A Proadway Pageant
OVER the western sea, hither from Niphon come,
Courteous, the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys,
Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,
Ride to-day through Manhattan.
Libertad!
I do not know whether others behold what I behold,
In the procession, along with the nobles of Asia, the errand-
bearers,
Bringing up the rear, hovering above, around, or in the ranks
marching;
But I will sing you a song of what I behold, Libertad.
When million-footed Manhattan, unpent, descends to her pavements; 10
When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud roar I love;
When the round-mouth'd guns, out of the smoke and smell I love, spit
their salutes;
When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me--when heaven-clouds
canopy my city with a delicate thin haze;
When, gorgeous, the countless straight stems, the forests at the
wharves, thicken with colors;
When every ship, richly drest, carries her flag at the peak;
When pennants trail, and street-festoons hang from the windows;
When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers and foot-
standers--when the mass is densest;
When the façades of the houses are alive with people--when eyes gaze,
riveted, tens of thousands at a time;
When the guests from the islands advance--when the pageant moves
forward, visible;
When the summons is made--when the answer that waited thousands of
years, answers; 20
I too, arising, answering, descend to the pavements, merge with the
crowd, and gaze with them.
Superb-faced Manhattan!
Comrade Americanos!--to us, then, at last, the Orient comes.
To us, my city,
Where our tall-topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite
sides--to walk in the space between,
To-day our Antipodes comes.
The Originatress comes,
The nest of languages, the bequeather of poems, the race of eld,
Florid with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion,
Sultry with perfume, with ample and flowing garments, 30
With sunburnt visage, with intense soul and glittering eyes,
The race of Brahma comes!
See, my cantabile! these, and more, are flashing to us from the
procession;
As it moves, changing, a kaleidoscope divine it moves, changing,
before us.
For not the envoys, nor the tann'd Japanee from his island only;
Lithe and silent, the Hindoo appears--the Asiatic continent itself
appears--the Past, the dead,
The murky night morning of wonder and fable, inscrutable,
The envelop'd mysteries, the old and unknown hive-bees,
The North--the sweltering South--eastern Assyria--the Hebrews--the
Ancient of Ancients,
Vast desolated cities--the gliding Present--all of these, and more,
are in the pageant-procession. 40
Geography, the world, is in it;
The Great Sea, the brood of islands, Polynesia, the coast beyond;
The coast you, henceforth, are facing--you Libertad! from your
Western golden shores
The countries there, with their populations--the millions en-masse,
are curiously here;
The swarming market places--the temples, with idols ranged along the
sides, or at the end--bonze, brahmin, and lama;
The mandarin, farmer, merchant, mechanic, and fisherman;
The singing-girl and the dancing-girl--the ecstatic person--the
secluded Emperors,
Confucius himself--the great poets and heroes--the warriors, the
castes, all,
Trooping up, crowding from all directions--from the Altay mountains,
From Thibet--from the four winding and far-flowing rivers of
China, 50
From the Southern peninsulas, and the demi-continental islands--from
Malaysia;
These, and whatever belongs to them, palpable, show forth to me, and
are seiz'd by me,
And I am seiz'd by them, and friendlily held by them,
Till, as here, them all I chant, Libertad! for themselves and for
you.
For I too, raising my voice, join the ranks of this pageant;
I am the chanter--I chant aloud over the pageant;
I chant the world on my Western Sea;
I chant, copious, the islands beyond, thick as stars in the sky;
I chant the new empire, grander than any before--As in a vision it
comes to me;
I chant America, the Mistress--I chant a greater supremacy; 60
I chant, projected, a thousand blooming cities yet, in time, on those
groups of sea-islands;
I chant my sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes;
I chant my stars and stripes fluttering in the wind;
I chant commerce opening, the sleep of ages having done its work--
races, reborn, refresh'd;
Lives, works, resumed--The object I know not--but the old, the
Asiatic, renew'd, as it must be,
Commencing from this day, surrounded by the world.
And you, Libertad of the world!
You shall sit in the middle, well-pois'd, thousands of years;
As to-day, from one side, the nobles of Asia come to you;
As to-morrow, from the other side, the Queen of England sends her
eldest son to you. 70
The sign is reversing, the orb is enclosed,
The ring is circled, the journey is done;
The box-lid is but perceptibly open'd--nevertheless the perfume pours
copiously out of the whole box.
