Going To Africa
The gathering of the spirits!
The gathering of the minds,
The gathering of the people,
The gathering of the race;
But, i am free once again.
Best of love,
Best of the best!
White oak and water,
Black oak and sugar,
Going to Africa! !
Of the Balck Ark,
Of the White Ark,
Natural mystic,
Revelation! !
Of light and darkness,
In the city.
Keep on learning,
Keep on teaching,
Keep on writing,
Keep on preaching!
And, let the system teach us all.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Related quotes
The Gathering
The Gathering
The time has come once again for the gathering. We come to together to laugh and hug filling the universe with our family’s love. At the gathering we will also reminisce about all the love ones we miss. Some of whom just could not make it, and the others who can now only be with us in spirit. Now with some of the memories we will be sadden but we must not let our spirits be dampen. Because this the time for love, hugs and laughing; we are family and this is The Gathering.
I Dedicate the poem to The Smith Family Reunion 2009
May not be there physically this year but my voice will always be with you.
At the gathering of the flowers
At the gathering of the flowers
Someone waits with the rising sun
There in the wee small hours
That is where love has begun
And there with the angels above
At the gathering of the flowers
To her I do profess my love
With her I will spend all my remaining hours
Where love empowers
Is where I will meet my love
At the gathering of the flowers
With desires undreamt of
Winter winds howl about my face
But the cold shall forever cower
From your warm embrace
At the gathering of the flowers
© JPM 7/18/08
The Gathering
There was a gathering of time
in odd spaces.
There was a gathering of spaces
seeking my time, your time, our time.
There was a gathering of the Saving Graces
which bid us to lie down with peace
to bloom in time and space.
This was a gathering of hopes and dreams
in a space, in a time
with an individualized saving grace.
In gathering it seems-
if we come with only our individual sense
of time, space and grace-
we will have not gathered at all
and will have only succumbed to Sweet Ironic Irony.
'Place then' he said
'your eyes upon the Sun
and know that life is such that
sometimes you must be the moon.
'Place then' he said' your hand
knowing your space
sometimes
in life
must be our space or no space at all.'
'How' we all said
'is this trick to be done? '
He said 'no trick. It is the essence of all things
not only to change
but to be in essence
more than one thing;
even to be more than two
at the same time.'
'That is why' he said
uplifting his arm
'we can think two different,
even contradictory things
at the same time.
This is not artifact
but essence.
This is nature-
not mistake.
Who I am;
Who are we
is the same query
and the answer is for both:
both are we
and each is I
for all is multiples;
and Revelation;
there is no
Universal Rule
of Consistency;
we live in multiple multiplicities.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I hardly teach. It's more like a gathering of minds looking at one subject and learning from each other. I enjoy the process.
quote by Fay Godwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Who Are Less Fortunate Then You
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Creating a martial law.
Protesters are silenced with the sounds gun fire.
Lethal force has been authorized.
And blood pours and pools right under our feet.
Their is no going back.
Their is no retreat.
That flag marks the day of defeat.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Monsters with innocent faces.
The poison in this water has become so tasteless.
Does this mean it won't kill?
The fight for the freedom of the defenseless.
Let our crys be heard.
Let them hear us all over the world.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Divide us into groups of races, religions, classes and other discrimination's.
It doesn't change that we are all made of this flesh.
With hearts that all beat the same.
We all bleed the same.
No matter the cage we're imprisoned in.
This won't change.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
All we ask for, all we want, all we seek is the right to be as we are.
Is our very existence so wrong?
That no haven or shelter shall be given to those who less fortunate then you, then you, then you?
