A troop of baboons (Terzanelle)
I saw a troop of baboons gather
with mothers inspecting for ticks
in a group coming together
feeling through heads with finger nails making sharp clicks
and small mouths finding nipples
with mothers inspecting for ticks
and two old cripples
came hobbling along
and small mouths finding nipples
and some female baboons howling as if in song
and babies
came hobbling along
and some were agitated as if having rabies,
and there were large females
and babies
and as guards a group of huge males.
I saw a troop of baboons gather
and there were large females
in a group coming together.
[References: Les Chercheuses de Poux by Jean Arthur Rimbaud and The Sisters by Roy Campbell.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The baboon
Bouncing buoyantly, rushing along
the young African baboon
greyish-brown with a green tint
came to the fence of the game reserve
it rushed up that fence till almost
at the top where it stopped.
First one hand, then another,
then one more and then the last
carefully came over the electric wires
on the top before it cheered in joy
bobbing and hobbled on.
The orchard with peach
and apricot trees
was its aim and in a rush
it went up a peach tree
plucking two or three
and pushing them one
after another into its mouth.
The stupid little bush sprite
couldn’t get another peach
into its mouth
and gave it one bite
and dropped it to the ground
and did the same with the next
and the following peach
and so it almost stripped the tree.
Having eaten to its satisfaction
it went back from where it came
and two hours later
I saw a whole troop of baboons,
some mothers with babies
riding on their backs
and big males
with long white exposed fangs.
Danger was lurking in that orchard,
danger of being stripped totally
and danger for me,
as a baboons can easily
rip a leopard apart
with claws and fangs.
As eight year old boy
I knew it well,
picked up a broom
and to the orchard I rushed
and the big male baboons
glared at me,
but when I brought the broom
to my shoulder like a gun
the sentry barked its warning
and baboons fell from trees
and there were baboons everywhere
running away and bellowing their dismay.
poem by Gert Strydom
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On the small hillock
On the small hillock the mist was swirling
opening only here and there
and then suddenly appeared a leopard
sneaking up some sharp edged rocks
as it came nearer and nearer
to a group of baboons
and there was something wild,
something dangerous and innocent to this
before the hunter and its prey
was suddenly swept away
in thick banks of fog.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Iraq war was fought by one-half of one percent of us. And unless we were part of that small group or had a relative who was, we went about our lives as usual most of the time: no draft, no new taxes, no changes. Not so for the small group who fought the war and their families.
quote by Bob Schieffer
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You know, Glen Campbell sang with the group right before I joined the group.
quote by Bruce Johnston
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Our assistance in Somalia has been remarkably effective and successful, and we have helped with very small resources - a large group of people and we can now do even more.
quote by Jan Egeland
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I Have A House Against The Sugar-Bush Hillocks
I have a house against the sugar-bush hillocks
where like orange speckles aloes grow wild,
where thunder strikes iron stones blue-white
with flowering proteas growing everywhere
and I see chacma baboons impudent
coming in a horde to my fruit orchard,
eating some whole peaches with meat and pits
in a blatant aggressive noisy group,
before they all run away indignant
and they are gone before the dark night comes
when storm clouds hang threatening black and grey,
with lightning bolts hitting some blue-white sparks
and every visitor that knocks on my door
is awaited like a welcome kind of guest.
he brushes his jean off making it neat
and then he turns right around to face me
where he is looking somewhat tattered,
he stands without any words as if dumb
but his words lie in every glance,
suddenly I see the whole of humanity
whose glances do not quarter for anything
bringing the hurt, the pain that oppression brings,
telling how men that can work are jobless,
how this evil still circles out wider,
treading some people down without pity,
how it pierces the Afrikaner nation,
as a type of evil occurrence.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Finding Out
Theres something wrong, I cant get my finger on it
I must be looking over something
Sometimes at night Ive had to fight with this emptiness
Its been so hard to see, theres something more than this
Im finding out, Im finding out
Yeah it took a little ti me to get what love was about
But honey Im coming round
Im finding out
Ive had enough of all this hard core loneliness
I dont think pain is so romantic
Im just a working man
I feel each day go by
I couldnt understan d I was too weak to fight
But Im finding out, Im finding out
It took a little time for me to stand up and shout
But honey Im coming round, Im finding out
I have to thank you baby, honey I must confess
You have pulled me from this river of loneliness
Im finding out, baby Im finding out
Yeah it took a little time to get what love was about
But honey Im coming round
Im finding out
song performed by by Tom Petty
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Oppression is something that one group of people commits against another group specifically because of a threatening characteristic shared by the latter group.
quote by Robin Morgan
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Most of my recorded material has been in small group configurations. I have not released large orchestral works as recordings because it hasn't been within the realm of possibility.
quote by Bill Dixon
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corruption is so rampant and colossal
that the ‘for’ group is huge
the ‘against’ group confounds
quote by by John Celes
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Mother Poems
We have Fathers Poems
Why not Mothers Poems?
