Souvenirs Of Democracy
THE business man, the acquirer vast,
After assiduous years, surveying results, preparing for departure,
Devises houses and lands to his children--bequeaths stocks, goods--
funds for a school or hospital,
Leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens, souvenirs of gems
and gold;
Parceling out with care--And then, to prevent all cavil,
His name to his testament formally signs.
But I, my life surveying,
With nothing to show, to devise, from its idle years,
Nor houses, nor lands--nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends,
Only these Souvenirs of Democracy--In them--in all my songs--behind
me leaving, 10
To You, who ever you are, (bathing, leavening this leaf especially
with my breath--pressing on it a moment with my own hands;
--Here! feel how the pulse beats in my wrists!--how my heart's-blood
is swelling, contracting!)
I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you,
To which I sign my name.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Related quotes
My parents are wrong
They bought lands
Built houses
Expanded their territories
Saved money
Sent all of us to school
They sacrificed a lot
Lived miserable lives
Lived as misers
For our future
Look at us now
We sell these lands
We sell these houses
We squander money
We were never educated
We give away these vast fields
We do not care
And worst we are ungrateful
We think ill of them
We think they were greedy
We think they were land grabbers
We do not want to wear their family names
We do not want to be like them
We are us, the next generation of their consciences
Lazarus is heard speaking in tongues.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet On Receiving A Gift
Look how the golden ocean shines above
Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth;
So does the bright and blessed light of Love
Its own things glorify, and raise their worth.
As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine,
And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed,
Ev'n so our tokens shine; nay, they outshine
Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed;
For where be ocean waves but half so clear,
So calmly constant, and so kindly warm,
As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere,
That hath no dregs to be upturn'd by storm?
Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price,
And more than gold to doting Avarice.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Among Our Souvenirs
Wherever we go,
we normally pick up
a souvenir of our visit,
a keepsake to remind us
of the good times we had.
As the years progress
our souvenirs grow
and as we look at them,
we remember
with a sparkle in our eyes.
We remember the sunny days
and even the rainy ones too.
We remember the smiling ones
and the sad ones too
on our leaving days.
Tucked among our souvenirs
is always a special one of love
of a time when romance
filled our every breath of air
in a land so far away.
poem by David Harris
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Hidden Gems
Whenever we have, a sort out
we can almost guarantee we will find
hidden gems that have been forgotten
over the passing years.
Discovering these little gems
sends us back to our memory store
as we search to remind ourselves
of the time we got them many years ago.
These little gems found
bring a smile to us once more
as they did to us
all those years before.
1 October 2011
poem by David Harris
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Souveniers
All the snow has turned to water,
Christmas days have come and gone.
Broken toys and faded colours are all that's left to linger on.
I hate graveyards and old oawn shops,
For they always bring me tears.
I can't forgive the way they robbed me of my childhood souvenirs.
Memories, they can't be boughten.
They can't be won at carnivals for free.
Well it took me years to get those souvenirs,
And i don't know how they slipped away from me.
Broken hearts and dirty windows
Make life difficult to see.
That's why last night and this morning
Always look the same to me.
And I hate reading old love letters
For they always bring me tears.
I can't forget the way they robbed me,
Of my sweetheart's souvenirs.
Memories they can't be boughten,
They can't be won at carnivals for free.
Well it took me years to get those souvenirs
And i don't know how they slipped away from me.
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Souvenirs
Souvenirs
By: vince melamed, danny okeefe
1993
Someone wants a piece of you
Never let em pay
What you do not give them
Time takes anyway
Had I known what love is worth
I could have saved the tears
Might have come in handy
Like souvenirs
I didnt see her comin
til my head turned in surprise
Thinking I must know her
But it was her thin disguise
She padded up her innocence
And tightly cinched her fears
But she saved a little room
For souvenirs
I still go to pieces
But I dont go as often
Placeless times in space
Where all the edges soften
She took me away
Where I couldnt send her
I knew that she would leave me
Something to remember
I wanted more than one
Until I found the one I wanted
Her memories are ghosts now
Though Im still pretty haunted
What we gave each other
Aint exactly clear
Probably comes under the heading
Of souvenirs
Pieces, bits, and pieces
Add up through the years
Ive collected a small fortune
In souvenirs
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Vault
Searching for the dream.
