Our Unholy Grails
How weird is world history
Mottled with battles and tragedy
Millions died with senseless fury
Why at one tyrant’s blithely writ
Hordes run towards certain death?
Purging out blind faiths
When surged as mindless blitzes
How many lives went underneath?
Cramming from core to the mantle
The mute bearer, Mother Earth
We no longer drink sweet Adam’s ale
Filled are our grails with our ancestors’
Bitter blood and baleful tales
poem by Sathya Narayana
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War Never Solves Anything
Of battles won and noble soldiers you hear the old balladeer sing
But war only brings death and suffering and war never solves anything
And the mental scars of war keep festering long after the battle does end
You badly injure or kill someone's loved one that person will not be your friend.
For God and the flag of their Nation too many in battle have died
And the Government honour war heroes in their false show of patriotic pride
But the fact is their young lives were wasted and the fact with us sadly remain
That old battles are never over and for old grieviances human blood spilt again.
War weaponry and explosives big business in a World where human life is taken cheap
By some a human life seen as of no more value than that of a cow's or a sheep
From history we have not learned the war supposed to end all wars long gone
Yet every day more violence and terror and war and war mongering lives on.
Of battles won and acts of war bravery so many songs written and sung
And war instigated by old men must always be fought by the young
But the song for the young dead war hero to the hero's mum to it has a bitter ring
And war is a waste of human life for war never solves anything.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Senseless Death
Death is blind
Death is deaf
yet it is dumb
Death is senseless
Absolutely at that
So much so
To the kings door
It knocks upon
From a mother's womb
It feeds thereof
If death had a way
Heavens gate it will shake
The chains of hell
It will break
Searching a new soul to take
Senseless
As death may seem
Upon every soul
Still it sneaks
Taking from any
As it wills.
poem by Emeka chunye Okaforudeji
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Weird World
It's a Weird World...Weird World
Hey, hey, hey!
The sun is over the city but it's an orange day
There is reason for looking up but I'm feeling down
You see Ive got to catch a plane, won't buy a ticket
'Cause it's hard to just stop when you're spinning around
Its a weird world dont you know it?
Its a weird world and it wont slow down
Its a weird world no matter how you roll it
Hey, hey, hey! Sweet baby
Theres a way
Just stand up and fight it
Hey, hey, hey!
Never give up, and dont let it wear out (now)
Your love
It's a weird world...Yeah
Sent a message to a G.I.
In the desert
Said thank you man for bringing another dawn
Back here it's her and me
And we're having our first baby
And he's out there taking them on (on)
Its a weird world and I know you know it
Its a weird world and it wont slow down
Its a weird world no matter how you roll it
Hey, hey, hey! Sweet baby
Theres a way
Just stand up and fight it
Hey, hey, hey!
Never give up, dont let it wear out (now)
Your love
Im closing my eyes but Im starting to see
While hes looking at you, shes looking at me
The only thing he does is just keep me away from you
Sure part of this place would cheer if I died
Dont let them take away your beautiful smile
Take away your beautiful smile
Take away your beautiful smile
Hey, hey, hey! Sweet baby
Theres a way
Just stand up and fight it (Yeah, ye-ah!)
Hey, hey, hey! (sweet baby!) Sweet baby
Theres a way
For you to decide it
Hey, hey, hey!
Never give up, dont let it wear out (now)
Your love
Hey, hey, hey!
Its a weird world dont you know it?
Hey, hey, hey!
Its a weird world dont you know it?
Hey, hey, hey!
Oh, its a weird world dont you know it?
Hey, hey, hey...
song performed by by Backstreet Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why was Adam
'Why was Adam driven from the garden?'
The pupil asked his master. 'His heart was hardened
With images, a hundred bonds that clutter the earth
Chained Adam to the cycle of death following birth.
He was blind to this equation, living for something other
Than God and so out of paradise he was driven
With his mortal body's cover his soul was shriven.
Noblest of God's creatures, Adam fell with blame,
Like a moth shrivelled by the candle's flame,
Into history which taught mankind shame.
Since Adam had not given up his heart
To God's attachment, there was no part
For Adam in paradise where the only friend
Is God; His will is not for Adam to imagine and bend.