Young Libertad!
With the venerable Asia, the all-mother,
Be considerate with her, now and ever, hot Libertad--for you are all;
Bend your proud neck to the long-off mother, now sending messages
over the archipelagoes to you;
Bend your proud neck low for once, young Libertad.
Were the children straying westward so long? so wide the tramping?
Were the precedent dim ages debouching westward from Paradise so
long? 80
Were the centuries steadily footing it that way, all the while
unknown, for you, for reasons?
They are justified--they are accomplish'd--they shall now be turn'd
the other way also, to travel toward you thence;
They shall now also march obediently eastward, for your sake,
Libertad.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Chant Your Name Oh Beloved
Chant Your Name
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the raindrops on a roof
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the breeze in the leaves
I chant Your name o beloved
Like the snowflakes on mountain peaks
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the dew drops in the field
I chant your name O beloved
As Your blood pulsate in my veins
I chant Your name O beloved
As the bees buzz around my head
In silence I chant Your name O Beloved
As they carry my whispered prayers
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chant
We cant turn back the clock
But we can chant for love
Lets cut the idle talk so we can
Chant for love
We always have the time to quarrel
About such problems as money and war
Lets put it off until tomorrow
Who needs another dose of sorrow?
It dont necessitate an act of faith
To chant for love
What alibi is strong enough to wait
To chant for love
Though we dont hold the reigns of power
Somebody else seems to be in control
We mustnt waste another hour
Well get directly to the soul
If we can
Chant
For a world united
Chant
For a world thats dying for love
The hare krishna plays a drum and bell
When he chants for love
The tribal priest is afraid of hell
So he chants for love
I am not pushing some religion
Dont get me wrong,
I never mess with such things
Just be true to your own vision
This is your personal decision
The dervish spins to a hu hu hu
When he chants for love
Nobody knows what the angels do
When they chant for love
Youre at the bottom of the ladder
Someone may try to tell you where you should start
But the words, they never matter
If you can feel it in your heart
Then you can
Why dont you chant?
You can chant
Chant, chant, chant ...
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beloved
On my knees i chant your name oh beloved
like the raindrops on the roof
i chant your name oh beloved
like the rusttling leave in the breeze
i chant your name oh beloved
like the dew drops in te field
i chant your name oh beloved
like the snow on mountain peaks
i chant your name oh beloved
as i breath
i chant your name oh beloved
as i whisper in sincere pray...
poem by Persian Khushi
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Sunday Morning - VII
Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Omnipresent God
Omnipresent God
The Om of God
A chant to sing
It resonates
I contemplate
Colorful vibrations
Inner journey's to
Far off constellations.
I travel thus to find myself
A Self realization.
God is there
God is here
A spiritual sensation.
He fills all space and time
I need not chant a rhyme
Behold God's Love Divine
Is ever Mine and Thine.
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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City Of Ships
CITY of ships!
(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!
O the beautiful, sharp-bow'd steam-ships and sail-ships!)
City of the world! (for all races are here;
All the lands of the earth make contributions here;)
City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides!
City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and
out, with eddies and foam!
City of wharves and stores! city of tall façades of marble and iron!
Proud and passionate city! mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!
Spring up, O city! not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself,
warlike! 10
Fear not! submit to no models but your own, O city!
Behold me! incarnate me, as I have incarnated you!
I have rejected nothing you offer'd me--whom you adopted, I have
adopted;
Good or bad, I never question you--I love all--I do not condemn
anything;
I chant and celebrate all that is yours--yet peace no more;
In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine;
War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city!
poem by Walt Whitman
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Taw Shi
The desert wind
From the East
Binding us together
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Dance for me Taw Shi
The day has come to prove
To prove your love
Forever
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Dance for me Taw Shi
Among the two
I prefer you
I want to see you
Set fire to the night
Among the two
You must come through
Oh let me see you
Set fire to the night
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Dance for me this dance
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Chant with me this chant
So follow me
Across the sand
To where the music's playing
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Dance for me Taw Shi
The sands will blow
A thousand years
The rythm still remains
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Dance for me Taw Shi
Among the two
I prefer you
I want to see you
Set fire to the night
Among the two
You must come through
Oh let me see you
Set fire to the night
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Dance for me this dance
Oh...oh...oh...oh...
