The Kosa
The free-born Kosa still doth hold
The fields his fathers held of old;
With club and spear, in jocund ranks,
Still hunts the elk by Chumi's banks:
By Keisi's meads his herds are lowing;
On Debè's slopes his gardens glowing,
Where laughing maids at sunset roam,
To bear the juicy melons home:
And striplings from Kalumna's wood
Bring wild grapes and the pigeon's brood,
With fragrant hoard of honey-bee
Rifled from the hollow tree:
And herdsmen shout from rock to rock;
And through the glen the hamlets smoke;
And children gambol round the kraal,
To greet their sires at evening-fall:
And matrons sweep the cabin floor,
And spread the mat beside the door,
And with dry fagots wake the flame
To dress the wearied huntsmen's game.
Bright gleams the fire: its ruddy blaze
On many a dusky visage plays.
On forkèd twigs the game is drest;
The neighbours share the simple feast:
The honey-mead, the millet-ale,
Flow round -- and flow the jest and tale;
Wild legends of the ancient day,
Of hunting feat, of warlike fray;
And now come smiles, and now come sighs,
As mirth and grief alternate rise.
Or should a sterner strain awake,
Like sudden flame in summer-brake,
Bursts fiercely forth in battle song
The tale of Amakósa's wrong;
Throbs every warrior bosom high,
With lightning flashes every eye,
And, in wild cadence, rings the sound
Of barbèd javelins clashing round.
But lo, like a broad shield on high,
The moon gleams in the midnight sky.
'Tis time to part: the watch-dog's bay
Beside the folds has died away.
'Tis time to rest: the mat is spread,
The hardy hunter's simple bed:
His wife her dreaming infant hushes
On the low cabin's couch of rushes;
Softly he draws its door of hide,
And, stretched by his Gulúwi's side,
Sleeps soundly till the peep of dawn
Wakes on the hills the dappled fawn;
Then forth again he gaily bounds,
With club and spear and questing hounds.
poem by Thomas Pringle
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Related quotes
Makanna's Gathering
Wake! Amakósa, wake!
And arm yourselves for war.
As coming winds the forest shake,
I hear a sound from far:
It is not thunder in the sky,
Nor lion's roar upon the hill,
But the voice of HIM who sits on high,
And bids me speak his will!
He bids me call you forth,
Bold sons of Káhabee,
To sweep the White Men from the earth,
And drive them to the sea:
The sea, which heaved them up at first,
For Amakósa's curse and bane,
Howls for the progeny she nurst,
To swallow them again.
Hark! 'tis UHLANGA'S voice
From Debè's mountain caves!
He calls you now to make your choice --
To conquer or be slaves:
To meet proud Amanglézi's guns,
And fight like warriors nobly born:
Or, like Umláo's feeble sons,
Become the freeman's scorn.
Then come, ye Chieftains bold,
With war-plumes waving high;
Come, every warrior young and old,
With club and assagai.
Remember how the spoiler's host
Did through our land like locusts range!
Your herds, your wives, your comrades lost --
Remember -- and revenge!
Fling your broad shields away --
Bootless against such foes;
But hand to hand we'll fight to-day,
And with their bayonets close.
Grasp each man short his stabbing spear --
And, when to battle's edge we come,
Rush on their ranks in full career,
And to their hearts strike home!
Wake! Amakósa, wake!
And muster for the war:
The wizard-wolves from Keisi's brake,
The vultures from afar,
Are gathering at UHLANGA'S call,
And follow fast our westward way --
For well they know, ere evening-fall,
They shall have glorious prey!
poem by Thomas Pringle
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Not Iris in Her Pride
Not Iris in her pride and bravery
Adorns her arch with such variety;
Nor doth the Milk-white Way in frosty night
Appear so fair and beautiful in sight,
As do these fields and groves and sweetest bowers
Bestrewed and decked with parti-coloured flowers.
Along the bubbling brooks and silver glide,
That at the bottom doth in silence slide,
The water-flowers and lilies on the banks
Like blazing comets burgeon all in ranks;
Under the hawthorn and the poplar tree,
Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be,
The primrose and the purple hyacinth,
The dainty violet and the wholesome minth,
The double-daisy and the cowslip (Queen)
Of summer flowers) do over-peer the green;
And round about the valley as ye pass,
Ye may not see, for peeping flowers, the grass.
poem by George Peele
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The Caffer Commando
Hark! -- heard ye the signals of triumph afar?
'Tis our Caffer Commando returning from war:
The voice of their laughter comes loud on the wind,
Nor heed they the curses that follow behind.
For who cares for him, the poor Kosa, that wails
Where the smoke rises dim from yon desolate vales --
That wails for his little ones killed in the fray,
And his herds by the Colonist carried away?
