History is always best written generations after the event, when clouded fact and memory have all fused into what can be accepted as truth, whether it be so or not.
quote by Theodore H. White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art of Memory
Because the happiness, because the irony
Because the importance, because it is funny
Because the promise, because the faith
Memory is remembered
Whether daily, whether eventful
Whether beautiful, whether sad
Whether planned, whether accidental
Memory is made everyday
Because the time, because the nature
Because the trauma, because the secret
Because the plan, because the fear
Memory is forgotten
For the shame of dignity, for the hunger of power
In white lies, in written history
By erasing some fact, by adding impact
Memory is manipulated
By the flash of look, by the said word
By the thing, by the thought
By the shocking impact, by unconscious dream
Memory is triggered again
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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To Who's Benefit Is It
Lies lived,
Throughout decades and generations...
Of them being heard or told to listen.
Does not make them come true.
If fact,
Truth is traumatic and does not come to empathize,
A hiding.
Truth when it is accepted opens eyes wide.
To comprehend and not defend,
The creation of myths devalued.
Once lies lived have been uncovered for what that is...
Holding grudges and bitterness may be done.
But to who's benefit is it,
To insist lies told still exist when none of them,
Bought, sold or can be held like jello...
Can be connected to anything solid.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To believe history…
Two eye witnesses told me an event.
The third one told of it from hear-say.
I wondered about history written down.
I believe History in order to believe.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Memory Of Me As A Poet,
memory of me as a poet,
My doleful soul need's the great memory of me as a poet,
The pure memory taught me of the spontaneous event's of life,
How creation gave me authority to reveal such a strong poetic verse,
I recited the poem in my mind only to realise the great motor memory,
But pure memory revealed all my past writing,
I can relive my past only by the memory of the great history,
Global memory took my mind to think of the great poet.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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Welcome To My Truth
Sentimental days
In a misty clouded haze
Of a memory that now feels untrue
I used to feel disguised
Now I leave the mask behind
Painting pictures that aren't so blue
The pages I've turned are the lessons I've learned
Chorus:
Somebody bring up the lights I want you to see
(Don't You Feel Sorry For Me)
My life turned around
But I'm still living my dreams
(Yes it's true I've been)
I've been through it all
Hit about a million walls
Welcome to my truth.. I still love
Welcome to my truth.. I still love
Tangled in a web
With a pain hard to forget
That was a time that I've now put to rest
Oh, the pages I've turned are the lessons I've learned
(Chorus)
Sentimental days
In a mist of clouded haze
Of a memory that now feels untrue
(Chorus)
song performed by by Anastacia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The ugly human face
Wailing with tears and
Helplessly in commotion,
All of you’re telling to write
The history of hatred, enmity, killings,
The history of human ugly face.
My pen is dried up,
Tell me in which medium,
And language should I write.
Where to begin and
Where to end
Such history of human ugly face.
Oh! Betrayer
You’re telling me to wipe out from the history
Of such human ugly face,
That shattered and shook human conscience,
That haunts the face of those innocent people,
Killed and hurt; widows and orphans.
That hums: that reminds.
Telling me just to close my eyes.
But I’m not blind.
Telling me not to speak,
But I’m not dumb.
Telling me not to write the truth,
But I cannot write anything but the truth.
How can I deceive the history where I belong?
Human memory is short,
Tears would dry up,
The blood would be washed away with time
But the silent words, written in the heart of each human ugly face
Imbedded forever and immortal.
Let me dip the pen in the smeared blood,
The blood of all religions, caste, creed and colour, poor and rich,
The thick blood of those innocent persons.
poem by Dr.bhagya Chandra Rajkumar
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The birth of poetry for M lady Mary Gordley
The birth of poetry.
Before the advent of the written word.
When all knowledge was passed on orally.
then history relied on memory.
Men had to memorise all that they heard
Perhaps this was the birth of poetry.
The tribal elders found they could recall
in simple rhyming verses best of all.
Easily committed to memory.
Long, long before recorded history.
The elders chose and trained one man to be
The current guardian of their legacy
of knowledge they had garnered carefully.
When all knowledge was passed on orally
Then history relied on memory
Poetic piers
http: //blog my space.com.poetic piers
12-May-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fake An Amnesia
When a truth spoken,
Reveals overwhelming opposition...
There 'is' an alternative one can take.
Keep a truth known protected,
Not to be exposed,
In places where delusion is the main event.
And celebrated on a regular basis.
It pays first for one to be observant,
To that which is highly regarded.
No matter what temptations present themselves,
To tease with a going against the grain...
Of what is accepted and cherished as tradition.
When a truth spoken,
Reveals overwhelming opposition...
There 'is' an alternative one can take.
Fake an amnesia!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Grave You Dig Is Your Own
The tears of our ancestors fall upon our graves,
In which we have placed ourselves by our own decieving hand.
We are to be hung by the gallows, of which we build ourselves,
With jelousy and pride our noose has been woven.
The winds of time gone by, and time to come, blow past our funeral’s march,
Attended by those who also attend their own,
Generations to come wait in wonder of our knowledge,
Lies and deceit we have written and call truth.
Dreams of dreamers, whose lives have flowed past us, create a parallel reality,
An impossible event like that of a circle encompassed in another whom touch.
To the grave we march, an army of ourselves, to an inevitable fate we’ve written.
We join the graves we’ve dug, headstones we’ve set, our own names engraved,
And let the tears of our ancestors’ rain down and water our daisies of dying hope.
