Blessed are those (in answer to Dikobe wa Mogale)
Blessed are those
who jumped at Cassinga,
courted death while outnumbered
by the enemy and Cuban battle tanks
and are still living
to tell the story
blessed are those who are killed, slaughtered
in the thousands on there farmsteads,
while the police
do not tract down the killers
and these killings continues
to still go on
blessed are those who are burgled, hijacked
and raped
in the cities
and are still living
while every criminal in Africa
floods in to the country
blessed are those who choose
to remain here as white citizens
while being oppressed
by the laws laid down
by the current government
and are left without income
by the effect
of affirmative action
and who still believe and pray
while their days drag on aimlessly.
[Reference: blood of the martyrs by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Trinity Of Carnatic Music 2-Muthuswamy Dhikshitar
Blessed Yogi when blessed
Blessed was your cognizant mastery
To be blessed from the sacred depths
Devi Ganga to treasure you with Rama-Veena
Blessed later when the Lord of Tiruttani
Blessed was 'you' with your vibhakti kritis
To be blessed from the heavenly treasury
'GuruGuha' to treasure you in bouffant compendium
Blessed your sanskrit lexicon when blessed
Blessed Navavarna kritis blossomed in stacks
To be blessed then planetary nine in seven talas
Extended seventy two Kartas issuing varieties aplenty
Blessed your peripatetic journey when blessed
Blessed Amrithavarshini pattered driving drought
To be blessed you then to sing to Madurai Meenakshi
'Meenalochani Pasamochani'to board you of Her abode
Blessed scholar with blessed knowledge
Blessed verbarian, blessed musician
To be blessed is we O'Guru, by your soul
Devis and deities from your resort of music
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Blessed Be Your Name - Hillsong
Blessed be Your name,
In the land that is plentiful.
Where Your streams of abundance flow,
Blessed be Your name.
Blessed be Your name,
When I'm found in the desert place.
When I walk through the wilderness,
Blessed be Your name.
Every blessing You pour out,
I'll turn back to praise.
When the darkness closes in,
Lord, still, I will say:
(Chorus)
Blessed be the name of the Lord,
Blessed be Your name.
Blessed be the name of the Lord,
Blessed be Your glorious name.
Blessed be Your name,
When the sun's shining down on me.
When the world's all as it should be,
Blessed be Your name.
Blessed be Your name,
On the road marked with suffering.
When there's pain in the offering,
Blessed be Your name.
Every blessing You pour out,
I'll turn back to praise.
When the darkness closes in,
Lord, still, I will say:
(Chorus) x 2
You give and take away,
You give and take away.
My heart will choose to say,
Lord, blessed be Your name. x 2
(Chorus) x 2
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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The South Wind: A Fisherman's Blessing
O blessed drums of Aldershot!
O blessed South-west train!
O blessed, blessed Speaker's clock,
All prophesying rain!
O blessed yaffil, laughing loud!
O blessed falling glass!
O blessed fan of cold gray cloud!
O blessed smelling grass!
O bless'd South wind that toots his horn
Through every hole and crack!
I'm off at eight to-morrow morn,
To bring
such
fishes back!
Eversley, April 1, 1856.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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How Blessed Am I
How blessed am I for being born
Of parents good and God-fearing!
How blessed am I for siblings nine
Who made my childhood truly great!
How blessed am I for being made
Handsome and healthy, fair and hale!
How blessed am I for gaining ken
And virtues, wisdom, fortitude!
How blessed am I for being reared
So well by parents dutiful!
How blessed am I for achievements
Quite praiseworthy in life on earth!
How blessed am I for having fared
So well in life in every field!
How blessed am I for talents, gifts
That most men cannot dream to have!
How blessed am I for miracles
That gave my life a newer lease!
How blessed am I for finding time
To thank and praise the Almighty!
How blessed am I for grace of God
That goads me on in heaven’s road!
How blessed am I for everything
God gave me amply in His time!
How blessed am I for love of God
That chose me to be Christian!
How blessed am I for hope and faith
That help me follow Jesus’ steps!
How blessed am I for poesy
That made my life stress-free, worthwhile!
How blessed am I for God’s with me
And I’m with Him in earthly life!
poem by John Celes
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God Has Blessed America
God has blessed America
with the ability to choose.
And we lean to our own understanding;
not asking him what to do.
God has blessed America
with landscape’s that will take your breath away.
And we dig-up and cut-down,
and litter everyday.
When God made the earth
He said, “It is good.”
And we’re not taking care of it;
like we know we really should.