Manifestation of mind.
Ideal of destination.
It lay deep within the heart.
Within the soul.
In the vault lies a chest.
Inside the chest is the treasure.
Many priceless gems.
Most tarnished, just needing some polishing.
The treasure lay dormant for many years.
She receives the key.
The vault master believes she will help the gems to shine.
But instead she steals them.
Entering the vault at her own discretion.
Taking only the shiniest.
Leaving the tarnished to shine themselves.
The lock has now been changed.
He will now polish the gems himself.
The most valuable gems were the ones that remained tarnished in the vault.
They were of no value to her.
They did not shine.
But once they were polished,
It became known,
That they were the most valuable gems of them all.
For love is patient.
Lust takes what looks good to the eye.
Love will wait for the gems to shine.
To share the riches for a lifetime.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Empty Old Houses
Empty Old Houses
Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them
Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it
Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it
Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
To share them
Empty old houses contain people’s lives
But one must believe…that they do…
To share them
Empty old houses can seem dead and deserted
But one must know that they’re not..
To know them
Empty old houses can teem with life’s pleasures
But one must walk through
to sense the aura of life
Empty old houses abound in life’s treasures
But one cannot help but…
To admire them
poem by David Whalen
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Souvenirs
All the snow has turned to water
Christmas days have come and gone
Broken toys and faded colors
Are all thats left to linger on
I hate graveyards and old pawn shops
For they always bring me tears
I cant forgive the way they rob me
Of my childhood souvenirs
Chorus:
Memories they cant be boughten
They cant be won at carnivals for free
Well it took me years
To get those souvenirs
And I dont know how they slipped away from me
Broken hearts and dirty windows
Make life difficult to see
Thats why last night and this mornin
Always look the same to me
I hate reading old love letters
For they always bring me tears
I cant forgive the way they rob me
Of my sweethearts souvenirs
(repeat chorus)
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Noblesse Oblige
I hold it the duty of one who is gifted
And specially dowered I all men’s sight,
To know no rest till his life is lifted
Fully up to his great gifts’ height.
He must mould the man into rare completeness,
For gems are only in gold refined.
He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness,
And cast out folly and pride from his mind.
For he who drinks from a god’s gold fountain
Of art of music or rhythmic song
Must sift from his soul the chaff of malice,
And weed from his heart the roots of wrong.
Great gifts should be worn, like a crown befitting,
And not like gems in a beggar’s hands!
And the toil must be constant and unremitting
Which lifts up the king to the crown’s demands.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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White Houses
Crashed on the floor when i moved in
This little bungalow with some strange new friends
Stayed up too late, and I'm too thin
We promise each other it's till the end
Now we're spinning empty bottles, it's the fives of us
With pretty-eyed boys girls die to trust
I can't resist the day oh no i can't resist the day
And Jenny screams out and it's no pose
'Cause when she dances she goes and goes
Beer through the nose on an inside joke
And I'm so excited I haven't spoken
And she's so pretty and she's so sure
Maybe I'm more clever than a girl like her
The summer's all in bloom
The summer's ending soon
It's all right
And it's nice not to be so alone
But I hold on to secrets in white houses
Maybe I'm a little bit over my head
I come undone at the things he said
He's so funny in his bright red shirt
we were all in love and we all got hurt
I sneak into his car's cracked leather seat
The smell of gasoline in the summer heat
Boy we're going way too fast
It's all too sweet to last...