By: Bethany J. Maxwell
December 7,2010
©2010
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Take me to History,
Take me to History,
Take me to History and never see the mistakes,
Take me to that Killings,
Moving on silent,
Like I never knew all that I was doing,
It was mine,
That you saw the your’s coming in the World,
It was Written,
That your’s was never taken,
Take me to History,
That you never meant to Kill Christ,
Humanity is going to foolishness in losing one sheep,
Death is gonna be easy cause life is Hard,
Take me to History,
That the Cowards of Truth will never see the son,
Whatsoever Conquers,
Is the son that is never determined to lose?
It ain’t hard to tell,
That the lacing was all black,
The lace was more than never enough,
You are not the dude that is all losing like foolishness.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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Lightning
(chorus)
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
They say lightning, they say lightning
Lightning never strikes twice in a row
Generations, generations
First they fight and then they forget
What they were fighting about in the first place
Here it comes, the big explosion
Havent I seen that once before
Or is it just some deja vu
Just some long forgotten dream
Just some silly memory
History does not repeat, it never, never does
(repeat chorus)
(bridge)
I should know
Ive been hit three times (or was it four? )
Im a walking testimony
Come here, look at these holes
Im a walking testimony
Just look at these holes, look at these holes!
Generations, generations
Fathers never teach their sons
And grandpa never talked to them and so on
Memories are inconvenient
When theres lessons to be learned
That just might rock the boat too much
Cause anxiety and such
We cannot walk without our crutches
We cannot walk, we cannot walk, we never, never could
(repeat chorus and bridge)
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
Hey, whats all the fuss about?
They say lightning, they say lightning
Lightning never strikes twice in a row
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deploying Troops Of Truth
No matter what is said to them,
People will believe what they choose to believe.
And those creative with gossip skills,
Have networked their own reality system...
Into a comfortable safety zone!
There are generations of people,
Who have accepted their lives based on what they've heard.
Can you imagine not asking questions about your existence?
The moment I was told to be 'quiet' about something I had asked...
That was a signal to me!
Find out on my own.
To say I was a nosey little boy is an understatement.
I 'had' to satisfy my curiosity.
And If that curiosity of mine was not satisfied...
Somebody's nerves were guaranteed to be plucked.
There are generations of people,
Who have accepted their lives based on what they've heard.
Can you imagine not asking questions about your existence?
The moment I was told to be 'quiet' about something I had asked...
That was a signal to me!
Find out on my own.
And many people don't do that.
So many are programmed to believe what they are told.
And it is very easy to deceive someone like that.
It's a control factor that is enjoyed.
And that control factor has made attempts,
Deploying troops of truth into minds!
A success of this...
Does not appear to be victorious!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Evil is a fact not to be explained away, but to be accepted and accepted not to be endured, but to be conquered. It is a challenge neither to our reason nor to our patience, but to our courage.
quote by John Andrew Holmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The perception of truth
Fact exists, truth needs to be believed
My truth is important to me
I also understand that
Your truth is important, to you
My life is not just a single truth
But a village of many kinds of truth
The version you believe, may be different from mine
And both versions are true, to each of us
The duality of truth
Fights for resolution
And yet, coexists
Quietly, when it needs to
Funny concept this truth
Does fact indeed exist?
And do we really need,
To believe the truth?
Are both just empty shadows
We chase, to play our role
In a divine comedy
For an audience of one
poem by Anita Atina
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter V: Fact
A lie with no fact is an ego
A lie with some fact is an argument
A lie with all fact is a plagiarism
A fact with no lie is a truth
A fact with some lie is a gossip
A fact with all lie is a fiction
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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That's What Happens When Truth Is Spoken
Truth hurts!
That's why the presence of it,
Is scandalized, falsified, denied and fantasized.
Criticized and spat upon and treated like crap!
'You are 'still' talking about truth...
Right?
I just want this conversation to maintain its focus.'
Of course I am 'still' talking about truth.
And that's the tragedy of it!
Even when it is mentioned people want to stop it.
They want to disrupt it with a show of disrespect.
To prove they can throw it indignities.
And to leave it as if that is accepted.
Well...
I say NO to that!
It is NOT accepted!
'You are 'still' talking about truth...
Right?
I just want this conversation to maintain its focus.'
You aren't paying me any attention are you?
That's what happens when truth is spoken!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why sex not dignified
Why not dignified?
It should be personified
Even if its importance not magnified
It has always remained defied
One knows the importance and fact
It is not underlined fact but a sacred act
The whole universe is product of such event
It needs no further comment
It has remained as mysterious as ever
We have misinterpreted it for ever
The fact is we can not do away with it
So at least praise and be with it
We are all by product of dignified act
We need not to camouflage it under any tact
The fact may remain as plain as white
We must acknowledge the fact and need not fight
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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What Does It Matter
Written by gerry beckley, 1974
Found on holiday.
(great hits of the sixties)
Look the ladys got a photograph
Silver framed and velvet backed
Well, she took it quite a while ago
Funny that she never let me know
What does it matter to me
If it doesnt show
I just dont know
Its only just a memory
Just a little history
Oh, oh, oh
And now shes wearing satin shoes
Gilded hair to pay the dues
I guess that I should tip my hat
I wonder if shed think of looking back
What does it matter to me
If it doesnt show
I just dont know
Its only just a memory
Just a little history
Oh, oh
In the parking lot late at night
Paper straws never worked out right
I knew I wanted to
But didnt know why
So I just said hi
(everybody sing along now)
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Live In A City As Great
I LIVE IN A CITY/ AS GREAT
I live in a city
As great as holy as conflicted
As history itself
Many years have I lived here
And little have I written about it-
Much greater than me
Have written here Holy Books for mankind here-
Generations of Jews
Prayed to live here-
I have been blessed
The city will always be too great for me
But I hope to live here to the end of my life.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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But the history of the changes produced by a universal idea is not a history of changes in the individual, but of changes brought about by the successive efforts of millions of individuals in the course of many generations.
quote by Lafcadio Hearn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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