The Emulation
Say, Tyrant Custom, why must we obey
The impositions of thy haughty Sway;
From the first dawn of Life, unto the Grave,
Poor Womankind's in every State, a Slave.
The Nurse, the Mistress, Parent and the Swain,
For Love she must, there's none escape that Pain;
Then comes the last, the fatal Slavery,
The Husband with insulting Tyranny
Can have ill Manners justify'd by Law;
For Men all join to keep the Wife in awe.
Moses who first our Freedom did rebuke,
Was Marry'd when he writ the Pentateuch;
They're Wise to keep us Slaves, for well they know,
If we were loose, we soon should make them so.
We yield like vanquish'd Kings whom Fetters bind,
When chance of War is to Usurpers kind;
Submit in Form; but they'd our Thoughts control,
And lay restraints on the impassive Soul:
They fear we should excel their sluggish parts,
Should we attempt the Sciences and Arts;
Pretend they were design'd for them alone,
So keep us Fools to raise their own Renown;
Thus Priests of old their Grandeur to maintain,
Cry'd vulgar Eyes would sacred Laws Profane.
So kept the Mysteries behind a Screen,
There Homage and the Name were lost had they been seen:
But in this blessed Age, such Freedom's given,
That every Man explains the Will of Heaven;
And shall we Women now sit tamely by,
Make no excursions in Philosophy,
Or grace our Thoughts in tuneful Poetry?
We will our Rights in Learning's World maintain,
Wit's Empire, now, shall know a Female Reign,
Come all ye Fair, the great Attempt improve,
Divinely imitate the Realms above:
There's ten celestial Females govern Wit,
And but two Gods that dare pretend to it;
And shall these finite Males reverse their Rules,
No, we'll be Wits, and then Men must be Fools.
poem by Sarah Fyge
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Related quotes
To the Ladies.
WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name :
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide :
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme has made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride :
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows :
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take :
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as a God :
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate :
Value yourselves, and men despise :
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.
poem by Lady Mary Chudleigh
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My Thoughts
Thought in the eyes,
The ears.
Thought in mind,
The brain,
Thought in heart,
The soul.
Great thought is great
when it becomes great deeds.
With my thoughts within
Building my world within
Learning with thought;
Is great learning wisdom.
Learning without thought,
Is opportunity lost.
Thought for others
Thought for God
Thought for good
Thought for God’s blessing
Thoughts teach me,
Thoughts educate me,
Thoughts clarify me,
Thoughts enlighten me.
Thoughts make me wise
Thoughts make me patience
Thoughts make me trust others
Thoughts make me clam.
Thoughts before act
Is smart and wise
Act before thoughts
Is stupid and foolish
That’s my thoughts
They make thinking clear
They make belief deepen
They make confidence high.
In thoughts, my world
In my world, make my thoughts.
In thoughts, my words
In my words, make my speech
It’s my thoughts count
Counting my thoughts
To endless counting thoughts
Thinking the thoughts endlessly
My thoughts and thoughts again.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Sonnet XXVIII: Reign In My Thoughts
Reign in my thoughts, fair hand, sweet eye, rare voice:
Possess me whole, my heart's triumvirate;
Yet heavy heart to make so hard a choice,
Of such as spoil thy poor afflicted stated.
For whilst they strive which shall be Lord of all,
All my poor life by them is trodden down;
They all erect their Trophies on my fall,
And yield me nought that gives them their renown.
When back I look, I sigh my freedom past,
And wail the state wherein I present stand,
And see my fortune ever like to last,
Finding me reign'd with such a heavy hand.
What can I do by yield, and yield I do,
And serve all three, and yet they spoil me too.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Epistle from Mrs. Yonge to Her Husband
Think not this paper comes with vain pretense
To move your pity, or to mourn th'offense.
Too well I know that hard obdurate heart;
No softening mercy there will take my part,
Nor can a woman's arguments prevail,
When even your patron's wise example fails.
But this last privilege I still retain;
Th'oppressed and injured always may complain.
Too, too severely laws of honor bind
The weak submissive sex of womankind.
If sighs have gained or force compelled our hand,
Deceived by art, or urged by stern command,
Whatever motive binds the fatal tie,
The judging world expects our constancy.
Just heaven! (for sure in heaven does justice reign,
Though tricks below that sacred name profane)
To you appealing I submit my cause,
Nor fear a judgment from impartial laws.