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
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Were the World Writ to a Song
Were the world writ to a song
Of what men and maidens would we sing
What legendary endeavours would we praise
The tales and tributes of days now past
What chords would they strike in the night
Ah the song and melody of the earth
Gentle stranger of the spirited mind
That which we have seen and that we know
Is not all of the truth but more besides
And life is there for the living
However the hardships come to weigh
No still the song is sung evermore
Still the world turns while night greets day
Men and maidens go about their business
Beginning and ending stories to be sung
Were the world writ to a song
How would we all be played out
And what verse would we leave in memory
But the song to our lives is our story
Were the world writ to a song
How would I be sung
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Not All Truths Are Sweet
to sweet truths we toast
we clink the glasses
of clarity for they are
those that make us so alive
and those that make us fly
like blithe spirits
in the vast blue skies
but not all truths are sweet
those that are bitter
are also placed on our tables
and we too shall drink
them
but how?
shall i like you die
in an instant? without
bidding goodbye
to our loved ones?
no. I must take these
bitter truths
like i am a man
responsible
to a world of
compromises,
i too, i know, must
drink the bitter potion,
but slowly and gently
enough to
immunize me from
the venoms of stupor
& eventual death
gentle to myself
these bitter truths
cannot kill me
but must make
me stronger
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Genesis BK XVIII
(ll. 1082-1089) And there was also in that tribe another son of
Lamech, called Tubal Cain, a smith skilled in his craft. He was
the first of all men on the earth to fashion tools of husbandry;
and far and wide the city-dwelling sons of men made use of bronze
and iron.
(ll. 1090-1103) Then to his two beloved wives, Adah and Zillah,
Lamech rehearsed a tale of shame: "I have struck down a kinsman
unto death! I have defiled my hands with the blood of Cain! I
smote down Enoch's father, slayer of Abel, and poured his blood
upon the ground. Full well I know that for that mortal deed
shall come God's seven-fold vengeance. With fearful torment
shall my deed of death and murder be requited, when I go hence."
(ll. 1104-1111) Then another son was born to Adam in Abel's
stead; and his name was Seth. He was a righteous son and
blessed, a solace to his parents, his father and mother, Adam and
Eve. And he filled the place of Abel in the world. Then Adam
spake, the first of men:
(ll. 1111-1116) "The eternal God of victory, the Lord of life,
hath vouchsafed me another son in place of my beloved whom Cain
slew. So our Lord hath stilled the sorrow of my heart. To Him
be thanks!"
(ll. 1117-1127) Now, when Adam begat another son to be his heir,
that sturdy man had lived an hundred and thirty winters of this
life in the world. The writings tell us that Adam increased his
tribe on earth, begetting sons and daughters eight hundred years.
And all the years of Adam were nine hundred and thirty winters,
and he died.
(ll. 1128-1142) And Seth succeeded Adam: at his father's death
the well-loved son possessed the treasure, and took himself a
wife. And Seth lived an hundred and five winters in the world
and increased his tribe, begetting sons and daughters. Enos was
first-born of the sons of Seth; and he was first of all the sons
of men to call upon the name of God since Adam, first a living
spirit, set foot on the green earth. Seth prospered, eight
hundred and seven winters begetting sons and daughters. And all
the years of Seth were nine hundred and twelve winters, and he
died.
(ll. 1143-1154) And after he went hence, and the earth received
the body of seed-bearing Seth, Enos was warden of the heritage.
Dear was he unto God! He lived for ninety winters in the world,
and begat children. And Cainan was first-born of the sons of
Enos. Eight hundred and fifteen winters the man of wisdom lived,
at peace with God, begetting sons and daughters. And all the
years of Enos were nine hundred and five winters, and he died.
(ll. 1155-1166) And after Enos Cainan ruled the tribe as lord and
leader. He lived seventy winters, and begat a son. An heir was
born unto his house, and his name was Mahalaleel. Eight hundred
and forty winters Cainan lived, and increased his tribe. And all
the years of the son of Enos were nine hundred and ten winters,
and he died, and his appointed days beneath the heavens were
fulfilled.
A tragedy need not have blood and death; it's enough that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the pleasure of tragedy.
quote by Jean Racine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valentine
Too high, too high to pluck
My heart shall swing.
A fruit no bee shall suck,
No wasp shall sting.
If on some night of cold
It falls to ground
In apple-leaves of gold
I'll wrap it round.
And I shall seal it up
With spice and salt,
In a carven silver cup,
In a deep vault.
Before my eyes are blind
And my lips mute,
I must eat core and rind
Of that same fruit.
Before my heart is dust
By the end of all,
Eat it I must, I must
Were it bitter gall.
But I shall keep it sweet
By some strange art;
Wild honey I shall eat
When I eat my heart.
O honey cool and chaste
As clover's breath!