It's alright and i put myself in his hands
but i hold on to secrets in White Houses
Love or something ignites in my veins
and i pray it never fades in white houses
My first time
Hard to explain
Rush of blood, oh
And a little bit of pain
On a cloudy day
It's more common than you think
He's my first mistake
Maybe you were all faster than me
We gave each other up so easily
These silly little wounds will never mend
I feel so far from where I've been
So I go and I will not be back here again
I'm gone as the day is fading on white houses
I lie, put my injuries all in the dust
In my heart is the 5 of us in white houses
And you, maybe you'll remember me
What I gave is yours to keep
In white houses
In white houses
In white houses.
song performed by by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Sonnet Is Meant To Die
In hand clocked desert sands
Grain spread across the lands
Sky dived still reaching high
The sonnet meant to be mute
No word was it meant to say
All it wanted was to sway
A second longer than a lute
The sonnet meant to rise
Beyond a dark worn mask
Facing a bitterness dusk
Hiding in lights disguise
It never meant to heart
Though choked in the first breath
It never meant to flirt
Flirt with tokens of its own death
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The king's consort
I
Love, was it yesternoon, or years agone,
You took in yours my hands,
And placed me close beside you on the throne
Of Oriental lands?
The truant hour came back at dawn to-day,
Across the hemispheres,
And bade my sleeping soul retrace its way
These many hundred years.
And all my wild young life returned, and ceased
The years that lie between,
When you were King of Egypt, and The East,
And I was Egypt's queen.
II
I feel again the lengths of silken gossamer enfold
My body and my limbs in robes of emerald and gold.
I feel the heavy sunshine, and the weight of languid heat
That crowned the day you laid the royal jewels at my feet.
You wound my throat with jacinths, green and glist'ning serpent-wise,
My hot, dark throat that pulsed beneath the ardour of your eyes;
And centuries have failed to cool the memory of your hands
That bound about my arms those massive, pliant golden bands.
You wreathed around my wrists long ropes of coral and of jade,
And beaten gold that clung like coils of kisses love-inlaid;
About my naked ankles tawny topaz chains you wound,
With clasps of carven onyx, ruby-rimmed and golden bound.
But not for me the Royal Pearls to bind about my hair,
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Neither can men, by the same principles, be considered as lands, goods, or houses, among possessions. It is necessary that all property should be inferiour to its possessor. But how does the slave differ from his master, but by chance?
quote by Thomas Clarkson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gold at the Rainbow’s End
Everyone wants to find
the gold at the rainbow’s end,
but most of us have already found it,
and just don’t realise the fact.
We have a lot of good friends,
and a love that soars us into the heavens.
That is what the pot of gold is all about.
These are worth more than
the gems that sparkle in your hand.
They make your life sparkle
with the happiness they bring to you.
poem by David Harris
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On A Painting By Patient B Of The Independence State Hospital For The Insane
1
These seven houses have learned to face one another,
But not at the expected angles. Those silly brown lumps,
That are probably meant for hills and not other houses,
After ages of being themselves, though naturally slow,
Are learning to be exclusive without offending.
The arches and entrances (down to the right out of sight)
Have mastered the lesson of remaining closed.
And even the skies keep a certain understandable distance,
For these are the houses of the very rich.
2
One sees their children playing with leopards, tamed
At great cost, or perhaps it is only other children,
For none of these objects is anything more than a spot,
And perhaps there are not any children but only leopards
Playing with leopards, and perhaps there are only the spots.
And the little maids that hang from the windows like tongues,
Calling the children in, admiring the leopards,
Are the dashes a child might represent motion by means of,
Or dazzlement possibly, the brilliance of solid-gold houses.