All bargains but conditional are made;
The purchase void, the creditor unpaid;
Defrauded servants are from service free;
A wounded slave regains his liberty.
For wives ill used no remedy remains,
To daily racks condemned, and to eternal chains.
From whence is this unjust distinction grown?
Are we not formed with passions like your own?
Nature with equal fire our souls endued,
Our minds as haughty, and as warm our blood;
O'er the wide world your pleasures you pursue,
The change is justified by something new;
But we must sigh in silence -- and be true.
Our sex's weakness you expose and blame
(Of every prattling fop the common theme).
Yet from this weakness you suppose is due
Sublimer virtue than your Cato knew.
Had heaven designed us trials so severe,
It would have formed our tempers then to bear.
And I have borne (oh what have I not borne!)
The pang of jealousy, the insults of scorn.
Wearied at length, I from your sight remove,
And place my future hopes in secret love.
In the gay bloom of glowing youth retired,
I quit the woman's joy to be admired,
With that small pension your hard heart allows,
Renounce your fortune, and release your vows.
To custom (though unjust) so much is due;
I hide my frailty from the public view.
My conscience clear, yet sensible of shame,
My life I hazard, to preserve my fame.
And I prefer this low inglorious state
To vile dependence on the thing I hate --
But you pursue me to this last retreat.
Dragged into light, my tender crime is shown
And every circumstance of fondness known.
Beneath the shelter of the law you stand,
And urge my ruin with a cruel hand,
While to my fault thus rigidly severe,
Tamely submissive to the man you fear.
This wretched outcast, this abandoned wife,
Has yet this joy to sweeten shameful life:
By your mean conduct, infamously loose,
You are at once my accuser and excuse.
Let me be damned by the censorious prude
(stupidly dull, or spiritually lewd),
My hapless case will surely pity find
From every just and reasonable mind.
When to the final sentence I submit,
The lips condemn me, but their souls acquit.
No more my husband, to your pleasures go,
The sweets of your recovered freedom know.
Go: court the brittle friendship of the great,
Smile at his board, or at his levee wait;
And when dismissed, to madam's toilet fly,
More than her chambermaids, or glasses, lie,
Tell her how young she looks, how heavenly fair,
Admire the lilies and the roses there.
Your high ambition may be gratified,
Some cousin of her own be made your bride,
And you the father of a glorious race
Endowed with Ch------l's strength and Low---r's face.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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The Philosophy Of Love
The wisest men who've ever lived divide this world in two
When they discuss God's greatest gift: the love that makes life new.
Some wise men simply fall in love with gusto, all the way!
Yet others say that's not enough and rules we must obey!
So while the world ignores life's rules and falls head over heels,
Some wise men will not love like fools, no matter how it feels!
They will not sing, they will not dance, they certainly won't flirt!
Poor dears! They never take a chance! That way, they won't get hurt!
Alas, they starve their whole lives long! Alone, no kisses found!
No cuddles felt to make them strong! By wisdom they've been bound!
Restrained, restricted, ruled by laws! No poetry declared!
No heart that waits love's open doors! No tears or laughter shared!
No soft caresses of her cheek... No touching of her lips...
No dream-girl that the heart would seek... No tapping fingertips...
If I'm a fool for loving love, then that's the way I'll be...
I'll imitate the cooing dove in hopes that you'd love me!
I'd sacrifice the loneliness, the wisdom some call peace,
In prayers for perfect happiness that some say cannot cease!
I know true love fulfils God's plans! Love thrills us to the core!
Yes, blessed is he who understands God's wisdom called 'AMOUR'....
poem by Denis Martindale
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To Miss Hickman, Playing the Spinet
Bright Stella, form'd for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain;
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play,
Awed into love our conquer'd hearts obey,
And yield reluctant to despotic sway;
But when your music soothes the raging pain,
We bid propitious heaven prolong your reign,
We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain.
When old Timotheus struck the vocal string,
Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king:
Unbounded projects labouring in his mind,
He pants for room in one poor world confined.
Thus waked to rage by music's dreadful power,
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour.
