to the city
poem by Orhan Veli Kanik
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the ballad of Running Bare
The ballad of Running Bare
By the shores of Ichy Coomi,
By the mighty deep sea water,
In a wigwam warm and roomy,
With the big chief`s lovely daughter,
Lived the Indian champion streaker,
The best in Delaware
And they changed his name from Running Deer,
And they called him Running Bare.
So fleet of foot was Running Bare,
That arrows outward he had shot `em
And run forward with such swiftness
That the arrow had pierced his bottom.
Indian braves in village talkum,
“Running Bare him plenty dumb,
Indian must be heapum stupid,
Shoot own arrows up own bum”.
Big chief`s darghter very lovely,
Not too fat and not too skinny,
Wore dress six inches below navel,
So they called her Ha Ha Minne..
But Running Bare him not good husband,
Played Ha Ha Minne fast and loose,
Ran like hell village to village,
Fathering many papoose
Then pale face came one day to village,
Yellow hair skin white as chalk.
When Indian saw his heap big chopper,
Indian call him Tommy Hawk.
When he first saw HaHa Minne
By the light of village fire,
Saw her not too fat and not too skinny,
Filled his heart with mad desire.
Beneath hooded lids he watches her
As she went into her tepee,
When the village was quiet and sleeping.
Tommy Hawk went creepy, creepy.
But before the dawn Running Bare came running,
From his running here and there
Found them in the sack together
Now he`s caught her sleeping bare,
The pale face leaped up from the pallet,
Like a wounded stag at bay
Tried to relieve the situation
By pretending he was gay.
But Running Bare cried, “Ah ya tatchi”.
Which translated means Think I`m daft.
Then he saw his mighty chopper
And the notches carved upon the shaft.
The two men faced each other
What filled HaHa Minne with alarm
Was thre way they smiled at one another
And walked off arm in arm.
poem by Archie Langford
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Metaphors of a Magnifico
Twenty men crossing a bridge,
Into a village,
Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges,
Into twenty villages,
Or one man
Crossing a single bridge into a village.
This is old song
That will not declare itself . . .
Twenty men crossing a bridge,
Into a village,
Are
Twenty men crossing a bridge
Into a village.
That will not declare itself
Yet is certain as meaning . . .
The boots of the men clump
On the boards of the bridge.
The first white wall of the village
Rises through fruit-trees.
Of what was it I was thinking?
So the meaning escapes.
The first white wall of the village...
The fruit-trees...
poem by Wallace Stevens
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Homecoming Of A Wanderer (To Bhupen Hazarika)
He returned home through the same village roads,
Some morning declaring his fight against time and its tides,
through which he had gone.
Declaring miles and miles of road shorter than his dreams through which he had gone..
Declaring himself anonymous and wanderer and leaving promises of returning winner.
through which he had gone,,,
He returned.
On his return, the village road saw the same villager and he returned on the same wheels of his dreams
And those dreams were still full of life.
On his return but he was no longer an anonymous, he earned a name which could travel boundaries of land, river, ocean and time as well..
And when he returned he was no longer a wanderer for everywhere he went he left a mark of the river of his village where he belonged and now he owned a home in thousands heart
On his return he was no longer a wanderer
He returned through the same village roads
but not without gifts of eternity..
gifts from the zenith of human limits,,
gifts of pride and honour,,
gifts of travelling the roads of life,,
larger than travelled by any one ever,,,
he returned for he had left with promises of returning to his mother.
For sunset is nowhere more peaceful than the laps of her..
Dedicated to the wanderer,
The clouds are
The clouds are long distance travellers
Equally care free with a stumbling little baby
Freedom is its aim and it enjoys sailing
Rains are its blessing when it is very happy.