Chant with me this chant
Oh, oh YAH YAH
TAW SHI WA NADAR
Oh, oh YAH YAH
TAW SHI - YA YA YA
TAW SHI - YA YA YA
I want to see you
Set fire to the night
TAW SHI - YA YA YA
TAW SHI - YA YA YA
Oh let me see you
Set fire to the night
TAW SHI - YA YA YA
TAW SHI - YA YA YA
I want to see you
Set fire to the night
Oh, oh YA YA YA!...
song performed by by Ofra Haza
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turn, O Libertad
TURN, O Libertad, for the war is over,
(From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute,
sweeping the world,)
Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past;
From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past;
From the chants of the feudal world--the triumphs of kings, slavery,
caste;
Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv'd and to come--give up that
backward world;
Leave to the singers of hitherto--give them the trailing past;
But what remains, remains for singers for you--wars to come are for
you;
(Lo! how the wars of the past have duly inured to you--and the wars
of the present also inure:)
--Then turn, and be not alarm'd, O Libertad--turn your undying
face, 10
To where the future, greater than all the past,
Is swiftly, surely preparing for you.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Ashes Of Soldiers
Again a verse for sake of you,
You soldiers in the ranks--you Volunteers,
Who bravely fighting, silent fell,
To fill unmention'd graves.
ASHES of soldiers!
As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought,
Lo! the war resumes--again to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of armies.
Noiseless as mists and vapors,
From their graves in the trenches ascending,
From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee,
From every point of the compass, out of the countless unnamed graves,
In wafted clouds, in myraids large, or squads of twos or threes, or
single ones, they come,
And silently gather round me. 10
Now sound no note, O trumpeters!
Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses,
With sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines by their thighs--(ah,
my brave horsemen!
My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
With all the perils, were yours!)
Nor you drummers--neither at reveille, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp--nor even the muffled beat for a
burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.
But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded
promenade,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and
voiceless, 20
The slain elate and alive again--the dust and debris alive,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead
soldiers.
Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet;
Draw close, but speak not.
Phantoms of countless lost!
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions!
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.
Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical
voices sounding!
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.
Dearest comrades! all is over and long gone; 30
But love is not over--and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battle-fields rising--up from foetor arising.
Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love!
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers,
Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride!
Perfume all! make all wholesome!
Make these ashes to nourish and blossom,
O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.
Give me exhaustless--make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew,
For the ashes of all dead soldiers.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Chant Has Begun
The spirit of the people
The spirit of the people
The spirit of the people
The rhythm has begun ...
Old men with their protocol
Lead us off to war
Sometimes we dont even know
What were fighting for
Marching to the beat of their drum
Leaders we no longer trust
Told too many lies
The promises they made to us
Were never realised
Hear me now the chant has begun
Nowhere left to turn
No-one left to turn to
Voices raised in anger
They dont have the answer
Our whole worlds in danger
Oil slicks on the ebbing tide
Progress out of hand
Blind men choke on swallowed pride
Heads down in the sand
Dont wanna see the damage theyve done
Trees destroyed by acid rain
Falling from the skies
When our children place the blame
Who will tell them why
Hear me now the chant has begun
Why is love so rare
All this talk of warfare
Voices raised in anger
They dont have an answer
Pass the word along
We can wait no longer
Too much blind destruction
Follow loves instructions
Now the chant has begun
(chant)
Make your choice theres no escape
Add your voice, the chant has begun
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mubarak Out, Mubarak Out' 'Game Over'.
Mubarak promises to dismiss present minion cabinet
promising new administration to dance to his bidding.
New minions appointed by Mubarak to dance his tune
new minions to tackle unemployment to promote him?
Protesters forced off into side streets chant chant chant
“People want to change the regime” cry justice dignity.
Appointment new Vice President under Mubarak thumb
fails to appease cut ice because Mubarak regime is done.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Song Of The Redwood-Tree
A CALIFORNIA song!
A prophecy and indirection--a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air;
A chorus of dryads, fading, departing--or hamadryads departing;
A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky,
Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.
Farewell, my brethren,
Farewell, O earth and sky--farewell, ye neighboring waters;
My time has ended, my term has come.