Had Stella's gentle touches moved the lyre,
Soon had the monarch felt the nobler fire:
No more delighted with destructive war,
Ambitious only now to please the fair;
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms,
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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Journalism versus Poetry
journalism
it is an
attempt
to pin down
the world
to put onto
the paper
the truth of
everything
the world
and the
people in it
children
boys, girls,
men, women
gays or lesbians
kings, queens
rulers and the ruled
the privileged
and the persecuted
usurpers
liars and
the evil ones
though may
make use
of its power
to take
everybody
down a
different lane
to achieve
their own
goals
poetry
it is opening
the floodgates
to let loose
whatever
is pent up
in the hearts of
them all
to let the
soul in them
come out
so that
reporters
can go
chase
rainbows
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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To My Dear Friend Mr. Congreve On His Commedy Call'd The Double Dealer
Well then; the promis'd hour is come at last;
The present age of wit obscures the past:
Strong were our sires; and as they fought they writ,
Conqu'ring with force of arms, and dint of wit;
Theirs was the giant race, before the Flood;
And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood.
Like Janus he the stubborn soil manur'd,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd:
Tam'd us to manners, when the stage was rude;
And boisterous English wit, with art endu'd.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gained in skill we lost in strength.
Our builders were, with want of genius, curst;
The second temple was not like the first:
Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length;
Our beauties equal; but excel our strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your solid base:
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space;
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise:
He mov'd the mind, but had not power to raise.
Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please:
Yet doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease.
In differing talents both adorn'd their age;
One for the study, t'other for the stage.
But both to Congreve justly shall submit,
One match'd in judgment, both o'er-match'd in wit.
In him all beauties of this age we see;
Etherege's courtship, Southern's purity;
The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherly.
All this in blooming youth you have achiev'd;
Nor are your foil'd contemporaries griev'd;
So much the sweetness of your manners move,
We cannot envy you because we love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw
A beardless Consul made against the law,
And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame;
And scholar to the youth he taught, became.
Oh that your brows my laurel had sustain'd,
Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd!
The father had descended for the son;
For only you are lineal to the throne.
Thus when the State one Edward did depose;
A greater Edward in his room arose.
But now, not I, but poetry is curs'd;
For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first.
But let 'em not mistake my patron's part;
Nor call his charity their own desert.
Yet this I prophesy; thou shalt be seen,
(Tho' with some short parenthesis between
High on the throne of wit; and seated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promise made;
That early promise this has more than paid.
So bold, yet so judiciously you dare,
That your least praise, is to be regular.
Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought,
But genius must be born; and never can be taught.
This is your portion; this your native store;
Heav'n that but once was prodigal before,
To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more.
Maintain your post: that's all the fame you need;
For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
Already I am worn with cares and age;
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at Heav'n's expense,
I live a rent-charge on his providence:
But you, whom ev'ry muse and grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and oh defend,
Against your judgment your departed friend!
Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue;
But shade those laurels which descend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more; nor could my love do less.
poem by John Dryden
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The Repulse to Alcander
What is't you mean, that I am thus approach'd,
Dare you to hope, that I may be debauch'd?
For your seducing Words the same implies,
In begging Pity with a soft Surprise,
For one who loves, and sighs, and almost dies.
In ev'ry Word and Action doth appear,
Something I hate and blush to see or hear;
At first your Love for vast Respect was told,
Till your excess of Manners grew too bold,
And did your base, designing Thoughts unfold.
When a Salute did seem to Custom due,
With too much Ardour you'd my Lips pursue;
My Hand, with which you play'd, you'd Kiss and Press,
Nay, ev'ry Look had something of Address.
Ye Gods! I cry'd, sure he designs to woo,
For thus did amorous Phylaster do.
The Youth whose Passion none could disapprove,
When Hymen waited to complete his Love;
But now, when sacred Laws and Vows confine
Me to another, what can you design?
At first, I could not see the lewd Abuse,
But fram'd a thousand Things for your Excuse.
I knew that Bacchus sometimes did inspire
A sudden Transport, tho' not lasting Fire;
For he no less than Cupid can make kind,
And force a Fondness which was ne'er design'd;
Or thought you'd travel'd far, and it might chance,
To be the foreign Mode of Complaisance.
Till you so oft your amorous Crimes repeat,
That to permit you would make mine as great;
Nor stopt you here but languishingly spake,
That Love which I endeavour'd to mistake:
What saw you in me, that could make you vain,
Or any thing expect, but just Disdain?
