Nostalgia of Saxophone Blues
A saxophonist on a lonely bar, playing the urban blues
Melodies that resonates the solitude, of this bed of civilization
A tapestry of brick, woven together by the mortar of dreams
Where a legacy of the soil was abandoned
For the rancid flavor of an earthly opulence
Collectors with deep pockets yet shallow temples
Fleeting paper levitating ephemeral dreams
Dipped in the ink of the forefathers of the land
Larger than life figures dwarfed in to paper surfaces
To venerate an ethereal faith, multiplying within brick shrines
Hedonistic soldiers, in a crusade for a tangible Shangri-La
Utopia of fortified castles and backyard swimming pools
As hallucinating agents are inhaled by the gullible minds
Mutant psyches prospering in these overwhelming fogs of napalm
Pilgrims parting their birth-rite to the earthly rite of tangible wealth
In this smorgasbord of intemperance, lavish buffets of temptation
Yet, the heart yearns for the profoundness of fraternity
An eerie loneliness transcending arctic winters, hibernating souls
Valiant for the recapture of their birth rite
The fluidity of village conversations, the resonance of rural brotherhood
The permanence of family, the intangibility of heritage
The promise of cultivation, festivities of rural folklore
All wrapped in to a life resonating in to the heart of a lonely pilgrim
Only a saxophonist can deliver, in the solitude of a barstool
As the nostalgic psyche hunts in the dark
For the remnant sunlight of his gentile peasant legacy
Urban blues transcending the intangibility of a birth rite of rural greens
To the sprouting land unveiling the promise of a timeless mirth
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Related quotes
Rite to Spring
Spring awakes,
A free descent,
From unforeseen heights,
As virgin sunbeams,
Carve their path,
To the yawning sprouts;
Even the scrambling fauna;
Guarding the heavenly bed,
Of a crowded thicket;
As souls levitate, from an icy hibernation;
As the senses germinate,
To the resonating melodies,
Of cardinals and mockingbirds,
Stamping their rite to spring.
Amidst this extravaganza of color,
In the serenity of the luscious thicket;
A quilt cover stumps long blades of meadow grass;
As two burgeoning souls playfully merge,
In to a fusion masterpiece, a caramel mural,
Showcasing their birth glory;
Melting in to each other's warmth;
Like a luscious coat of virgin snow;
Thawing to the falling sunbeams;
Unblemished white metamorphosing,
To an infinite spectrum of the color of love.
Of what beauty a quilt in spring bestows;
Two souls dethroning themselves,
In an earthly sacrifice of a birth rite;
To embrace their magical rite
The rite to spring.
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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The Legacy Of The Soil
In my forefather's blood
Rests my gentile peasant legacy, of a dexterous islander
Born to the fertile soils of Serendip
As the seeds of my legacy were cultivated
On soggy terrain for an opportune metamorphosis
Golden terraces laden with logged grains of prosperity
A tribal farmer persona transcending mortality
To the throne of a medieval mythical kingdom
To the august presence of a sorcerer of the soil
A sower granted the wish of king Midas, miraculous palms
Sowing the twines of the intricate tapestry of my heritage
Where no swords were wielded, no blood was shed
Where no battlefields were fronted, no prisoners were seized
Where roots were laid and sprouts were sprung
A legacy like no other, to own the spirit of the soil
To harness the blessings of the sun gods
To garner the vitality of the seasonal monsoon
To cultivate hope in the promise of a bowl of rice
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Emancipation of the Sovereign Heart
Mirages enumerate the vulnerable mind
Caged by the trappings of mortality
As one seeks the opulence of the heart
The shrouded mystery of an unconditional love
As knights in shining armor stroll in
With a clamor in step and a jingle of the heart
With blades of amor and shields of honor
Yet victim to corrosion in the hallways of time
Rusting to the moisture of the straying heart
To tides of lust that knock on your shores
As the sand castles of the heart fade like wilting flowers
To leave behind the legacy of hurt's procreation
The true labor of love, in your quest for an oasis of the heart
As the bountiful evergreen metamorphoses to a green mile
A caged abyss, as the fickle heart longs for liberation
To re-embrace your birth rite, to the open arms of solitude
To prosper in the great wide open, providence's masterpiece
Like the regal sun or the divine moon
Like an indomitable elephant or a hunting lioness
To flourish in the emancipation of a sovereign heart
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Members of the Academy are mostly urban people. We are an urban nation. We are not a rural nation. It's not easy even to get a rural story made.
