Watching Our Warts
Sloping down in gold pursuit
of a bruised city,
sons of nameless fathers
were changing the generic mandate.
I am becoming fluvial
going on a muted odyssey
to find unmarked graves.
Slaughtering
your own lines, in praise of end-
which came very soon;
before the windows altered the moon.
Genes spilled on the road
recalling the wounded
son whose lexicon took him
to war with the meanings.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
For rarely are sons similar to their fathers: most are worse, and a few are better than their fathers.
The Times They Are Achangin
(dylan)
Come gather round people wherever you may roam
Admit that the waters around you have grown
Admit that soon youll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is a savin
Well you better start swimmin or youll sink like a stone
For the times they are a changing
Come writers and critics who prophesy with your pen
Keep your eyes wide the chance wont come again
Dont speak too soon for the wheels still in spin
And theres no tellin who that its namin
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times, they are a changing
Come sailors and congressman please heed the call
Dont stand in the doorway, dont blacken the hall
For he who has lost is he who has all
Theres a storm outside and its ragin
Itll soon shake your windows, itll rattle your walls
For the times, they are a changing
Itll soon shake your windows and itll rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin
Come mothers and fathers throughout the land
Dont criticise what you cant understand
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command
And your old road is rapidly agin
So get outta here or if you can lend a hand
For the times they are a-changin
Verse 1
For the times they are a-changin...
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreaming
Going nowhere.
Stuck in middle of road.
Bruised castle.
A paradise,
thinking about windows.
Air palace.
Lips to lips in grass,
moon to moon. Roses
jumping on lake.
poem by Satish Verma
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Pride Of Valley
When the battle lines were drawn,
the only mandate
for the human torpedo was to blow up
the silence of time.
Sick was the death-struck
new born, praise of the ghost of tiger
in the name of glory of green eyes.
The orange moon was absolutely naked;
the snow dripped in a cave to form a cone
and the valley was burning wide.
The bag of charcoal given
to a shephered had turned into gold-
nuggets at home. The vultured sky
was claiming more bodies.
A miracle was swelling the crowd
and the crown was proud of deaths.
poem by Satish Verma
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Freedom Isn't Free...
Who says our freedom is free? Not Me.
True, We are freer than most, but not enough,
that we should boast.
Before you say Freedom is free, stop and count the cost
of all the lives lost,
Freedom isn't free, when there's killing in our streets.
Freedom isn't free, to the Soldier that is waiting to be shipped over seas.
Freedom isn't free, with the pain, he or she is feeling inside, with
the thought of having to leave they're loved one's behind, and
it hurts so bad that it brings them to their knees.
Freedom isn't free, when your living in uncertainty.
Freedom isn't free, having to say good-bye, to a loved one that
is going off to war.Freedom isn't free, to a soldier who is on the front lines, knowing he or she, could die anytime.
Freedom isn't free when your lying in bed,
waiting and wondering, if you'll ever see your loved ones alive again.
Freedom isn't free, when a little child crys in the night,
for his or her Mommy and Daddy, and they're not there to hold them close, and comfort them, and to ease their fears, and wipe away they're tears. And all those in all the other wars, and the lives that are still being lost at this very moment.
Do you still say Freedom is free?
Freedom isn't free, when a Soldier is wounded in battle.
When news reaches, Family and friends at home,
And their told that their Soldier is wounded far beyond repair,
The loss and pain felt can not compare.
Freedom isn't free, with all those many Soldiers that wished they
had died because of all the pain in their broken up bodies.
Freedom isn't free, when your lying in bed, and you hear that dreaded
tap on your door.And you pray to God that you were only having a bad dream.
Freedom isn't free when you open the door and listen to the
bugle play, and you feel a sudden chill.
Everything goes still.
Freedom isn't free, when there is a Flag being draped
over a coffin, of a Brother, Sister, or a friend.
Freedom isn't free, when you think of all the children,
of the mothers and the wives, of Fathers, sons and husbands, whose
lives have been interrupted.