3
The clouds resemble those empty balloons in cartoons
Which approximate silence. These clouds, if clouds they are
(And not the smoke from the seven aspiring chimneys),
The more one studies them the more it appears
They too have expressions. One might almost say
They have their habits, their wrong opinions, that their
Impassivity masks an essentially lovable foolishness,
And they will be given names by those who live under them
Not public like mountains’ but private like companions’.
poem by Donald Justice
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Children Need A Helping Hand
(featuring various artists)
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Children are so innocent
Make this world a wonderland
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children have a heart of gold
Sometimes they feel alone and sold
They need someone to be around
Reach out
A helping hand
So many children dont know what to do
cause no ones there to guide em through
Were living in a world so cold
Dont make them sad and sold
They need a helping hand
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promised land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Day by day
Children are so innocent
Show them the way
Make this world a wonderland
Join us and stay
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children, need a helping hand
We are all called to change
Into a world of hope
Without war, without pain
Children do have fantasies
The thoughts of far away and free
Dreamin of a wonderland
They live
In a childrens world
We could live in perfect harmony
Wonderland could be reality
Without war and without pain
And no one dies in vain
Thats the promised land
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Day by day
Children are so innocent
Show them the way
Make this world a wonderland
Join us and stay
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children wanna find their own way
Gettin stronger day by day
Children have a heart and soul
Dont let them live without a goal
Children, make the world go round
Dont destroy what they have found
Set an example be consequent
Be confident with a helping hand
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Children are so innocent
Make this world a wonderland
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
song performed by by Backstreet Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The most valuable things in life are not measured in monetary terms. The really important things are not houses and lands, stocks and bonds, automobiles and real state, but friendships, trust, confidence, empathy, mercy, love and faith.
quote by Bertrand Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lightnin Hopkins
When I lay myself to sleep pray that I dont go too deep
Lightnin won lightnin won
Because its cold down gold down there, crow!
Flat lands low lands on the track
Shows the water pan the track
Lightnin won lightnin won
Close up hands to silhouette, crow!
Lightnin won, lightnin won
Hound bark on the track
Hound crow hold onto your hat
Lightnin won lightnin won
Low lands timberlands bad lands bird lands
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foreign Lands
You may roam the wide seas over, follow, meet, and cross the sun,
Sail as far as ships can sail, and travel far as trains can run;
You may ride and tramp wherever range or plain or sea expands,
But the crowd has been before you, and you’ll not find ‘Foreign Lands;’
For the Early Days are over,
And no more the white-winged rover
Sinks the gale-worn coast of England bound for bays in Foreign Lands.
Foreign Lands are in the distance dim and dreamlike, faint and far,
Long ago, and over yonder, where our boyhood fancies are,
For the land is by the railway cramped as though with iron bands,
And the steamship and the cable did away with Foreign Lands.
Ah! the days of blue and gold!
When the news was six months old—
But the news was worth the telling in the days of Foreign Lands.
Here we slave the dull years hopeless for the sake of Wool and Wheat
Here the homes of ugly Commerce—niggard farm and haggard street;
Yet our mothers and our fathers won the life the heart demands—
Less than fifty years gone over, we were born in Foreign Lands.
When the gipsies stole the children still, in village tale and song,
And the world was wide to travel, and the roving spirit strong;
When they dreamed of South Sea Islands, summer seas and coral strands—
Then the bravest hearts of England sailed away to Foreign Lands,
‘Fitting foreign’—flood and field—
Half the world and orders sealed—
And the first and best of Europe went to fight in Foreign Lands.
Canvas towers on the ocean—homeward bound and outward bound—
Glint of topsails over islands—splash of anchors in the sound;
Then they landed in the forests, took their strong lives in their hands,
And they fought and toiled and conquered—making homes in Foreign Lands,
Through the cold and through the drought—
Further on and further out—
Winning half the world for England in the wilds of Foreign Lands.
Love and pride of life inspired them when the simple village hearts
Followed Master Will and Harry—gone abroad to ‘furrin parts’
By our townships and our cities, and across the desert sands
Are the graves of those who fought and died for us in Foreign Lands—
Gave their young lives for our sake
(Was it all a grand mistake?)
Sons of Master Will and Harry born abroad in Foreign Lands!
Ah, my girl, our lives are narrow, and in sordid days like these,
I can hate the things that banished ‘Foreign Lands across the seas,’
But with all the world before us, God above us—hearts and hands,
I can sail the seas in fancy far away to Foreign Lands.
poem by Henry Lawson
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