I must confess I am not quite so Nice,
To Damn all little Gallantries for Vice
(But I see now my Charity's misplac'd,
If none but sullen Saints can be thought Chaste):
Yet know, Base Man, I scorn your lewd Amours,
Hate them from all, not only 'cause they're yours.
Oh sacred Love! let not the World profane
Thy Transports, thus to Sport, and Entertain;
The Beau, with some small Artifice of's own,
Can make a Treat, for all the wanton Town:
I thought my self secure, within these Shades,
But your rude Love, my privacy invades,
Affronts my Virtue, hazards my just Fame,
Why should I suffer, for your lawless Flame?
For oft 'tis known, through Vanity and Pride,
Men boast those Favours which they are deny'd;
Or other's Malice, which can soon discern;
Perhaps may see in you some kind Concern.
So scatter false Suggestions of their own,
That I love too: Oh! Stain to my Renown;
No, I'll be Wise, avoid your Sight in time,
And shun at once the Censure and the Crime.
poem by Sarah Fyge
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Before independence
BEFORE INDEPENDENCE
Centuries of suffering
Decades of slavery
In the hands of the nasara
We are abundant waste
So abandon our skin was
But yet that freedom and country
Was still our legal right
Our love, happiness and freedom
Was locked and sealed
And thrown away into a deep dark sea
That pride and power was owned by them
Our great parent were all eyes
Traded and beating like goods and slave
Treated like unwanted parts
But yet time was their patient
Our precious charcoal skin
Who can bear more than that?
And live stronger than them
Our homes have become into grave yards
For such that the sun hasn’t risen
But one gracious and remarkable day
Our dearest patient of independent
Our dripping tears was to be upheld
Our new dawn has unfolded
A new sunrise has risen
A new life and beginning
Has just begun
My freedom
Your freedom
Our freedom
poem by Jamila.i. Bello girei
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Lets Hear It For Women The Women Oppressed
Lets hear it for women the women oppressed
In patriarchal societies their human rights are transgressed
By male religious zealots who hate woman kind
For to trample on women's rights any excuse they will find.
Lets hear it for the women who never receive a fair go
Of equality in their lives they never may know
They are seen as inferior where males reign supreme
And this can do little for their self esteem.
Lets hear it for the women who must play second fiddle to men
Where to be born a female means one cannot win
Promotion in work or promotion in life
To an arrogant and an unfaithful man expected to be a good wife.
Lets hear it for women the women men do rule
And many males in positions of power can be cruel
The mothers of the children in life the hardest role
Equality they need and not male control.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Emotional Subjection
There is no tyrant quite like feeling.
A bondage that cannot be released.
All we do will forever succumb to it.
Your suffering means that you're human.
Your mind is a warfield.
And your heart is the opposition.
No solution can truly be found.
Forever at war with yourself.
You will obey.
You will cry for it.
You will fall to your knees for it.
You will be numbed by it.
You will be reminded of it.
It cannot be neglected much longer.
Slavery is freedom.
Slavery is freedom.
Slavery is freedom.
Slavery is freedom.
You will obey.
poem by Aaron Lynn
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The Argument
GOD gives not Kings the style of Gods in vain,
For on his Throne his Scepter do they sway:
And as their subjects ought them to obey,
So Kings should fear and serve their God again
If then ye would enioy a happy reign,
Observe the Statutes of your heavenly King,
And from his Law, make all your Laws to spring:
Since his Lieutenant here ye should remain,
Reward the just, be stedfast, true, and plain,
Repress the proud, maintaining aye the right,
Walk always so, as ever in his sight,
Who guards the godly, plaguing the profane:
And so ye shall in Princely virtues shine,
Resembling right your mighty King Divine
poem by James I of Scotland
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Amusing Trial, in Which a Yankee Lawyer Rendered a Just Verdict.
A Slave sold at Auction.
A time there was, when no one thought
It sin, to hold a slave he'd bought,
And of his strength have the command,
As much as of his house and land.
A Yankee Lawyer long had kept
A negro-man with whom he slept.
And ate, and Sabbath day,
He half the time from church would stay;
When Cuff his master's garments wore.—
'Twas strange you say, but he was poor;
And though he cared not for Cuff's soul,
Yet such the times, that on the whole,
'Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery, thou art a bitter draught.'—Sterne.
His slave must to the meeting go,
If 'twas for nothing but a show.