quote by Larry McMurtry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perfect Her Evil Me
shes so pretty and perfect
and so much more worth it
she petite and funny
she laughs
loves your friends
she'll never break your heart rite?
not like evil me
she lets you protect her
not a stupid feminist
not like evil me
she knows you
more than me rite?
she was there when your life crumbled before you
oh wait that was evil me,
sorry wrong girl
she'd never cheat on you
rite?
just like evil me...
only wait she did
with your best friend
who you trusted
miss perfect all the time broke your perfect heart
and now who do you miss?
oh yeah
evil me.....
poem by Larxene Addesso
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People don't understand rural America. Sixteen percent of our population is rural, but 40 percent of our military is rural. I don't believe that's because of a lack of opportunity in rural America. I believe that's because if you grow up in rural America, you know you can't just keep taking from the land. You've got to give something back.
quote by Tom Vilsack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Fav Crazy World
my fav crazy world,
hey this mature world,
maturer people in it,
i dont enjoy it,
luv to be one of the crazy world
don't just enjoy the set rite world.
my crazy world, my way
no contradictions, no debates.
only luv, no hates,
my way, my style, our way.
someone to share this crazy world,
who's only made for only mayb,
when think of this set rite world,
regret being a part of it,
but just cant help it!
dignity n moral,
easier to say,
just to very difficult to maintain,
but, will forever we'll maintain,
cos we wanna luv each other,
forever n ever.
for this life n our next birth ever,
poem by Pooja Mehta Shah
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Still Down
[ AshantI ]
hey how you doing, how you been,
I've been laying low, watching every way you move,
so sit back and relax and lemme reaccquaint myself to you,
ohh its been a while since
I've been around
and I hope you aint forget my vibe
and my sexy style
if you don't ever go nowhere
I will never go nowhere
and I will always be rite here for you
[ chorus ]
tell me are you still down for a girl like me
cuz I dont wanna be just another memory 2x
[ T.I ]
eh eh eh long time no see now back on my feet,
comfortably, and back of a fee
rite back in the street
within a matter of weeks, dont they - 3
I proposed you accepted
and now you married to me
I know you been missin the kisses
and the different positions told your mind
over and I'll be home in a minute
hey listen I did the time
and now I'm finally free
now I can finally see that you was down for a G'
eh eh eh c'mon
[ AshantI ]
now you kno that I wont let you down
cuz imma do my best
so I can make it rite for you
and like nobody else imma give all myself
all myself to you
and please believe I will always see
who you got your eyes on
and who got their eyes on you
long as you never go nowhere
I will never go nowhere
and I will always be rite here for you
[ chorus ] 2x
tell me are you still down for a girl like me cuz
I dont wanna be just another memory
[ T.I ]
I promise I'm the same fella you knew
when they let me out the socks baby
I'm headed to you just lemme kno
if forever mean forever to you
if you choose to move on
hey wont you tell me the truth,
keep it real wit a nigga ma
wateva you do if your heart and minds
is numb rewind the time when
we closed the blinds like the --
was rhyming and we hit the malls
spending G's all the time
and you was on the side thru out
I was grindin and you was surprised
wit minks and showered wit diamonds
but you will always be a part for life
even if I never get to call to u my wife,
just rememba who put the bread into the crib
in the same crib that u want
ur kids living in now no matter
how eva you may feel now even
if u wanted to consider urself his now,
I'm still down for you
[ Chorus ] 2x
song performed by by Ashanti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every ceremony or rite has a value if it is performed without alteration. A ceremony is a book in which a great deal is written. Anyone who understands can read it. One rite often contains more than a hundred books.
quote by G.I. Gurdjieff
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The problem for me, still today, is that I write purely with one dramatic structure and that is the rite of passage. I'm not really skilled in any other. Rock and roll itself can be described as music to accompany the rite of passage.