Freedom isn't free, when you think about the graveyard at the
bottom of the sea, of the unmarked graves in Arlington.
Who say's Freedom is Free? Not Me!
Written 7/23/008
BY Nora Eason
poem by Nora Eason
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For The Elite Political Machine!
vote for me,
i'll sell your soul,
but do it in a way,
you'll hardly know.
give me your sons,
i'll give you ribbons.
give me your poor,
i'll fill my prisons.
pump that oil,
mine that coal.
nuclear meltdown,
gotta meet my goal.
stand in lines,
begging for work.
i'll take your hearts,
i'll take your shirts!
the cost of freedom,
yours for mine.
cant see your hurts,
i'm rich and blind.
i'll pave my roads
over your dead bones.
over your unmarked graves,
i'll build my home.
you're only as equal
as your money allows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Times They Are A-Changin'
Come gather round people wherever you roam
And admit that the waters around you have grown
And accept it that soon you'll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth saving
Then you'd better start swimming or you'll sink like a stone
For the times, they are a changing
Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pens
And keep your eyes WIDE, the chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon, FOR the wheel's still in spin
And there's no telling who that it's naming
FOR the loser will be later to win
For the times, they are a changing
Come senators, congressmen, please head the call
Don't stand in the doorway, don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt will be HE WHO has stalled
The battle outside ragging will soon shake your windows
And rattle your WALLS
For the times, they are a changing
Come mothers and fathers THROUGH OUT THE land
And don't criticize what you can't understand
Your sons and your daughter are beyond your command
Your old role is rapidly aging
Please get out of the new one if you can't lend YOUR hand
For the times they are a changing
The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast
The slow one NOWwill later be fast
AS the present now will LATER be the past
The order is rapidly fading
AND The first one now will later be last
For the times, they are a changing
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mothers Always Want Theirs Sons To Be Happy
mothers always want their sons to be happy
and so even if they marry someone
whom their fathers dislike
it is always them who settle for a compromise
and tell fathers to be flexible sometimes
not to hurt the hearts of sons
but sometimes when sons want something else
that only mothers understand
something that fathers cannot really compromise
mothers still compromise
and walk a mile farther
just to make their sons happy
and their sons leave them
to places that only mothers
by their loving hearts
know.
only mothers, yes only mothers,
and no one else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Welcome Me
Welcome me to your city of angels
Devil prophets still hold my hand
I walked your stillborn streets for hours
Ethnic echoes spitting out their trials
They tell me Ill be the first to praise the sun
The first to praise the moon
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
Welcome me to a haven given
Its well received into my open arms
Oh I ran in my sleep through shaking tremors
I felt the splitting earth echoing in my ears
I feel it Ill be the first to praise the sun
The first to praise the moon
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
Welcome me to your city of angels
Theres a devil monkey laying on our backs
Now tell me wheres the heart
Wheres the bullet for breaking
Whos gonna give me a weapon
A pacifying weapon
I need it Ill be the first to praise the sun
The first to praise the moon oh
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
Ill be the first to praise the sun
I said I said welcome me
The first to praise the moon oh
The first to hold the lone coyote
The last to set it free
I said welcome me
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words
Someone and someone were down by the pond
Looking for something to plant in the lawn.
Out in the fields they were turning the soil
Im sitting here hoping this water will boil
When I look through the windows and out on the road
Theyre bringing me presents and saying hello.
Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.
If I was a junkman selling you cars,
Washing your windows and shining your stars,
Thinking your mind was my own in a dream
What would you wonder and how would it seem?
Living in castles a bit at a time
The king started laughing and talking in rhyme.
Singing words, words between the lines of age.
Words, words between the lines of age.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vantage Point
Show yourself to me and,
Let me love you;
City of Gold!
City of Love!
City of Peace!
City of Life!
City of Care;
Like these little things,
These little rivers,
These windows!