Along the northern coast,
Just back from the rock-bound shore, and the caves, 10
In the saline air from the sea, in the Mendocino country,
With the surge for bass and accompaniment low and hoarse,
With crackling blows of axes, sounding musically, driven by strong
arms,
Riven deep by the sharp tongues of the axes--there in the Redwood
forest dense,
I heard the mighty tree its death-chant chanting.
The choppers heard not--the camp shanties echoed not;
The quick-ear'd teamsters, and chain and jack-screw men, heard not,
As the wood-spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years, to
join the refrain;
But in my soul I plainly heard.
Murmuring out of its myriad leaves, 20
Down from its lofty top, rising two hundred feet high,
Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs--out of its foot-thick bark,
That chant of the seasons and time--chant, not of the past only, but
the future.
You untold life of me,
And all you venerable and innocent joys,
Perennial, hardy life of me, with joys, 'mid rain, and many a summer
sun,
And the white snows, and night, and the wild winds;
O the great patient, rugged joys! my soul's strong joys, unreck'd by
man;
(For know I bear the soul befitting me--I too have consciousness,
identity,
And all the rocks and mountains have--and all the earth;) 30
Joys of the life befitting me and brothers mine,
Our time, our term has come.
Nor yield we mournfully, majestic brothers,
We who have grandly fill'd our time;
With Nature's calm content, and tacit, huge delight,
We welcome what we wrought for through the past,
And leave the field for them.
For them predicted long,
For a superber Race--they too to grandly fill their time,
For them we abdicate--in them ourselves, ye forest kings! 40
In them these skies and airs--these mountain peaks--Shasta--Nevadas,
These huge, precipitous cliffs--this amplitude--these valleys grand--
Yosemite,
To be in them absorb'd, assimilated.
Then to a loftier strain,
Still prouder, more ecstatic, rose the chant,
As if the heirs, the Deities of the West,
Joining, with master-tongue, bore part.
Not wan from Asia's fetishes,
Nor red from Europe's old dynastic slaughter-house,
(Area of murder-plots of thrones, with scent left yet of wars and
scaffolds every where,) 50
But come from Nature's long and harmless throes--peacefully builded
thence,
These virgin lands--Lands of the Western Shore,
To the new Culminating Man--to you, the Empire New,
You, promis'd long, we pledge, we dedicate.
You occult, deep volitions,
You average Spiritual Manhood, purpose of all, pois'd on yourself--
giving, not taking law,
You Womanhood divine, mistress and source of all, whence life and
love, and aught that comes from life and love,
You unseen Moral Essence of all the vast materials of America, (age
upon age, working in Death the same as Life,)
You that, sometimes known, oftener unknown, really shape and mould
the New World, adjusting it to Time and Space,
You hidden National Will, lying in your abysms, conceal'd, but ever
alert, 60
You past and present purposes, tenaciously pursued, may-be
unconscious of yourselves,
Unswerv'd by all the passing errors, perturbations of the surface;
You vital, universal, deathless germs, beneath all creeds, arts,
statutes, literatures,
Here build your homes for good--establish here--These areas entire,
Lands of the Western Shore,
We pledge, we dedicate to you.
For man of you--your characteristic Race,
Here may be hardy, sweet, gigantic grow--here tower, proportionate to
Nature,
Here climb the vast, pure spaces, unconfined, uncheck'd by wall or
roof,
Here laugh with storm or sun--here joy--here patiently inure,
Here heed himself, unfold himself (not others' formulas heed)--here
fill his time, 70
To duly fall, to aid, unreck'd at last,
To disappear, to serve.
Thus, on the northern coast,
In the echo of teamsters' calls, and the clinking chains, and the
music of choppers' axes,
The falling trunk and limbs, the crash, the muffled shriek, the
groan,
Such words combined from the Redwood-tree--as of wood-spirits' voices
ecstatic, ancient and rustling,
The century-lasting, unseen dryads, singing, withdrawing,
All their recesses of forests and mountains leaving,
From the Cascade range to the Wasatch--or Idaho far, or Utah,
To the deities of the Modern henceforth yielding, 80
The chorus and indications, the vistas of coming humanity--the
settlements, features all,
In the Mendocino woods I caught.