God has blessed America
more than we deserve;
With his love and compassion,
His mercies new each day.
God has blessed America
With the babies that he give;
and we abuse and neglect them,
and kill them daily still.
God has Blessed America
Oh how he blessed us so.
We have freedom in our country;
More than other countries will know.
God has blessed America
with oceans blue as the sky;
and we pollute them, killing sea life,
not caring that they die.
God has blessed America
we have freedom of speech;
and we destroy; killing spirits
with the poison that we speak.
God has blessed America
The land we say we love;
But we continue to destroy it,
The land we’re unworthy of.
Copyright © 2010 by-Phyllis Strong
poem by Phyllis Strong
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Blessed
Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit
Blessed is the lamb whose blood flows
Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
I got no place to go
I've walked around Soho for the last night or so
Ah, but it doesn't matter, no
Blessed is the land and the kingdom
Blessed is the man whose soul belongs to
Blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
My words trickle down from a wound
That I have no intention to heal
Blessed are the stained glass, window pane glass
Blessed is the church service, makes me nervous
Blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers
O Lord, why have you forsaken me?
I have tended my own garden much too long
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One evening I see a thing
One evening
I see a thing
that let’s my blood boil,
while I watch the news
on the television set.
I know a bold man
without hair
that stands before a big crowd,
his country, the world
and the God of gods
and lays his hand
on the holy black book
and lies a promise down and gives a solemn oath
to be true to his country and fellow man.
His government drove me to Angola
and back again
and all of the oppressed
really did have to get freedom,
but where did he stay
his brother’s keeper?
Now it seems
that he really doesn’t have a clue
about how a white man
with a degree and lots of experience
has difficulty
to find a permanent job at forty five
and to put food on the table
and all of government
falls apart
through people that have no clue
how to do their work.
Thousands of rands of tax
are subtracted from my contract work
and tax pays
his fat pension.
I want to blister
like a hot potato,
because he has the impudence
to say something about affirmative action
and I pray for him
and ask God to change him
and for him to be blessed,
as it is the way
that my mother taught me
to do to my enemies.
My contract is finished
and I have to find another job
and from that,
he stands totally free.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Baptism of fire (in answer to Dikobe wa Mogale)
Even when you cast glowing iron
into spears and sharpen them,
draw the blades
of your panga-swords,
ram magazines into your pistols,
into AK-47 assault rifles,
dance around fires
trying to ensnare ancestral spirits
chant the songs of killing
and begin to hate,
curse the anvil of unity
and decide to be free
from every living white human
and bring death and anarchy
as a harvest of the fire
and continue the endless killings
I will still bow down
on my knees
and pray to the almighty God
even if in the presence
of my enemies,
even if thousands gather as foes
and trust that He will deliver me
and every single person
of my nation.
[Reference: baptism of fire by by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Waiting on the barbarians (a reply to C.P. Cavafy)
Called up for armed military service
hundreds of thousands white boys
are forced into a war
of whom I am but a single one
and with all battles won and even the war,
with the enemy forces shattered,
thousands of Cubans killed,
almost a hundred enemy tanks shot out,
hundreds of enemy armoured cars destroyed,
even the soviets admitting that no victory
against us is possible
the man with the bold polished head
doesn’t surrender, doesn’t even sell out,
no, he gives the whole country away
and gets a Nobel Prize for it
he opens the prison doors for the leaders
of bomb planting killers
to walk to freedom
and we and the world expect the barbarians
who used burning tires as necklaces
to appear
and out steps a man, dignified
and also receives a Nobel Prize
for his charity
and now years later the damage is done
with affirmative action
and nobody that is white who still has a job
realizes the impact of it,
that it is just another kind of racial discrimination
and slowly but surely in the long run
every white person is forced to into poverty
and the bold man sees himself
as a hero,
is viewed as a type of messiah by some
and the utmost traitor by others
and I wonder where the barbarians are
who torched living people?
Since they did not come but for one
who was the leader of our own ranks
whose actions are forcing everyone
slowly but surely into the gutter
and now the present government
wants to implement a law
to take away freedom of speech
to quench, to sensor, to scrap all poems all stories,
all news articles like this.
[Reference: Waiting on the Barbarians by C.P. Cavafy.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Umgababa
Now I see
two people walking on the beach,
touching each other
with hands intertwined
gurgling and giggling
like two smitten teenagers,
kissing on a dune
and right there
in mid afternoon
swayed by lust and non existing morals
breaking chaste tradition
on the second dune
as if they are the only ones there
and blessed by the sun.