quote by Pete Townshend
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ultimate Sacrifice
A woman giving birth
Replenishes Mother Earth
Mother Nature’s humanity and myriad mirth
Destruction of Life by bombs and war
The universe will always abhor
Annihilation, war’s consummate whore
The stars cry innocent blood galore
Bodies of blood from shore to shore
The death of Life by bombs and war
A woman birthing Life
The Ultimate Sacrifice
Nothin man-made can suffice
The female impetus-the incomprehensible birth-rite
The Ultimate Sacrifice
A Woman giving Life
poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Rite Of Passage
Words and music by bob seger
Its the age of reason for the anarchist
Its a change of venue for the lobbyist
Its a dream of justice buried in the grist
Its a secret briefing based on need to know
Its a condescending rationale from command control
Feel the sense of wonder at the overthrow
Its a rite of passage through a hurricane
Through a rolling thunder through a screaming rain
Hear the shriek of abel hear the cry of cain
And abraham will take his son
Five billion years from now the cruelty will be done
Make a destination
Of the greater truth
Make em hang their heads and eat their words
When you find the proof
This is all youre given
Its your only move
Its a rite of passage for the everyman
To a higher ground
To a brighter light
To a promised land
You can feel the power
Of the masters hand
Its a rite of passage
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nonsensical Enigma - Love
Love
The fusion of being
To an intangible wealth, yet a collector's bounty
When the heart is soaked by surging tides of affection
By the ingrained succulence of another life form
Partiality, transcending roots, kinship or pedigree
Fidelity, surpassing the legacy of your shadow
Devotees to commitment yet free of slavery
Reverence, exceeding faith's inventory of icons
When godship is humanized to flesh and blood
Where blood is rarely splattered, but worshiped in to flush
Where flesh is seldom mutilated, but traversed for pleasure
Where the heart is captured by both an earthly and heavenly desire
The endowment of wings to the flight-impaired
The gift of the fountain of sight to the unsighted
The bestowment of a compass to a wandering heart
The bequest on man, transcendence from mortality
To the surrealism of an earthly divinity
To hold in your heart, that nonsensical enigma - love
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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I'd love to be a saxophonist. I don't know why, but I pretend I'm the saxophonist when I listen to music. I have about as much chance playing the sax as I do learning how to fly.
quote by Richard Price
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poya Day
A throne draped in virgin white
Flowing gently in the mildest of mistrals
Like the gentle flight of a coasting crane
Under the lofty branches of a lonely Bo tree
As the bountiful leaves part with a vivacious rhapsody
The rustle of shelves of leaves, elating the prospering dew
Yearning to spring on the unsuspecting feet of the passing crowds
As Aurora unveiled the promise of a Poya day
As the gathering crowd await the advent of a scholarly monk
For reverberating wisdom to burgeon the mind
In the fluidity of a heavenly ataraxia, a serendipitous tranquility
Tides of an apical serenity embracing the sands of the porous psyche
As the mistral gathers vivacity, a lonely monk ascends to his apical seat
A worldly acumen resonates from the epicenter of the monk's voluble lips
To harness grains of benevolence, to nurture the voracious appetites of thawing minds
To cater to the famished intellect, to engender a transformation from within
To fuse in to the resonance of goodwill a lonely monk bestows
Worldly wisdom jumping across through mental faucets
To enliven the conscience, to lend a helping hand to the marginalized
All this wrapped in the articulate sermons of a Poya day
As the full moon appears in the twilight sky, one can envision
The shimmering coronas of a submerged psyche swamped in wisdom
Yearning for an act of deliverance to ghettos of contemporary life
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Urban Time vs. Rural Time
3 am:
Urban time: Alarm clocks, hoots and toots
Rural time: Cocks crow, cows moo and weavers beaker
4 am:
Urban time: Whoever snoozed the alarm? Dress up… very scarcely
Rural time: Dust the mat; grab yesterday’s very hard ugali and into overall
5 am:
Urban time: Marikiti and Gikomba beat traffic – rush hour
Rural time: Milking and feeding; early bird catches the worm
6 am:
Urban time: Office not open, tarts hover at Koinange zonked with sleep
Rural time: Coffee farm supervisor calls out names – mine missing
7 am:
Urban time: Offspring sings national anthem in academy playfully
Rural time: Sibling barefoot sings “Yesu anipenda” without blasphemy
8 am:
Urban time: Yaaaawn! Hate work before it even begins – so monotonous
Rural time: Tea baskets at back, yard stick in hand, water jar on head
9 am:
Urban time: What took company tea so long? Was tea boy fired or what?
Rural time: Sing Mary oh, sing Mary oh… Market women return with empty baskets
10 am:
Urban time: Finally the tea is here… (Chit chat) I love this job!