Or who cares for him that once pastured this spot,
Where his tribe is extinct and their story forgot?
As many another, ere twenty years pass,
Will only be known by their bones in the grass!
And the sons of the Keisi, the Kei, the Gareep,
With the Gunja and Ghona in silence shall sleep:
For England hath spoken in her tyrannous mood,
And the edict is writing in African blood!
Dark Katta is howling: the eager jackall,
As the lengthening shadows more drearily fall,
Shrieks forth his hymn to the hornèd moon;
And the lord of the desert will follow him soon:
And the tiger-wolf laughs in his bone-strewed brake,
As he calls on his mate and her cubs to awake;
And the panther and leopard come leaping along;
All hymning to Hecate a festival song:
For the tumult is over, the slaughter hath ceased --
And the vulture hath bidden them all to the feast!
poem by Thomas Pringle
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The South Fork Boys and Their Dam
The boys of South Fork Country Club
Raise glasses to their health
And laud the speech of Carnegie,
His grand gospel of wealth.
Then breaks the dam and floods the homes
Of Johnstown's humbler ranks.
Two thousand and two hundred nine
Lie dead upon the banks.
The South Fork Fishing-Hunting Club,
A guilty brood of rooks,
Hear solace from ole Carnegie,
The patron saint of books:
'Our dam is breached, but who dares blame
'The fishing-hunting guild?
'Two thousand and FIVE hundred nine
'Libraries we shall build! '
Born To Be Free! ! !
Born to be free! ! !
But, the obstacles of this world have engulfed themselves all around me.
Born to be free! ! !
But hatred had been the main cause being practised by mankind than love.
Born to be free! ! !
But, mankind had introduced what is called racism all around us.
Born to be free! ! !
But, mankind is not ready to accept the positive laws of the Creator.
Born to be free! ! !
But, there are wars everywhere on this earth.
Born to be free! ! !
But, you've hated me already in your heart without any reason.
Born to be free! ! !
But, earth's own problems are more than i can bare.
Born to be free! ! !
But, what i know is not what the Babylon System is teaching me.
Born to be free! ! !
But, the painter of tomorrow has no brush in his or her hand today.
Born to be free! ! !
But, when will the world learn to live in peace?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Serranilla
FROM Calatrava as I took my way
At holy Mary's shrine to kneel and pray,
And sleep upon my eyelids heavy lay,
There where the ground was very rough and wild,
I lost my path and met a peasant child:
From Finojosa, with the herds around her,
There in the fields I found her.
Upon a meadow green with tender grass,
With other rustic cowherds, lad and lass,
So sweet a thing to see I watched her pass:
My eyes could scarce believe her what they found her,
There with the herds around her.
I do not think that roses in the Spring
Are half so lovely in their fashioning:
My heart must needs avow this secret thing,
That had I known her first as then I found her,
From Finojosa, with the herds around her,
I had not strayed so far her face to see
That it might rob me of my liberty.
I questioned her, to know what she might say:
'Has she of Finojosa passed this way? '
She smiled and answered me: 'In vain you sue,
Full well my heart discerns the hope in you:
But she of whom you speak, and have not found her.
Her heart is free, no thought of love has bound her,
Here with the herds around her.'
poem by Íñigo López de Mendoza
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Be With Me
Youre going out tonight
You put your real cool looking clothes on
Youre getting uptight
About some little thing I said
All that I said
I couldnt play the game
It shouldnt make any difference to you
Go walking around night
The winds really blowing
Its too cold to talk
I wonder if shes knowing
She should be with me
It could set her free
Come with me
Be with me
A part of me
(free)
Da da da da da da da da da da
(free)
Da da da da da da da da da da
Everything we will see
Everything we will be
We will be
A new child is born
The mother is still waiting
Fathers over there anticipating
Wont you be with me
It could set you (us) free
Come with me
Be with me
A part of me
(free)
Da da da da da da da da da da
(free)
Da da da da da da da da da da
(free)
Da da da da da da da da da da
(free)
Da da da da da da da da da da
(free)
Da da da da da da da da da da
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song (Untitled #11)
The daisy now is out upon the green;
And in the grassy lanes
The child of April rains,
The sweet fresh-hearted violet, is smelt and loved unseen.
Along the brooks and meads, the daffodil
Its yellow richness spreads,
And by the fountain-heads
Of rivers, cowslips cluster round, and over every hill.
The crocus and the primrose may have gone,
The snowdrop may be low,
But soon the purple glow
Of hyacinths will fill the copse, and lilies watch the dawn.
And in the sweetness of the budding year,
The cuckoo's woodland call,
The skylark over all,
And then at eve, the nightingale, is doubly sweet and dear.
My soul is singing with the happy birds,
And all my human powers
Are blooming with the flowers,
My foot is on the fields and downs, among the flocks and herds.