[Reference: Umgababa by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Blessed
Blessed are the dead
For they worry yet no more,
With no troubles for them to weep
For now they sit beneath the Lord.
For they are the blessed
Who cries not a tear,
and they are the happy
Who knows not any fear.
Blessed are the dead
For they hunger not any more,
Now all their souls are filled
Through the nourishment of the Lord.
No smiles for them to seek
And no home for them to search,
No more times for them to be weak
And no more times for them to hurt.
Yet now, WE are the living
Living day upon the day,
And then when tomorrow comes around,
We might be, blessed among the dead.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Blessed child,
Blessed child,
Blessed child,
You will live to see Eternity,
Either way,
There is the blessed in your love,
Let it reign,
Maybe you are blessed than any other,
You will not die blessed child,
You will live to see Heaven in your heart,
Either way you are a blessed child,
I can see it in your eye's,
That you are far much blessed.
poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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Submission (in answer to Don Mattera)
I have seen a white old man and woman
turned onto the street,
living in cardboard boxes
with their small white dog
in the new disastrous improved South Africa,
I have seen white people taking their own lives
when black mine owners robbed them of salaries
and there was no job to get,
no living to be made
and they did this
instead of starting to beg.
I have seen white men and women
with university degrees
leaving the country
in numbers that are more than a million
to find a place to have a life
somewhere else in a foreign country,
I have waited for more than a hour queuing
at a local bank to make a cash deposit,
as a payment to someone
and the way that things are going,
with the black economic empowerment
and people not up to doing a simple job,
soon all of private industry
will be falling apart
as the government departments are doing.
I have noticed friends and family members
who were robbed, hijacked in their vehicles,
raped, tortured and killed
while the South African Police
did their very best to make a arrest
and like in all other things
are not up to it.
I know people who live in despair,
who are totally without hope
while the country’s borders
are flung wide open
to the rest of Africa
to first have a chance at a job
and their degrees and experience
in the face of this means nothing
but not one does bend
under the black heel to submission,
at the mercy of God
their lives go on…
[Reference: “Submission” by Don Mattera.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Yes, I Am B-l-e-s-s-e-d
I know I've been blessed!
How do I know that?
I've allowed you to dump your nonsense on me,
And I haven't 'blessed' you out!
I've had choice words to say to you for years.
And I've been fighting back the urge
Not to pull from those places you have encouraged.
I know I have been blessed.
To manifest goodwill and pray for the welfare of mankind
When many of those folks have done their best...
To drive me out of my mind!
I KNOW I have been blessed.
But I will cuss someone now and then.
One of 'them' who likes testing shark infested waters.
Just as a reminder how blessed I am
To keep myself from biting the heads off
Of those who can't get enough of agitating others
At their expense.
I don't leave anyone in suspense!
Yes, I am b-l-e-s-s-e-d.
And I leave no one guessing about it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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All-Saints' Day (1867)
Blessed are they whose baby-souls are bright,
Whose brows are sealèd with the cross of light,
Whom God Himself has deign'd to robe in white—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they who follow through the wild
His sacred footprints, as a little child;
Who strive to keep their garments undefiled—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they who commune with the Christ,
Midst holy angels, at the Eucharist—
Who aye seek sunlight through the rain and mist—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they—the strong in faith and grace—
Who humbly fill their own appointed place;
They who with steadfast patience run the race—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they who suffer and endure—
They who through thorns and briars walk safe and sure;
Gold in the fire made beautiful and pure!—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they on whom the angels wait,
To keep them facing the celestial gate,
To help them keep their vows inviolate—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they to whom, at dead of night,—
In work, in prayer—though veiled from mortal sight,
The great King's messengers bring love and light—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they whose labours only cease
When God decrees the quiet, sweet release;
Who lie down calmly in the sleep of peace—
Blessed are they!
Whose dust is angel-guarded, where the flowers
And soft moss cover it, in this earth of ours;
Whose souls are roaming in celestial bowers—
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they—our precious ones—who trod
A pathway for us o'er the rock-strewn sod.
How are they number'd with the saints of God!
Blessed are they!