Sweet Heaven I shall taste
Before my death.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Drinking Poetry
at first glance
you taste its first sip
it is bitter and had always been
as bitter as grief
and you drink it anyway
everyday
until then when bitterness
does not taste bitter anymore
and then you drink it anyway
everyday
and everyday you drink cup by cup
poetry
your friend do not believe you
doing this
they cannot take it anymore
you drinking this bitter
concoction
everyday
you are true to this calling
drinking poetry
until it has become your habit
your vocation
your mission to write all that you feel
all that you can
what they do not know
is this freedom this blood from poetry
bitter and salty and sometimes bland
has become so sweet as honey
and these sap caused the growth of
your feathers and wings
and then one day you fly away
far away so so far away
to that clouds and mountains to that castle of the gods
and goddesses
and there you drink with them
and there they welcome you as one of them
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: The Man on the Holy Cross
In Calvary, stood long ago a Cross!
That bore a special man called Jesus Christ,
The Son of God who died for us because,
Redeeming sinners forever- His thirst.
Though many had been crucified before,
The Savior’s death was fore-old in scriptures;
Maimed, humiliated, tortured to the core,
He shed His blood, suffered for man’s future.
And Jesus rose from death on the third day!
All on His own for He was Son of God;
All Christians thenceforth shall follow His way,
And men of other faiths too, tho’ from clod.
The Savior’s Resurrection was a feat!
All Satan’s devils could not Him defeat.
9-22-2002
poem by John Celes
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Maybe I Know My History A Little Bit Better Than You Do (In Answer To Sipho Sepamla)
Maybe I know my history
a little bit better than you do.
My friend, you are talking
about stories being heard
around coal-stoves
concerning animals
and no real facts
are expressed in your poem.
I know when my ancestor Joost Strijdom
arrived in the Cape of Good Hope in May 1678,
that I descend from the lovely brave Maryna Ras,
when your ancestors
were migrating from a place called eMbo
at the big African lakes under
leadership of chief Dlamini
and later under chief Nguni.
I know how my ancestors battled
against wild beasts, fought the zulu-impi
at Blood River
and overcame by the help of
the almighty God
and that I would not have existed
if they died at the hands of the Zulus.
I know how my ancestors build
farms, churches and houses
while yours were living
in thatched grass huts.
I know how my great grandfathers
and one of my grandfathers
was enveloped in a war against the British,
how they survived
and how my great grandmother
died in a British concentration camp.
I have even faced Cubans
under Soviet command
in the largest mechanised battle in Africa,
apart from those in the Second World War
and we had a decisive victory
that is now being denied
while history books are being rewritten
and fiction is creeping in
and maybe the new propaganda, the lies
of the new history suits you far better.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Case Of You
A case of you
Just before our love got lost you said
I am as constant as a northern star
And I said, constant in the darkness
Wheres that at?
If you want me Ill be in the bar
On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue tv screen light
I drew a map of canada
Oh canada
And your face sketched on it twice
Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh Id still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
Im frightened by the devil
And Im drawn to those ones that aint afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
Love is touching souls
Surely you touched mine
Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
And you taste so bitter but you taste so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you
I could drink a case of you darling
Still Id be on my feet
And still be on my feet
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
Color go to him, stay with him if you can
Oh but be prepared to bleed
Oh but you are in my blood youre my holy wine
Oh and you taste so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still Id be on my feet
Id still be on my feet
Mmmmmmm
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Adam Project Top Secret Time Travel
a few decades past
in late twentieth century
scientists had cloned
Dolly a cloned sheep
next came Adam project
time travel top secret classified
to post paradise wilderness
Adam Eve wander as out casts
Adam located
DNA was cloned
Adam resurrected
to view scientific world
the magnifigance
of a western world
whim leisure elite
to marvel at.
Adam spoke
of how quiet
it once was
how holy
how empty
the earth
how all life
was sacred.
Time passes.
Moralists honoured
known named
by Adam personally
thought Adam would
elect to refrain
from entry
into a post
Eden world again.
Yet Adam loved
so much created life
he died to save it.
Once was not enough.
The moral seed
Adam God learned
was to nurture
all life as sacred.
The chastity
belt was too bitter
a pill to swallow
Adam entered
into a true guardianship
of life all his progeny.
A loving parental lesson
divine taught must endure
until a soul seed
creating paradise
leaves earth life
for higher
spiritual growth
in aspired to heaven
more enlightened souls
will sow peace harmony.