The flashing and golden pageant of California!
The sudden and gorgeous drama--the sunny and ample lands;
The long and varied stretch from Puget Sound to Colorado south;
Lands bathed in sweeter, rarer, healthier air--valleys and mountain
cliffs;
The fields of Nature long prepared and fallow--the silent, cyclic
chemistry;
The slow and steady ages plodding--the unoccupied surface ripening--
the rich ores forming beneath;
At last the New arriving, assuming, taking possession,
A swarming and busy race settling and organizing every where;
Ships coming in from the whole round world, and going out to the
whole world, 90
To India and China and Australia, and the thousand island paradises
of the Pacific;
Populous cities--the latest inventions--the steamers on the rivers--
the railroads--with many a thrifty farm, with machinery,
And wool, and wheat, and the grape--and diggings of yellow gold.
But more in you than these, Lands of the Western Shore!
(These but the means, the implements, the standing-ground,)
I see in you, certain to come, the promise of thousands of years,
till now deferr'd,
Promis'd, to be fulfill'd, our common kind, the Race.
The New Society at last, proportionate to Nature,
In Man of you, more than your mountain peaks, or stalwart trees
imperial, 100
In Woman more, far more, than all your gold, or vines, or even vital
air.
Fresh come, to a New World indeed, yet long prepared,
I see the Genius of the Modern, child of the Real and Ideal,
Clearing the ground for broad humanity, the true America, heir of the
past so grand,
To build a grander future.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Objectivity
There is a mob in the backyard,
protesting my nightmare.
They wear t-shirts bearing the image,
of the man who wants me dead.
They chant the same 'Down With Jeff! ' slogan
so forcefully I swear it has a shadow.
What have I done to deserve this?
I pick up a sign and move among them,
like a kind of silence murderers return to.
I join the chant against me,
and for the first time I feel a sense of belonging.
poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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As I Walk These Broad, Majestic Days
AS I walk these broad, majestic days of peace,
(For the war, the struggle of blood finish'd, wherein, O terrific
Ideal!
Against vast odds, having gloriously won,
Now thou stridest on--yet perhaps in time toward denser wars,
Perhaps to engage in time in still more dreadful contests, dangers,
Longer campaigns and crises, labors beyond all others;
--As I walk solitary, unattended,
Around me I hear that eclat of the world--politics, produce,
The announcements of recognized things--science,
The approved growth of cities, and the spread of inventions. 10
I see the ships, (they will last a few years,)
The vast factories, with their foremen and workmen,
And here the indorsement of all, and do not object to it.
But I too announce solid things;
Science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing--I watch
them,
Like a grand procession, to music of distant bugles, pouring,
triumphantly moving--and grander heaving in sight;
They stand for realities--all is as it should be.
Then my realities;
What else is so real as mine?
Libertad, and the divine average--Freedom to every slave on the face
of the earth, 20
The rapt promises and luminé of seers--the spiritual world--these
centuries lasting songs,
And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements
of any.
For we support all, fuse all,
After the rest is done and gone, we remain;
There is no final reliance but upon us;
Democracy rests finally upon us (I, my brethren, begin it,)
And our visions sweep through eternity.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Deity Of Deities
DEITY OF DEITIES
VAVROO VAHANA PATRA
Mother Mahamaya Devee Durga
Appears on Earth on Saptamee day Of Autumn
Beauteous is that dawn.
Devotees chant the Mother’s name
delightfully and prostrate at Her feet.
Children play with delight;
Devotees assemble before the altar,
under the Sun God’s cosy light.
The Mother listens to the pleas
of all, and satisfies their desires.
Poets too chant Mother’s name
with devotion and depict her great beauty.
The mother is the Deity of Deities, Supreme.
The Mother’s heart is soft and cosy,
She comes to shower love and affection
on all Devotees seeking her protection.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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A Demagogue
Yawp, yawp, yawp!
Under the moon and sun.
It's aye the rabble,
And I to gabble,
And hey! for the tale that is never done.
'Chant, chant, chant!
To woo the reluctant vote.
I would I were dead
And my say were said
And my song were sung to its ultimate note.
'Stab, stab, stab!
Ah! the weapon between my teeth
I'm sick of the flash of it;
See how the slash of it
Misses the foeman to mangle the sheath!