Blessed are they, elected to sit down
With Christ, in that day of supreme renown,
When His own Bride shall wear her bridal crown—
Blessed are they!
poem by Ada Cambridge
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When times are bad
When times are bad
and I am with my hands in my hair
and black foreigners from all over Africa
overnight becomes citizens
and have more rights as a citizen than me
and affirmative action
puts her claws into my life
then I wonder about justice
and when merit and experience
will ever again apply
where my ancestors Joost Strydom
from Liefenshoek in the Netherlands
as a merchant seaman of the VOC
in 1678 came to Cape Town,
married his pretty well know wife
Maryna Ras who with a horse
could alone ride days long to Cape Town
with whom noblemen tried to have relationships,
where the indigenous zulu-xhosa-pondo-swazi people
are originating from a group
that during the same time
immigrated far away out of the north
from eMbo at the big lakes in central Africa
under the leadership of Nguni and later Dlamini
and then I wonder how
this country rather belongs to them
and they have to have work opportunities before me
and if you now say anything
about the new migration out of the whole of Africa
for which the country’s borders are now wide open
(in such a way that South Africans
must now get visas for Great Britain)
you are seen as xenophobic
and then there are citizens from right over Africa
who become South Africans overnight
attaining more rights than you
who forced by law
get secure job opportunities
and do people from Mozambique murder
Eugene Terreblance,
drug dealers from Nigeria
are caught by the local police
while against your will
you were forced into an army, into a war
still faithfully pay your taxes
when and where you have a job
and the current government
tries to stay in power
while Aids devours its voter numbers
and you as a white man
are despised by the current regime,
are treaded into the ground
while the country are falling to pieces
and then you pray
to Him (the God of the universe) who controls everything
to drastically intervene
rather than rousing people
for a civil war.
[Reference: VOC Verenigde Oost Indiëse companje.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I am blessed because...
I am blessed because I wake up every morning with breakfast ready on my table,
when there are people waking up to hunger.
I am blessed because I wake up with clothes to wear,
when there are people shivering in the cold.
I am blessed because I wake up knowing that I don't have to walk to school,
when there are people who don't have a school to go to.
I am blessed because I get to eat even if it's not time for breakfast, lunch or dinner,
while some people wonder when the next meal will come.
I am blessed because I am living such a comfortable life, playing sports, joking around with friends, using the internet and sleeping whenever I want,
when some people are using their last bit of strength to make sure they survive hunger, illness and pain.
I am blessed because I have friends to talk to when I'm in pain, to laugh with when I'm in joy and to be my aid when I'm in need,
when there are people who feel sad, sorrow and pain without anyone
to lean on.
I am blessed because I have a caring Mum, an awesome Dad and a loving little sister, while there are people who will never know who their parents are.
I am blessed because I know I am loved by God.
The people in pain, the people in hunger, the people in sorrow,
the people who lost everything, the people who kill, the people who
steal, the people who hate, the people who persecute, the people who is the worst of all humans, are loved by God too. They just need to know it.
I am blessed, are you?
If you think you're not, remember this, God loves you, no matter who you are.
You just need to know it. =
Still collective man feels compelled
Have you killed a white today
is still being proclaimed
and old people are killed,
white farmers pay a price
and robberies and killings
in suburban arias
never stop
as if every criminal
in Africa
have being heading south
and some are taught
to take from others
as if the possessions
are their own
and in the doing of it
to maim, rape, kill
and slaughter
without conscience
and the killings
are still being done
by psychopathic people
who like animals in a pack
follow a new psychopathic god
proclaiming an insane culture.
Still collective man
feels compelled
to claim love
only for the self
and not to care
about love for another
while the affirmative flame
burns bright
in a beleaguered night
and guns and knives flash
on the defenceless
and the state, police
and maddened population
do not comprehend
that no one lives alone
and everyone eventually
pays the price
when hunger, poverty
and destruction
takes its course.
[Reference: September 1,1939 by W.H. Auden.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Visit From God
God came to me today...
He showed me how to pray...
In Heavenly words spoken on this day--
He blessed my way-he blessed my way;
He came unto my heart and soul...
And altered my aims and my goals...
Taught me how to truly live---
Taught me compassion and how to forgive;
His words are so very wise...
They are as shining rays from Heavens skies...
He taught me to love and not to despise...!
He wiped the tears from my eyes;
God came to me today...
And now i will always pray...
His words i continually replay--
He blessed my way-he blessed my way;
May 26,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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Weep No More
Weep no more for days all gone.
Let them lay to rest.
Look upon a time to come
when thou will be blessed,
blessed with the fruits of thy labor
that shall bring sweet peace,
blessed with the peace that comes to call
when all troubles cease.
For each of us will be called upon
to attest to all our works.
None will escape the judgement day.
From this we cannot shirk.
So look and see each brand new day
and offer all your best.
For as you give to all you meet
you will know you're blessed.
Weep no more for beauty awaits us all
as sure as is God's breath.
We will count our fruits and make the call
and cast aside our death.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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