Like a glass artist;
And, to the vantage point.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Times They Are A Changing
Come gather round people wherever you roam
And admit that the waters around you have grown
And accept it that soon youll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth saving
Then youd better start swimming or youll sink like a stone
For the times, they are a changing
Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pens
And keep your eyes open, the chance wont come again
And dont speak too soon, the wheels still in spin
And theres no telling who that its naming
Oh the loser will be later to win
For the times, they are a changing
Come senators, congressmen, please head the call
Dont stand in the doorway, dont block up the hall
For he that gets hurt will be her that has stalled
The battle outside ragging will soon shake your windows
And rattle your hall
For the times, they are a changing
Come mothers and fathers all over this land
And dont criticize what you cant understand
Your sons and your daughter are beyond your command
Your old role is rapidly aging
Please get out of the new one if you cant lend a hand
For the times they are a changing
The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast
The slow one will later be fast
And the present now will soon be the past
The order is rapidly fading
The first one now will later be last
For the times, they are a changing
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven
Praise, my soul, the King of Heaven;
To His feet Thy tribute bring!
Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
Who like me His praise should sing?
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise the everlasting King!
Praise Him for His grace and favour,
To our fathers in distress!
Praise Him still the same for ever,
Slow to chide, and swift to bless!
Praise Him! praise Him!
Glorious in His faithfulness!
Father-like, He tends and spares us;
Well our feeble frame He knows.
In His hands He gently bears us,
Rescues us from all our foes,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Widely as His mercy flows!
Frail as summer's flower we flourish:
Blows the wind, and it is gone.
But while mortals rise and perish,
God endures unchanging on.
Praise Him, Praise Him,
Praise the high eternal One!
Angels, help us to adore Him;
Ye behold Him face to face:
Sun and moon, bow down before Him;
Dwellers all in time and space,
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise with us the God of grace!
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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By Unmarked Graves....
i read the labels of soup cans,
the poetry of mechanized food.
while children starve in the back seats,
of cars up on blocks.
and cell phones pray with neon glow,
to the souls of the fathers
buried in unemployment lines.
heartless bastards wave numbing flags,
guarding the border, masks and rifles cocked.
bars on the windows of pregnant schools,
where freedom unravels with sterile yawns.
the fields are quiet, bodies decompose...
crows pick fruit from trees long dead.
microwave Jesus's fill plastic bowls
with fingers severed from forgotten hands.
live or die, most choose death!
young lovers taunt roaches on motel walls.
the wheels of justice groan in the heat,
and darkness erect, prophesies.
the labels of soup cans,
and the brim of old hats!
leaving only tongues left naked
by unmarked graves!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Poem
This poem is a gift
Free words
Under the stench of a barbed wire world
Flowers that live on
After the flowers have been blown from the graves
In the midst of war
These words are a gift
A balm for the poor hungry mouth
To feed on
After the nightmare of carnage
Of lines written in blood
On broken walls
Where fathers and their families lie
Still and swollen in unmarked plots
These words are a gift
They are free
Washing the wounds
Making speech live on
Even after so much darkness
They are the lightness
Bringing light
yvette smith june 12 2009
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Family of War
Every morning I awake I fall to my knees and pray.
God, please make the war in Iraq come to end.
There are too many fathers and sons come home
in pine boxes. There are too many mothers and daughters
doing the same. Leaving behind fathers and sons mothers
and daughter with a last memory of them waving goodbye.
There is too much blood and tears of fathers and sons mothers
and daughters being shed all in the name of peace.
God please let our leaders see how many families are dying
and that war can never bring peace. Only love can.
This prayer is my gun and God you’re the bullet I’m shooting
to end this Family of War.
City Of New Orleans
This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the poems, prayers and promises album, is also available on the country roads collection album and has also been rerecorded on all ab
Album.
Riding on the city of new orleans
Illinios central, monday morning rail
15 cars and 15 restless riders
3 conductors and 25 sacks of mail
All along a southbound odyssey
The train pulls out of kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no name
Freight yards full of old black men
The graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Singing good morning america, how are you?