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Flood Water Moves Along
Overflow of water down the street
Flooding the earth down below
The road cannot carry any more
It’s now far above my knees
Splash, the dogs play within
Causing horrible ripples around
Gathering a bucket full of water
The weight is over the limit
Crash, the pail falls back to the stream
Leaving the trail of dirt
To go swiftly past the dog
Unwanted is the river moving
Placing burden on people
Who collectively want it dry
Forever it seems it’ll flood
And tiring is the gathering
Transporting of the dirty water
Sighing the crowd gives up
Allowing the water push
Deep within their homes
In heartache and dying pain
poem by Russell Sivey
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A Gathering
I sat and watched clouds
gathering,
Taking on familiar faces,
I was taken back to
yesterday,
When as children, we played
together,
Running on the beach, gathering
shells for our collections.
Building castles in the sand,
Teasing each other about
tomorrow,
How quickly time passes.
poem by Heather Burns
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In Fear of Shadows They Cast On Paths Alone!
You cast a shadow...
Because there is sunlight.
You curse the darkness.
But it alone does not create your pain.
When you came to experience life...
You had every right,
To expect enlightenment.
But you chose to be sheltered.
Like the others who complain of their plight!
Gathering to satiate on their created blight.
It may become discomforting,
To remove yourself from this acceptance.
But you have been the one to cast a shadow...
Yet learning to curse it,
As if it was there to harm!
As if the joy of your birth...
Now causes much alarm.
Even though it nurtured you in the womb...
To deliver you...
To develop a cursing of its darkened presence.
Like the others who have become intimidated.
Afraid to journey on their own!
In fear of shadows they cast on paths alone!
And gathering together in tight dustballs...
In an aimless attractive sit.
Where shiftless drifters are condoned!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Storm Is Gathering
The calm before the break
A building electricity in the air
The howling wind is restless
Like a predator pacing a cage
Barely contained
It waits
Biding its time before
It finally strikes
The clouds are
Gathering 'round
Encircling with
An iron grip
The smell of rain
Permeates everything
A storm is gathering
poem by Autumn Winds
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Autumn River Song
The moon shimmers in green water.
White herons fly through the moonlight.
The young man hears a girl gathering water-chestnuts:
into the night, singing, they paddle home together.
Li T'ai-po
tr. Hamil
Experiences at church
In the city I witnessed some men
going to church trying to follow God
with a true passion, a true commitment
to finding a blessing
and weary old ladies, children
and some men were bringing offerings
of money, action and time
and some just went there to express
how by wealth they have been blessed
gathering in cliques in little groups and circles,
discussing business, pleasure
and inconsequential things that are of interest to them
and I have witnessed other people,
who saw no need for churches
or for the services rendered by them,
any other than as places for
grand weddings
or to serve God or any higher being
as if they in the image of God
had become gods
and the whole wide world
belonged to them to exploit
and even other people
have got to serve them
and now that the church
to which they did at a time belong
had lost its power
with which it governed the country
from religion they were totally free.
Even if other people were gathering
for self serving reasons
I went to church
to get some kind of blessing
from the presence of the One
from whom all love comes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Stones from Heaven...
Joy died.
The Spinster sends the
text Message which the Flirt reads aloud
in the Gathering of the Living. It says:
Dear Flirt,
I cannot answer all of your messages.
I am grieving over the death of Joy.
I refrained using words. But this i must tell you
I am in grief, I cry all day,
and sometimes I think that when Joy died earlier
than expected, I think, she must be lucky,
as the Living Them brought the Niche,
decked with assorted flowers, and
garnished with evening prayers.
I wish I had the same death.
I heard this in the Gathering of The Living,
and I joked that I am praying for Spinster's early death
and I will be bringing flowers and some followers
to recite the Usual Prayers.
Flirt says, If the Spinster hears this
There will be another ten months of Non-Speaking Terms.
Well, I admit, there is more plasticity always going on
in the Gathering of the Living.
Meanwhile, to lighten the Moments of Grief
the Bad Guys are playing
Cards, drink their rum, smoke their cigars,
and you say it correctly
They always find Joy in polluting this
Innocent World
Deprive it with Fresh Air and claim that they are
are the proper residents of the
Gathering of the Living.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ancestral
The star dissolved in evening—the one star
The silently
and night O soon now, soon
And still the light now
and still now the large
Relinquishing
and through the pools of blue
Still, still the swallows
and a wind now
and the tree
Gathering darkness:
I was small. I lay
Beside my mother on the grass, and sleep
Came—
slow hooves and dripping with the dark
The velvet muzzles, the white feet that move
In a dream water
and O soon now soon
Sleep and the night.