Rural time: The sun’s scorching – take a breath beneath shade
11 am:
Urban time: Silence and whispered gossip, functional smiles and fake hugs
Rural time: Shout greeting from ridge to ridge and insults from bush to bush
12 pm:
Urban time: Yaaaaaawn! Bad date - fear the approach of the next hour
Rural time: Any one with a watch? The sun has hid beneath the cloud
1 pm:
Urban time: Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures – am dieting…
Rural time: Carry produce to factory, take a nap in the wilderness, and water the livestock
2 pm:
Urban time: Oh how I hate this! Parliament session on, but ethics dictate TV without volume
Rural time: Women plot today’s chama as men discuss the local barmaid’s “possessions”
3 pm:
Urban time: Who tampered with the office clock? I can see some hawkers outside…
Rural time: Tamper with the scale to increase my produce’s sale
4 pm:
Urban time: Bus fare hikes and traffic builds up as conductors (mis) control the traffic
Rural time: Women fetch firewood on their way home, men stop by the shops
5 pm:
Urban time: Happy to overlap, wishing those overlapping matatus meet Officer Kipng’etich
Rural time: Feet and hooves erode dust like matching Zulu soldiers
6 pm:
Urban time: Men (if home) for remote, women for the house girl’s neck and children for homework
Rural time: Put up fires to boil arrow roots and some bitter herbs or leaves before chama
7 pm:
Urban time: News, views and reviews on your channel your choice rated best by synnovate
Rural time: Men around community radio discussing politics and new constitution
8 pm:
Urban time: Cuando seas mia as thugs from Huruma and Kayole crop into city centers
Rural time: Men grasp illicit liquor around Papa Shirandula; women busy the hell out of the kitchen
9 pm:
Urban time: Yaaaaawn! Prime time news… the same ones at 7 pm, but sound different
Rural time: School children are through with chores, homework starts with or without pencil
10 pm:
Urban time: Save for the clubs and pubs, clandestine, hypocritical sweeties and darlings, all is quiet
Rural time: Dad is back; supper’s too sweet so he batters mum that children scream
11 pm:
Urban time: Some mild mugging, police harassment and handbag snatching
Rural time: Mum, dad and all reconcile – family smiles again
12 am:
Urban time: Police cars patrol everywhere – at this hour, Pope on the road is any crook
Rural time: Save for the sparrow, whose nest was destroyed by the boys, everything sleeps
1 am:
Urban time: Late night drunkards bang the flat’s gate recklessly
Rural time: Sleep walkers, witches and watchmen watch over the village
2 am:
Urban time: One more fart in the blankets and you wake up the alarm - rerun
Rural time: Beds creek as husbands force wives to go glory hallelujah - rerun
poem by David Munene wa Kimberly
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Honky Tonk Blues
[e]well I left my home down on the rural route
I told my paw im going steppin out and get the
[a7] honky tonk blues, hey the honky tonk [e] blues
Hey [b7] lord I got em, I got the ho-on-ky tonk [e] blues
ell I went to a dance and I wore out my shoes
Woke up this mornin wishin I could lose
Them jumpin [a7] honky tonk blues, hey the honky tonk [e]blues
Oh [b7] lord I got em, I go the ho-on-ky tonk [e] blues
Solo [e] [a] [e] [b7]
[e]ell I stopped into every place in town
This city life has really got me down
I got [a7] the honky tonk blues, hey the honky tonk [e]blues
ell [b7] lord I got em, I got the ho-on-ky tonk [e] blues
[e] im gonna tuck my worries underneath my arm
And scat right back to my pappys farm
And leave these [a7] honky tonk blues, hey the honky tonk [e] blues
[b7] oh lord I got em, I go the ho-on-ky tonk [e] blues
song performed by by Hank Williams
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Blues Of The Months
The blues of January,
The blues of February,
The blues of March,
The blues of April,
The blues of May,
The blues of June,
The blues of July,
The blues of August,
The blues of September,
The blues of October,
The blues of November,
The blues of December,
Meet me there if you can!
And like Glory-Land and Merry-land;
But my home will always accept in your sweet blues.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Meth is a major problem not only in our urban areas, but in most of the rural areas of Colorado. No region has been immune from this scourge and it is getting larger.
quote by Ken Salazar
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The Portrait
Her legacy of beauty hung unchanged
And serious above my cluttered desk.
The shadows sketched unworldly creatures: strange
Anomalies around her. Their grotesque
Demeanor: demonic, wildly dancing
A celebratory rite on the wall.
Dubiety! Perhaps I am dreaming.
And yet I still observe ethereal,
Surreal visions. Perhaps pinch myself
That's it! I'll twist a bit of living flesh.
Oh! Ouch! The pain is real as life itself.
The portrait! ... Changed! Her likeness diminished
I see. her comely grace I once beheld
Become a hag where beauty once had dwelled.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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