'Boom, boom, boom!
I'm beating the mammoth drum.
My nethermost tripes
I blow into the pipes
It's oh! for the honors that never come!'
'Twas the dolorous blab
Of a tramping 'scab'
'Twas the eloquent Swift
Of the marvelous gift
The wild, weird, wonderful gift of gab!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Suspense Of The Carver....
trance.
chant.
focus, the white flowers are blooming
on the rolling sides of the hill,
the trees are lush with leaves
the skies as clear as
air, blue clouds hang
and then keep on moving
along the same direction
with the winds
trance,
chant,
focus,
lotus position, the mind as crown
the heart beats
so faintly,
the ants are waiting
the worms are calling
attention
the grass creeps
as the tomb-keeper
carves a name
on a slab
it has the same letter of your
first name..
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cuttin' Heads
Written by John Mellencamp, Carlton Ridenhour and Kyle Jason
Hey Poppi yea ho
Hey Poppi yea ho
Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah
Lay low proud Poppi
Lay low proud Poppi (shout it out)
He's from the deep south (shout it out)
Pass Christian Mississippi
Where the cane breaks are burnin' every night
Lay low proud Poppi (shout it out)
Chant:
Hey o
Hey o
O Poppi
Hey o
Hey o
Hey Poppi
Hey o
Hey o
Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah
Poppi had a wife
And she was black and Poppi was white (shout it out)
Everything was rollin' great (shout it out)
'Til some man called her race a disgrace
Oh no
Chant
Well Poppi went down to the river
To defend the honor of his wife
(somebody's killin' somebody)
Gonna drown the man in the water (shout it out)
And the water was shiny like a new knife
But Poppi stopped at the banks of the Delta
He said this sure ain't worth this man's life
Someday the wind of change
Is gonna blow on through
And put all of these jokers right
C'mon and sing now
Chant
Chuck D Rap:
Papa got a brand new bag
Delta blues got 'em dazed and confused
Came a long way crazy
Seems the abuse
Is racism's baby
It's wild
'Cause I connect the word with pain
Now some smile when they scream the name?
Funny how the times have changed
And the rhymes have changed
But some cat's frame remains the same
Agitating adjective
What gives? die n word die
But I wanna live
Known' all this
Where the word came from
I must be 3 times stupid
And stuck on dumb
If I use it and confuse it
With a term of love
Now popular culture
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Long?
How long, and yet how long,
Our leaders will we hail from over seas,
Master and kings from feudal monarchies,
And mock their ancient song
With echoes weak of foreign melodies?
That distant isle mist-wreathed,
Mantled in unimaginable green,
Too long hath been our mistress and our queen.
Our fathers have bequeathed
Too deep a love for her, our hearts within.
She made the whole world ring
With the brave exploits of her children strong,
And with the matchless music of her song.
Too late, too late we cling
To alien legends, and their strains prolong.
This fresh young world I see,
With heroes, cities, legends of her own;
With a new race of men, and overblown
By winds from sea to sea,
Decked with the majesty of every zone.
I see the glittering tops
Of snow-peaked mounts, the wid'ning vale's expanse,
Large prairies where free herds of horses prance,
Exhaustless wealth of crops,
In vast, magnificent extravagance.
These grand, exuberant plains,
These stately rivers, each with many a mouth,
The exquisite beauty of the soft-aired south,
The boundless seas of grains,
Luxuriant forests' lush and splendid growth.
The distant siren-song
Of the green island in the eastern sea,
Is not the lay for this new chivalry.
It is not free and strong
To chant on prairies 'neath this brilliant sky.
The echo faints and fails;
It suiteth not, upon this western plain,
Out voice or spirit; we should stir again
The wilderness, and make the vales
Resound unto a yet unheard-of strain.
poem by Emma Lazarus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Raise your heart
Raise your heart
Proud as he sheded blood, he raised his heart
Legacy darken from the new generation but he played his part
Black power
Black power
The chant of generations the results of centuries
The Power of the human heart
The Power of compassion
The Power of empathy
Melatonins apart from mirroring gold and silver
Chant his courage; for his land have abandoned true valor
Forget not his image for as children of men, sacrifice builds our hearts.
poem by Bernardo Adantor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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