And I was not afraid.
Her hand lay over mine. Her fingers knew
Darkness,—and sleep—the silent lands, the far
Far off of morning where I should awake.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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January in New York
Black ship of night
sailing through the world
& the moon an orange slice
tangy to the teeth
of lovers who lie
under it,
sucking it.
Somewhere there are palm trees;
somewhere the sea
bluely gathers itself up
& lets itself fall again
into green;
somewhere the spangles
of light on the ocean
dazzle the eyes;
but here in the midnight city,
the black ship of night
has docked
for a long, dark stay,
& even the citrus moon
with its pockets of juice
cannot sweeten the dark.
Then the snow begins,
whirling over the Pole,
gathering force over Canada,
sprinkling the Great Lakes with sugar
which drowns in their deep black cups;
it is drawn to the spires of New York
& the flurries come
scampering at first,
lighthearted, crystalline, white,
but finally
sucked into the city
as into a black hole
in space.
The sky is suddenly pink-
pink as flesh: breasts,
babies' bottoms. Night is
day; day is whiter than the desert;
the city stops like a heart;
pigeons dip & veer
& come to rest
under the snow-hatted
watertanks.
poem by Erica Jong
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The Outsiders (alternate Version)
you took me to the restaurant where we first met.
you knocked a future shock crowbar upside my head.
I got caught with the stop of the tick tock, tick tock clock
when you told me what you knew.
lost in the moment, the day that the music stopped.
and I do remember you.
DRAWING PATTERNS WITH A CORK ON THE TABLECLOTH.
PROMISING VOLCANIC CHANGE OF PLOT.
WHERE WILL THIS LEAD US? I'M SCARED OF THE STORM.
THE OUTSIDERS ARE GATHERING. A NEW DAY IS BORN.
I tried to tell you I am not afraid
you looked up and saw it all across my face
so am I with you or am I against?
I don't think it's that easy, we're lost in regret.
now I'm trying to remember the feeling when the music stopped.
when you told me what you knew.
lost in the moment, the day that the music stopped.
and I do remember you.
DRAWING PATTERNS WITH A CORK ON THE TABLECLOTH.
PROMISING VOLCANIC CHANGE OF PLOT
WHERE DOES THIS LEAVE US, I'M SCARED OF THE STORM.
THE OUTSIDERS ARE GATHERING, A NEW DAY IS BORN.
DRAWING PATTERNS WITH A CORK ON THE TABLECLOTH.
PROMISING VOLCANIC CHANGE OF THOUGHT
WHERE DOES THIS LEAVE US? I'M SCARED OF THE STORM.
THE OUTSIDERS ARE GATHERING, A NEW DAY IS BORN.
THE OUTSIDERS ARE GATHERING, A NEW DAY IS BORN.
THE OUTSIDERS ARE GATHERING.
A man walks away. when every muscle says to stay.
how many yesterdays? they each weigh heavy.
who says what changes may come. who says what we call home.
I know you see right through me, my luminescence fades,
the dusk provides an antidote, I am not afraid.
I've been a million times, in my mind, and this is really just a technicality.
frailty. reality.
uh, It's time to breathe. Time to believe. Let it go and run towards the sea.
they don't teach that, they don't know what you mean.
they don't understand, they don't know what you mean.
they don't get it, I want to scream.
I want to breathe again, I want to dream.