Without our Mothers, we won't be born,
Without Mothers, We are so forlorn.
Babies, Mothers nurture,
And guide us in our future.
To Mothers everywhere,
Lovely poems, I do declare!
They've All Been Duped
A bragging is done about the number of babies made.
But not one of the 'donators' prove themselves worthy,
To stay up to the grade they charade.
And the mothers are heard,
Taking their frustrations out on their kids.
As if the children are responsible to be born into ignorance.
This is not a reflection of any ethnic group.
They've all been duped by a majority,
Crooked and stupid.
And a backfire comes to be done.
A payback for being idiotic and dumb,
Comes to strike with a strut!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My earliest memory is dreamlike: in a small orchard or garden I am carried on the arm, I believe, of my father; there was a group of grown-ups, my mother among them, and the group was slowly walking in the orchard, it seems toward the house.
quote by Immanuel Velikovsky
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Let Us Begin (What Are We Making Weapons For?)
I am the son of a grassland farmer
Western Oklahoma nineteen forty three
I always felt grateful to live in the land of the free
I gave up my father to South Korea
The mind of my brother to Vietnam
Now theres a banker who says I must give up my land
There are four generations of blood in this topsoil
Four generations of love on this farm
Before I give up I would gladly give up my right arm
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell me, what are we making weapons for
I had a son and my son was a soldier
He was so like my father, he was so much like me
To be a good comrade was the best that he dreamed he could be
He gave up his future to revolution
His life to a battle that just cant be won
For this is not living, to live at the point of a gun
I remember the nine hundred days of Leningrad
The sound of the dying, the cut of the cold
I remember the moments I prayed I would never grow old
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell me, what are we making weapons for
For the first time in my life I feel like a prisoner
A slave to the ways of the powers that be
And I fear for my children, as I fear for the for the future I see
Tell me how can it be were still fighting each other
What does it take for a people to learn
If our song is not sung as a chorus, we surely will burn
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nipples
Men and women both have nipples.
But birds have nipples not.
Since they can not miss them licked...
Do they get a kick when lifting wings?
Finding that divine and heavenly.
As we wait,
Getting tweaked now and then...
By someone who has a fetish!
And we are promised to get wings,
When 'that' time comes!
And who can really say they know that to be true?
Especially if that is 'suppose' to be,
The ultimate 'G' spot!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Online II
Unmarried fathers,
Unmarried mothers,
And, children are born left and right! !
But, who is now online?
Babies,
With unmarried fathers and unmarried mothers;
Babies,
With married fathers and married mothers;
But, this issue is now investigated with care,
Because, other accessibilities are now found at various locations!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Chief executives, who themselves own few shares of their companies, have no more feeling for the average stockholder than they do for baboons in Africa.
quote by T. Boone Pickens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Homecoming
His flight was due in late that night
So to the base she came.
The guard gave her admission-
she was on his list of names.
The group gathered in Reception
was, mostly, silent and restrained.
There were mothers with small babies,
Older couples, frail and pained..
She thought she recognized one girl
Whose husband served with James.
She wasn't sure she could recall
the younger woman's name.
Like some modern Penelope
She'd spent her years alone.
Waiting very anxiously
for her Odysseus to come home.
But not like this, not in a box
Dismembered, dead and done.
She'd hoped to feel his warm embrace
preferably more than one.
A mosaic of Americans
Of every race and creed
All waiting for their soldiers
Who had volunteered to bleed.
The next days were a blur to her,
Not memories to save.
A folded flag for her to hold
and prayers beside his grave
poem by John F. McCullagh
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I don't know if Jim was a major part of that or not. He is one of a small group of real storytellers. He has enormous imagination and ability to write. I'm glad he's coming back. It's going to be good for the show.
quote by Matthew Ashford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Any New York group can come to L.A. and sell out every show, but an L.A. group who goes to New York might not do the same because the audience hasn't been introduced to the group.