Deep in the forest where the foliage droops,
I wander, fill'd with joy.
Again as when a boy,
The sunny vistas tempt me on with dim delicious hopes.
The sunny vistas, dim with hurrying shade,
And old romantic haze:-
Again as in past days,
The spirit of immortal Spring doth every sense pervade.
Oh! do not say that this will ever cease; -
This joy of woods and fields,
This youth that nature yields,
Will never speak to me in vain, tho' soundly rapt in peace.
poem by George Meredith
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Healing The Family Tree
for you to let me know
that i must pay for all that the family owed
from the past
the suffering souls of my great fathers
and fathers of my fathers
and their mothers
i am sorry but i was not the one
that committed the blunder
that is their business and mine is different
look at me
have i not suffered enough to deserve all these
genetic retaliations?
hold my hands
don't you feel that all these tremblings
in fear
are not enough to pay for their
misdeeds?
your paranoia is mine too.
but somehow, all these must be stopped.
the wombs of our mothers are tested with pain
one leg to life the other held by death
yet they walk this valley of death without question
they breathe your air without suspicion
they live the way they ought to
and they die
without much ado.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Caffer
Lo! where he crouches by the cleugh's dark side,
Eyeing the farmer's lowing herds afar;
Impatient watching till the Evening Star
Lead forth the Twilight dim, that he may glide
Like panther to the prey. With freeborn pride
He scorns the herdsman, nor regards the scar
Of recent wound -- but burnishes for war
His assagai and targe of buffalo-hide.
He is a Robber? -- True; it is a strife
Between the black-skinned bandit and the white.
A Savage? -- Yes; though loth to aim at life,
Evil for evil fierce he doth requite.
A Heathen? -- Teach him, then, thy better creed,
Christian! if thou deserv'st that name indeed.
poem by Thomas Pringle
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A leader is born; so is a genius.
Left brain thinks in linear way
It ploughs deep and narrow.
Right brain thinks in non-linear way.
It ploughs wide and shallow.
Either one is to dominate one.
The first scores in curriculum.
The other does in multi-fields.
The first ranks in I.Q.
The other ranks in personality.
A genius is not a born leader.
A leaser is not a genius.
People respect the left brainy
and suspect the right brainy
19.07.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Urara
Euroka, go over the tops of the hill,
For the ~Death-clouds~ have passed us to-day,
And we'll cry in the dark for the foot-falls still,
And the tracks which are fading away!
Let them yell to their lubras, the Bulginbah dogs,
And say how our brothers were slain,
We shall wipe out our grief in the blood of their chief,
And twenty more dead on the plain -
On the blood-spattered spurs of the plain!
But the low winds sigh,
And the dead leaves fly,
Where our warriors lie,
In the dingoes' den - in the white-cedar glen
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Urara! Urara!
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
The Wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass,
And crawl to their coverts for fear;
But we'll sit in the ashes and let them pass
Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear!
Oh! our hearts will be lonely and low to-night
When we think of the hunts of yore;
And the foes that we sought, and the fights which we fought,
With those who will battle no more -
Who will go to the battle no more!
For the dull winds sigh,
And the dead leaves fly,
Where our warriors lie,
In the dingoes' den - in the white-cedar glen
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Urara! Urara!
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Oh! the gorges and gullies are black with crows,
And they feast on the flesh of the brave;
But the forest is loud with the howls of our foes
For those whom they never can save!
Let us crouch with our faces down to our knees,
And hide in the dark of our hair;
For we will not return where the camp-fires burn,
And see what is smouldering there -
What is smouldering, mouldering there!
Where the sad winds sigh -
The dead leaves fly,
And our warriors lie;
In the dingoes' den - in the white-cedar glen
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
Urara! Urara!
On the banks of the gloomy Urara!
poem by Henry Kendall
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My Father Is a Great Hunter
In those days they say
Animals live in the bush
I wish my father can travel go West
To see cat and dog
Antelope and elephant
Tiger and lion
Living in man’s house.
They call them pets
But I don’t understand
While in my continent
Mouse hunts for food
Cat hunts for mouse
Dog hunts for cat
Tiger hunts for dog
And my father hunts for tiger and lion.