I want to float a quote from Martin Luther King
I am not afraid I am not afraid I am not afraid
I AM NOT AFRAID I AM NOT AFRAID I AM NOT AFRAID I AM NOT AFRAID
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hand To The Plow,2011
sitting outside this morning,
watching it rain.... gathering,
gathering strength from i
know not where...
seems like we're not making
any headway... teetering on
the edge of survival...
this year especially tough...
get it up, get it on...
put your hand to the plow!
all around us people,
all different knids of people,
but people... are struggling,
are in need, are in want....
we are a disjointed family,
watching each other sink!
we have got to become aware,
to break down the walls of division...
the only way out is together...
what we have we have to share!
but there can be no more 'me'
and 'i'... no more self oriented
delusions... we cannot follow greed.
we have to turn our weapons
of destruction into shovels and hoes.
we have to join hands, and do it now.
if you're hungry, i'm hungry!
if you're homeless, i'm homeless!
no more apathy, no more doing nothing!
put your hands to the plow! ....
or get out of the way!
life demands hard working involvement!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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There Is An Artistry Applied
So much more is this,
Just a gathering of English words.
There is an emotional attachment to them.
With every period ending,
Each sentence that begins.
There is a process of selection.
With time taken to choose the best.
And keeping it simple for many to digest.
Giving consideration...
To those using microscopes,
For word usage to correct.
But a delight excites,
With a choice to test the minds...
Of those seeking to uncover something profound.
And 'something' complex between the lines to find.
So much more is this,
Just a gathering of English words.
There is an emotional attachment to them.
With every period ending,
Each sentence that begins.
And there is an artistry applied,
Some writers use and try to induce the eyes.
By using words like 'seduction'!
That capture minds to a familiar light.
As if moths stunned!
To become hooked and hypnotized.
And if that process does not work...
Cuss words are universal.
They seem to always maintain their worth.
No matter what the intent or context.
Just toss a few around.
An attention given can be expected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Outsiders
You took me to the restaurant where we first met
You knocked a future shock crowbar upside my head
I got caught with the stop of the tick-tock, tick-tock clock
When you told me what you knew
Lost in the moment
The day that the music stopped
And I do remember you
Drawing patterns with a cork on the tablecloth
Promising volcanic change of plot
Where will this lead us - I'm scared of the storm
The outsiders are gathering, a new day is born
I tried to tell you I am not afraid
You looked up and saw it all across my face
So am I with you or am I against
I don't think it's that easy - we're lost in regret
Now I'm trying to remember
The feeling when the music stopped
When you told me what you knew
Lost in the moment
The day that the music stopped
And I do remember you
Drawing patterns with a cork on the tablecloth
Promising volcanic change of plot
Where does this leave us - I'm scared of the storm
The outsiders are gathering, a new day is born
Drawing patterns with a cork on the tablecloth
Promising volcanic change of plot
Where does this leave us - I'm scared of the storm
The outsiders are gathering, a new day is born
The outsiders are gathering, a new day is born
The outsiders are gathering
A man walks away when every muscle says to stay
How many yesterdays - they each weigh heavy
Who says what changes may come?
Who says what we call home?
I know you see right through me, my luminescence fades
The dusk provides an antidote, I am not afraid
I've been a million times in my mind
This is really just a technicality, frailty, reality
Uh, it's time to breathe, time to believe
Let it go and run towards the sea
They don't teach that, they don't know what you mean
They don't understand, they don't know what you mean
They don't get it, I wanna scream
I wanna breathe again, I wanna dream
I wanna float a quote from Martin Luther King
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fairy Tale
The unwed moon
rowing like a swan on blue lake
after making love to silence.
Dignified shadows
walk on black beach
gathering white heels.
Only lunatics will sing
in shapeless lines.
Who cares for a sequence?
The milk of love
after the kids, in night
the moon was drinking nonstop.
poem by Satish Verma
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Shacklws
Spark of libido was doused
in golden dust.
Let the darkness decide
the ascension of ice.
The possession of naked rose,
him, the pure jewel
panicks in the manipulation of hands
crawling on the purple sea
of corals. A battle starts
for a mystic wheel, for opening
the door of heaven. A sooty
entrance in the hall of sins.
The gathering of queens, a flock
of serpents; the failing guts
of the hero, what if the city
that never wakes.
poem by Satish Verma
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