They lived on thus for several years—
One would not think, that many tears
Would fall from off that shining face,
So sleek and smooth, or he would trace
Note.—In some parts of the country, slaves are scantily fed, while their masters live in luxury.
Note.—In some parts of the country, slaves are scantily fed, while their masters live in luxury.
The chain which bound, or wish to break,
But choose to stay for his own sake,
Where he so well was clothed and fed,
And shared the lawyer's food and bed,
So well contented he might be,
He'd hardly know but he was free,
Fetters formerly used by the slave traders, to confine the ankles of their victims. The editor has seen some that were actually used by Rhode Island traders.
Fetters formerly used by the slave traders, to confine the ankles of their victims. The editor has seen some that were actually used by Rhode Island traders.
But make the fetters of pure gold.
They're hateful still, they gall, they hold,
And if the pill is sugared o'er,
'Tis still as bitter as before.
Cuff ponder'd much, but did not know,
If he his master left to go,
And seek his fortune, he could find
Another master half so kind,
And who would give so large a share
Of the small pittance he could spare,
And every privilege could grant,
Which he could need or ever want;
Emblem of Freedom.—A moth just changed from its chrysalis state, deserting its shell.
Emblem of Freedom.—A moth just changed from its chrysalis state, deserting its shell.
But then of freedom he had heard,
And ere the dawning light appeared.
Early one morning Cuff arose,
And quickly putting on his clothes,
Stole softly out; lest he should wake
His master, who would rouse and shake
The slumbers from his drowsy eyes,
And think that it was time to rise.
So Cuff went off. His master woke,
And Cuff was gone! It was no joke.
The Lawyer's work must now be done,
All by himself; and till the sun
A man escaping from slavery.
A man escaping from slavery.
Is slowly sinking in the west,
He'll scarcely have a minute's rest.
He felt his temper quickly rise,
Thinking his slave too rich a prize,
To be allowed to slip away,
Without a trial for 'fair play;'
A slave-catcher is worse than a beast of prey.
A slave-catcher is worse than a beast of prey.
Said he, 'My course is plain enough,
I'll take my horse and go for Cuff,
For he's my slave, and he shall give
To me, his service if he live.'
Saddling his horse he mounts him quick,
Drives after Cuff with spur and stick:
But soon he paused his cause to try,
And thus he said, Why should not I
Be slave instead of Cuff, and he
As well be running after me
As I for him?—I'll let him go,
Whether he's free by law or no.
Justice freeing the slave.
Justice freeing the slave.
For God who fashioned him and me,
No doubt made all his children free.
So justice o'er his mind held sway,
And Cuff in freedom, went his way.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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I'll never love Thee more
o
MY dear and only Love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be govern'd by no other sway
Than purest monarchy;
For if confusion have a part
(Which virtuous souls abhor),
And hold a synod in thine heart,
I'll never love thee more.
Like Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
That dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.
And in the empire of thine heart,
Where I should solely be,
If others do pretend a part
Or dare to vie with me,
Or if Committees thou erect,
And go on such a score,
I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.
But if thou wilt prove faithful then,
And constant of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen
And famous by my sword;
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
Was never heard before;
I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,
And love thee more and more.