My father is a great hunter
Our carpet is zebra crossing
Our bed is tiger coat
Our cloth is lion braveness
The walls of my house
Is made with the beauties of boas
And I am proud to be a hunter’s heir.
poem by Abiodun Adekoya
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Men Of Such Opinion - You've Got It Bad B-side
Summer death, slow step
Walk behind the mother of the thirteen year old brown-eyed boy
Attitudes, attitudes
Sloganized by middle boots
The men who slogged the brown-eyed boy
And it's the end of everything that you've been told about
Decency, honesty
And it's the end of holding back and breaking bones and building bombs
And hanging witch-hunts conducted by men of such opinion
Repeat first verse
And it's the end of building roads to load the dead to someone else's field
And it's the end of falling back on breaking backs and aching handshakes
And playing fields conducted by men of such opinion
But the fathers crossed you boys
I fire so heaven knows it only righteous folk
But righteous taste hold the keys to sitting grace
To conduct and to proclaim decisions made of such opinions
And it's the time of summer days
When children sing about the killing fields
Winter melts the snow and knees will crack on rock
And the iron on earth beneath the dearth bequeathed
??? by men of such opinion
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Car Club
Ive been cruisin round the town now with the guys for quite a while
We been thinkin bout starting up a club that shows some class and style
And well get the finest cars
We got a deuce coupe, a stingray, a rail job and an xke
(well start a car club)
Well be the fastest at the drags, man, well really cut some low ets
(well start a car club)
And wipe out the other clubs
Well set a meet, and get a sponsor, and collect some dues
And you can bet that well have our jackets on wherever we cruise
Well get the roughest and the toughest initiation we can find
(well start a car club)
And if you want to try to get in well really put you through the grind
(well start a car club)
This clubs the very best
Well set a meet, and get a sponsor, and collect some dues
And you can bet that well have our jackets on wherever we cruise
Well get the roughest and the toughest initiation we can find
(well start a car club)
And if you want to try to get in well really send you through the grind
(well start a car club)
This clubs the very best
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
Start a club, a car club
(start a car club)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet LVI
FAyre ye be sure, but cruell and vnkind,
As is a Tygre that with greedinesse
hunts after bloud, when he by chance doth find
a feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse.
Fayre be ye sure but proud and pittilesse,
as is a storme, that all things doth prostrate:
finding a tree alone all comfortlesse,
beats on it strongly it to ruinate.
Fayre be ye sure, but hard and obstinate,
as is a rocke amidst the raging floods:
gaynst which a ship of succour desolate,
doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and goods.
That ship, that tree, and that same beast am I,
whom ye doe wreck, doe ruine, and destroy.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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My Fathers Eyes
(by eric clapton)
Sailing down behind the sun,
Waiting for my prince to come.
Praying for the healing rain
To restore my soul again.
Just a toerag on the run.
How did I get here?
What have I done?
When will all my hopes arise?
How will I know him?
When I look in my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
When I look in my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
Then the light begins to shine
And I hear those ancient lullabies.
And as I watch this seedling grow,
Feel my heart start to overflow.
Where do I find the words to say?
How do I teach him?
What do we play?
Bit by bit, Ive realized
Thats when I need them,
Thats when I need my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
Thats when I need my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
Then the jagged edge appears
Through the distant clouds of tears.
Im like a bridge that was washed away;
My foundations were made of clay.
As my soul slides down to die.
How could I lose him?
What did I try?
Bit by bit, Ive realized
That he was here with me;
I looked into my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
I looked into my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
I looked into my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oft saw my dad cry (to dad)
A father's love
Can never match
A mother's…
At least in
Children's eyes…
A father's love
Cannot be shown
As easily
As in
a mother's sighs
A father's love
Is of labor dear
More distant so by nature
than… in tender
nurture lies
A father's love
Is of hidden tears
And rarely
Shown raw
emotions
Held within
A rough façade
Of gentle heart…
Of kind and
Cloistered emotions
Fathers withhold
Within themselves
Caring feelings (and memories)
Of small smiles
And big wide eyes
Fathers hold back
Tears inside while…
drying other's eyes
Yet fathers weep Inside,
so deep…most children
Know not why
And more than once
I caught a peek of tears
In my dad's eyes
And on his cheek
Fathers are …
of stern stuff made
Yet fathers
…Often cry…
poem by David Whalen
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Field Of Joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i touch the leaves that touch the sky
just you and i through fields of joy
all trouble slowly fades away
slowly slowly fades away
i hold your hand inside my hand
across the land through fields of joy
the sound of music that we hear
the blend of colors throug the air
all cities, mountains disappear from view
all truth and beauty near to me and you
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
the fields of joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i know our love will never die
just you and i
through fields of joy
through fields of joy
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: My Record in Sonnets
If born I were a Bard on Thames’ banks,
And read in Oxford/ Cambridge Grammar Schools,
I would have had chances to join the ranks,
Of the world’s greatest of poetic pools.
If I had rendered my poems at first
To people who loved my literary work,
Never in life, would I have seen the worst;
My travails overhead would not me lurk.
To be born in India is my ‘sad’ fate;
There aren’t prizes for Poetry at stake;
My sonnets are a record on this date,
And my solemn statement is not a fake.
But still, I love to be an Indian Poet!
My poems will surprise the world, I bet.
poem by John Celes
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