Saying, dont you know me Im your native son?
Im the train they call the city of new orleans
Ill be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Dealing cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, aint no one keeping score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels a rumbling neath the floor
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers magic carpet made of steel
And mothers with their babes asleep
Rockin to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Singing good morning america, how are you?
Saying dont you know me, Im your native son?
Im the train they call the city of new orleans
Ill be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Nighttime on the city of new orleans
Changing cars in memphis, tennessee
Halfway home and well be there by morning
Through the mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea
But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still aint heard the news
The conductor sings his song again
The passengers will please refrain
This train has got the disappearing railroad blues
Singing good morning america, how are you?
Saying dont you know me, Im your native son?
Im the train they call the city of new orleans
Ill be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Words and music by steve goodman
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Generic God
“Oh my God”, an often heard phrase, empty words uttered these days,
This not the God The Bible speaks of, The One, Who reigns up above,
As He said, “Don’t speak my Name”, hastily spoken, just taken in vain,
He is The Lord, many do not fear, speaking vainly, all over this sphere.
Most people who travel this sod, believe in something, they call a god,
This god isn’t The God of the Bible, One to whom we all shall be liable,
A generic god, many men herald, not God above, but one of the world,
Gods that have been created by men; gods, who Christ shall condemn.
The generic god’s held up by many, varying views, by which are plenty,
Embraced by people of all kinds, deep thinkers and even small minds,
So whatever men want to believe, this is the god, that they can receive,
And no changes are required of them, as their god will never condemn.
They may or not believe in Heaven, a belief tainted with spiritual leaven,
Changing instead, God’s Eternal Truth, so they are heading for reproof,
Also, as far as most men can tell, many of those do not believe in Hell,
As one’s death is final in their eyes, seeing no life at all, after man dies.
Now there’s men who once believed, but by Satan have been deceived,
Teaching all men shall find a place, in Heaven, apart from God’s Grace,
This is all part of man’s falling away, to a generic god we hear of today,
Falling from God’s Solid Ground, to another god, that will not be found.
(Copyright ©09/2011)
Temperance Hymn
God of our fathers! Thee we praise;
To-day, our grateful thanks ascend:
Accept these thanks-our cheerful lays
With organ's solemn chantings blend.
Thy grace the wretched drunkard found
Cast out, and weltering in his blood;
Now from his tongue doth praise resound-
He owes that praise to thee, O God!
Restored to virtue by thy hand,
The father, brother, son, arise;
From sin and wo reclaimed, they stand,
And swell thy praise with tearful eyes.
The mother, sister, daughter, too,
With tears of gratitude and praise,
Behold the change, and now, anew,
Receive their friends to their embrace.
No longer poverty and shame-
A sad inheritance-are theirs;
Their altered looks aloud proclaim
A happy change in their affairs.
Thanks, thanks, to thee, O God, we give!
What better tribute can we pay?
'T is on thy bounties that we live;-
We praise thee for this festal day!
poem by John Pierpont
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They Dance Alone
Why are there women here dancing on their own?
Why is there this sadness in their eyes?
Why are the soldiers here
Their faces fixed like stone?
I can't see what it is that they dispise
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone They dance alone
It's the only form of protest they're allowed
I've seen their silent faces scream so loud
If they were to speak these words they'd go missing too
Another woman on a torture table what else can they do
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone They dance alone
One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
And we'll dance
One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
And we'll dance
Ellas danzan con los desaparecidos
Ellas danzan con los muertos
Ellas danzan con amores invisibles
Ellas danzan con silenciosa angustia
Danzan con sus pardres
Danzan con sus hijos
Danzan con sus esposos
Ellas danzan solas
Danzan solas
Hey Mr. Pinochet
You've sown a bitter crop
It's foreign money that supports you
One day the money's going to stop
No wages for your torturers
No budget for your guns
Can you think of your own mother
Dancin' with her invisible son
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
They're anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone They dance alone
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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