Clouds move village to village, country to country
And looks our beloved ones and bring their touch
As in the touch of rains, we get something
Really you are a true friend and continue moving.
poem by Satyabrata Barik
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Los Angeles
City of glam, city of crime
People are fake, you're no friend of mine
Club fights, dancing through the night
We're kids living the dream under the lights
We're in Los Angeles
Dancing through the night in Los Angeles
Hollywood trash in Los Angeles
Being ourselves in Los Angeles
Never losing Los Angeles
City of High, city of low
Selling drugs, we're losing our souls
Walking the strip with one goal
We're gonna live our dream, no one can stop us all
We're in Los Angeles
Dancing through the night in Los Angeles
Hollywood trash in Los Angeles
Being ourselves in Los Angeles
Never losing Los Angeles
Girls in my world
Music in my ears
Pain in my tears
Rock in my veins
Nothing in my brain
I think i'm going insane
That's all i need in Los Angeles
We're in Los Angeles
Dancing through the night in Los Angeles
Hollywood trash in Los Angeles
Being ourselves in Los Angeles
Never losing Los Angeles
We're in Los Angeles
Dancing through the night in Los Angeles
Hollywood trash in Los Angeles
Being ourselves in Los Angeles
Never losing Los Angeles
poem by by unknown author
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I don't believe in careers, I just picture myself always as one of those old actors from the 19th century who go from village to village in their repertoire.
quote by Antonio Banderas
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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GOSH...Another Elegy!
They came
From the vast desert
To the shores of an expansive sea
G
O
S
H!
Giridhar
Om
Shivam…
I can’t understand anything
Not a single word
I’m from a village!
That’s Giridhar’s declaration
At the first encounter
The cynosure of his village
A would be first engineer form the village
Sent to learn the ship building with
Contributions form the entire village
Easy, you can! You will!
And he proved himself!
First few minutes of the class were his:
Spoke of his village
His family
Himself
His friends…
Shivam and Om fared pretty well though
On an evening of fun and frolic
When the moon up above was
Increasing its radius and radiance
The volleyball that stealthily hid their destiny
Changed its course in the air
And decided to float on the waves
Teasing the three to follow it
The hardy desert boys
Lured by the watery net
Were thrown up by the sea
Stiff and frozen a few days later!
Mam, see I now can speak…
Man, see I now can speak…
Giridhar’s voice repeatedly
Wakes me up from sleep…
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Get along with the village headman, plunder the village.
Villagizing Their Villagicity
I'm not trying to disturb my peace.
I've been there before...
To give of myself and then some more.
But it takes a village of villagers,
With vlllageousness...
Villagizing their villagicity!
And without identity or a mindset agreed...
That village nonsense is an impossibility!
Since many would like to view it,
As a tribalistic thing.
You know...
With Tarzan swinging from a vine.
Swooping down from the heavens...
Looking tanned and Cary Grantish!
In full movie star splendor!
Seeing folks walking tall and being proud,
Is my ideal of a people in a village advancing.
Any other image...?
Flip it to the birds!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Go out from your village: don't let your village go out form you.
What Happened To His Village
He was born just a short distance from Adelaide
And he could see the sea from his back door
And in his young days there were not many houses
But the years have brought great change to Semaphore.
His sea side Village has grown to a coastal suburb
And his old Homeplace has undergone great change
Where once were trees and paddocks now there's houses
A stranger to your old Homeplace seems strange.
What happened to the Village of his childhood
The paddock where he played in years ago
He only can refer now to his memories
Of peaceful place the Homeplace he once did know.
The cottage of his childhood gone forever
A doctor's surgery where once it stood
And not one know him he is now a stranger
In Semaphore the place of his boyhood.
But of the past he still has good old memories
Of his old Village how it used to be
And from the cottage by the wide brown paddock
Six hundred yards off he could see the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The River of Desire
On the banks of the River of Desire
The abodes of our Gods are empty
The Gods deserted our village long ago
Leaving behind all the sanctums
Their broken walls yielded fine bricks
For the masonry of our village homes.
The River meandered around our village
Threatening to swallow our temples
Our children have hunger in their eyes
We have no oil to light God’s lamps
The River now threatens to swallow
Our parched paddy fields and our homes.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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