o
poem by James Graham
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Freedom
REFRAIN:
BELIEVE IN FREEDOM IN LOVE AND FORTUNE
AND ALL WE NEED IS A PEACE OF HEAVEN
BELIEVE IN FREEDOM IN LOVE AND FORTUNE
AND ALL WE NEED IS A PEACE OF HEAVEN
WE ALL NEED LOVE
FREEDOM, COME ON EVERYBODY
WE ALL NEED LOVE
FREEDOM, LET'S LIVE FOR FREEDOM
WE ALL NEED LOVE
RAP 1:
I DONT KNOW WHAT YOURE BELIEVIN IN
IS IT LOVE OR FORTUNE OR A FIGHT TO WIN
I DON'T KNOW TO WHAT YOU SAY, THIS IS THE THING
IS IT A PEACE OF HEAVEN, THAT MAKES YOU SWING FREEDOM,
IS THE MAGIC WORD THE ONLY THING THAT WILL NEVER HURT PEACE,
LIKE IN A MOVIE SCENE WE TRY TOGETHER AND START TO SCREAM
RAP 2:
YES ! I KNOW YOU WANT SOME MORE
FROM WHAT I SAID, JUST RIGHT BEFORE
SO CLAP YOUR HANDS TO THE BEAT OF THE SOUND
PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND BACK TO THE GROUND
I NEVER SAW A JAM LIKE THIS BEFORE
BACK TO THE FRONT AND DOOR TO DOOR
IF YOU WANT SOME MORE, GET ON THE FLOOR
LOVE WILL COME AND THAT'S FOR SURE
REFRAIN:
BELIEVE IN FREEDOM IN LOVE AND FORTUNE
AND ALL WE NEED IS A PEACE OF HEAVEN
BELIEVE IN FREEDOM IN LOVE AND FORTUNE
AND ALL WE NEED IS A PEACE OF HEAVEN
WE ALL NEED LOVE
FREEDOM, COME ON EVERYBODY
WE ALL NEED LOVE
FREEDOM, LET'S LIVE FOR FREEDOM
WE ALL NEED LOVE
RAP 3:
SCREAM AND SCREAM IT OUT OF YOUR SOUL TRY TO ESCAPE
AND GET OUT OF CONTROL GET OUT OF CONTROL
AND SAVE YOUR SOUL STOP THIS VIOLENCE,
SAY NO NO NO NO MORE PAIN,
NO MORE LIES NO MORE PANIC IN THE CHILDRENS EYES FREEDOM,
BELIEVE IT IN TAKE A PEACE OF HEAVEN AND YOU WILL WIN
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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War + Lives add Love = Freedom
Remembered
A nation born from war, for the “purpose” of establishing freedom
A nation divided in war, in an “attempt” to fulfill the goal of freedom
A nation engaged in world wars, in the task of “preserving” freedom
A nation policing the world, in the “pursuit” of freedom
So many young lives have been lost, for the “cause” of freedom
Let us remember those who paid the “ultimate price, ” for freedom
And dear God, please tell us! - “What! ” - is freedom?
We need not war
We need not war, to show us how freedom is made
What we need is love to show us how freedom is played.
For freedom is not - but to “do as we please”
But rather, to “please others, ” because of what we achieve.
No such thing!
There is no such passion as hate, - only - a mental state
Of ignorance
For what we fail to understand, from our source of knowledge
We choose the accepted norm of utter indifference
Therefore, our feelings of love, we profoundly fear to acknowledge
“Freedom” is to serve
“To serve requires love; only with love, do we obtain freedom”
8/24/06
poem by Dave Tanguay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only the Slaves
How to regard a manner as decent
Is only a requirement of manliness.
It despises the master to see the slave perish,
And the men have reawakened.
Manners of a slave are laudable when man
Is sufficient as a master, and love is a learning all common.
To live a wreck and survive a storm is a slavery
Of every man. Regard a manner in this city as sacred.
The key to the city lies in the minds of men who are leaders.
The painting of a king is adequate for the retelling.
It is a city in the air, and I call it Red and Yellow.
Kings and queens are averse to these intricacies.
We are masters, and they are slaves of the House.
A Palace is built in heaven if you are good.
Only the slaves are the masters in Heaven.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rescue The Slave
This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was
confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back
to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.
Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
Listen awhile to the story we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.
Praying for liberty, dearer than life,
Torn from his little one, torn from his wife,
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.
Think of his agony, feel for his pain,
Should his hard master e'er hold him again;
Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave,
Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.
Freely the slave master goes where he will;
Freemen, stand ready, his wishes to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave,
Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead;
See the slave master's whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.
Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late;
Slavery is knocking, at every gate,
Make good the promise, your early days gave,
Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Open Page
We inscribed on page
Freed lion from cage
Many may be burning with rage
Escape from it called freedom from bondage
We can represent to world our own version
To walk with new and get familiar with conversion
May not be out rightly rejected or with negation
Old thoughts woven with new transformation
Strong will power to reach the shore
Emerging strong and ill will bore
To shun the violence with peaceful message
Carving out path with smooth passage
In our own sphere we grow,
Hard work and dream for bright tomorrow
Success grants us fame and fine glow
We can surely then whistle the blow
It is glorious moment
What we attempt is beginning or movement
It may yield or may not
Certainly we win as battle is fought
We may excel in every field
Never surrender or yield
Try to pick the scattered thread
Always provide guidance and lead
I may earn acclaim but loose the battle
Life may be in jeopardy and not settle
What do I try for and make the gain?
Whole world at feet but I lay simply slained
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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