Adam superior DNA taught.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Tonight I Sleep With Mother Earth
Seventy more years must pass,
To plus these ones gone past,
My eyelids, before they may close
Before Mother Earth opens up her core
To take my body in once more,
Before I sleep with Mother Earth.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
My castles strewn across the sky
Shall come down to the earth,
And grow up to scrape the sky.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
Life shall answer all questions posed,
I shall plaster all precious stones
Around my name, in umeasured fold.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth.
I shall grow tall and strong like a giant,
I shall be elephated from ant to elephant.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
All ears that hear must hear,
And those that can't must read,
And those that can't must feed,
Ingest by all means, the words that I speak.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
I must sleep with Success,
From that whore, I shall receive suck-sex
A crowned head, I'll not settle for any less.
I shall drink from the brooks of plenty,
I shall autograph the books of many.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
All my toils shall be brought to boil,
My labour shall bring forth fruit,
Truth and Life shall birth through me, Poetry
All my impregnations shall get expression,
I shall pour out my soul upon all flesh,
And still erect, I shall come, into Mother Earth.
Then I shall say:
'Seventy more years have gone past,
Many more tears have flushed past,
My eyelids, and now they may close,
As Mother Earth opens up her core,
For the time has come, as I said afore,
Tonight I sleep wiith Mother Earth.'
poem by Joba Akinola
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When Earth Quaked
Earth uncovered
Two hundred thousand dead
A woman groaned
Stone slabs crushed her head
These are the times
When God weeps
When the earth quaked
I heard His steps
In my pain
I am filled with anger
My blood curls
As I ponder
How many lives slip
In this quake's blunder
This is how earth rage
I am thankful
For the hands He sent
The press
People from every corner
Friends I never knew
This is how you know
He never sleeps
Many dead
But many spared
So I am not mad
New lives conceived
Still lives to be lived
Two hundred thousand dead
But millions breathe
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Gone very far
Once in million years one prophet is sent
With long wait almighty makes one strong movement
His emissary is sent to propagate love message
His work and messages are remembered through out the ages
Like galaxy of stars they have stayed in the minds of people
Taken all blunts to self and saved people from agony and troubles
How many faiths are there on the surface of earth?
With different culture and followers to provide fresh breath
Somewhere down the lines they have provided rightful means
So much blood was shed and many battles were made to win
Ultimate goal was to bring people under one umbrella or roof
Make them to believe in one faith by proving worth with proof
In recent history of mankind one great soul descended on earth
It took over complete world by surprise with easy breath
She was later on known as mother and proved to be precise
For orphans, destitute and downtrodden she was tall promise
Nothing to self and everything to mankind with symbol of peace
Whole world recognized her dedication and selfless service
Word was charity and action was to wipe off the tears
Children were to be offered all care and no more agony or pain to bear
Such type of kind mother is not among us today
Yet we go on with same mission all the way
World has realized the hidden message form her death
Whole life of selfless service with no attachment to any faith
We must all pay tribute to such peace emissary
Without her we should have failed in delivering necessary
Health care, education and home for homeless
We find the satisfaction on mother's shining face
Many statesmen have born and disappeared
Many god fathers have taken birth and forgotten
Mother may remain in vast sky as shining star
Her dream may realize one day even if she has gone very far
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Long Forgotten Journey
Long Forgotten Journey
By: Adam M. Snow
What am I, that is no longer,
Lost in stormy seas unchanged,
But one weak as I now stronger,
Curse to walk this world deranged,
And I, alone yet not alone,
With but my love to atone.
I despite what I have become,
I condemn myself to death,
Henceforth to why I am numb,
And to why, I give my dying breath.
One to rise yet one to fall,
And on this morrow, I give my all.
Must this be but a journey within oneself,
A journey that was once long forgotten,
So that I may find myself,
For I in earth am rotten,
But I struggle with all devotion,
Blinded by my single emotion,
I wander for greater purpose,
In a world departed from oneself,
I found myself in Jesus,
And through him, I healed myself.
Must this be fate, that I no longer lost,
Twas the blood of lamb that be the cost.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan
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History Books
We read the history books
The death and destruction
That happened time
And time again
But remembering is futile,
Without total and complete consensus
War will happen again
The memories of the Elders
While we sit on the lap of danger
We are listening in awe
and disbelief
It could never happen here
Ten thousand dead!
The headlines blare
In some alternate universe
Separate from our cushioned existence
Their lives are marked by tragedy
Ours by the tragedy we have escaped
Our army is only numbers
Theirs dear departed souls
Their stories are separated by a barrier
Faceless, courageous people
Risk their lives each day
While we sit
And read the history books
poem by Hannah Rachnid
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