A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXIV
O fool! O false! I have abandoned Heaven,
And sold my wealth for metal of base kind.
O frail disciple of a fair creed given
For human hope when all the world was blind!
What was my profit? Freedom of the mind,
A little pleasure of the years, some scars
Of lusty youth, and some few thoughts enshrined
In worthier record of my manhood's years.
All else is loss, and unredeemed distress;
The voiceful seasons uninvited come,
And bring their tribute of new flowers, and pass:
Only the reason of the world is dumb;
Nor does God any more by word or sign
Speak to our rebel hearts of things divine.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Related quotes
Capitalism Battles Freedom
when capitalism battles freedom,
you get what we've become...
profit begats slavery,
the many become enslaved.
founded on freedom?
we took this land from
the Native Americans,
took their way of life,
their rights, their dreams...
in the name of God?
of progress?
we brought over the slaves
from the African shores...
to work, to use, to abuse...
we took their lives, their way of life,
their hopes and dreams...
in the name of free enterprise?
of profit?
we treated our women like possessions,
second class citizens at best.
they were expected to be silent,
to obey, to bear our children,
to cook and wash...
they had to fight for years
to get the right to vote...
even longer for equal wages...
in the name of righteous judgement?
of divine directive?
and now, we the poor,
of all colors and creeds,
are corporate owned.
held under the thumb
of the elite, put down
and trampled on...
our way of life taken,
our hopes for the future dashed...
faceless numbers that stink of poverty!
in the name of wealth and power?
in the name of apathetic profit?
profit at all costs!
capitalism... or something else,
fair, equal, with hope and chance
and dreams...
the way of freedom,
when dignity overcomes profit!
when the human being is worth more
than the dollar and the deal!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Open Speech
Good friend of mine, you feel with me—
Your blood grows hot by sympathy
With something that I say or do;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Let not the silence wrap you round
While you are living over-ground.
They say that earthly years are few;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Perhaps I pass you in the street,
And when our eyes a moment meet,
I wonder are you wishing too;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Are you, too, longing for a sign,
Yet fear to stretch a hand for mine?
What other am I writing to?
Then speak—I want a word from you.
Some way our thoughts together run,
Since both lift brow toward the sun
Beneath the self-same vault of blue;
Then speak—I want a word from you.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXVI
I linger on the threshold of my youth.
If you could see me now as then I was,
A fair--faced frightened boy with eyes of truth
Scared at the world yet angry at its laws,
Plotting all plots, a blushing Cataline
Betrayed by his own cheeks, a misanthrope
In love with all things human and divine,
The very fool of fortune and high hope,
You would deny you knew me. Oh, the days
Of our absurd first manhood, rich in force,
Rich in desire of happiness and praise
Yet impotent in its heroic course,
And all for lack of that one worthless thing,
Knowledge of life and love and suffering!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Myriad Thoughts
I sit here in myriad thoughts
dancing around my head
too fed up to put them to bed.
Thoughts of the past,
thoughts of the future too,
thoughts of things this and that
and thoughts of what to do.
Memories invade at times
of pastures long gone by
as the myriad thoughts
fill my mind with anger and with love
and times; I wish I could have lingered with
when my years were young.
Things pass in phases,
hearts entwine then fall apart,
seasons readily appear,
stay awhile and then depart.
Here I sit in a lonely waste
thinking thoughts of what might have been
if the crystal ball I look into had only seen.
Now the myriad thoughts appear
to haunt me in quiet times
and carry me to distant places
the world has left behind.
Those little specks of moments
that still linger from the past
that lay waiting to capture me
before the quiet time has passed.
28 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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He Is Abandoned By The World
HE IS ABANDONED BY THE WORLD
He is abandoned by the world
Faces in the street pass by without speaking to him
The trees and the sky do not nod hello
He is cold and the wind does not care for him.
He is abandoned by the world
And all he has done
And all he has made
Mean nothing.
He is abandoned by the world.
And so he knows:
Every human being
who lives on this earth
will die
and not come back again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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To A Youthful Friend
Few years have pass'd since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name,
And childhood's gay sincerity
Preserved our feelings long the same.
But now, like me, too well thou know'st
What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they loved at all.
And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign,
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine
Which made thee fickle as thou art.
As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow?
It boots not that, together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth,
Slaves to the specious world's control,
We sigh a long farewell to truth;
That world corrupts the noblest soul.
Ah, joyous season! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined,
And sparkles in the placid eye.
Not so in Man's maturer years,
When Man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears,
And all must love and hate by rule.
With fools in kindred vice the same,
We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.
Such is the common lot of man:
Can we then 'scape from folly free?
Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be?
No; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been;
Man and the world so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.
But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.
Alas! whenever folly calls
Where parasites and princes meet
(For cherish'd first in royal halls,
The welcome vices kindly greet),
Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad
To join the vain and court the proud.
There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre
That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.
But say, what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours move,
To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis‑fatuus gleam of love?
What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share?
In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be seen;
No more so idly pass along;
Be something, anything, but--mean.
The Things We Dare Not Tell
The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there,
But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;
Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well,
But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.
There's the old love wronged ere the new was won, there's the light of long ago;
There's the cruel lie that we suffer for, and the public must not know.
So we go through life with a ghastly mask, and we're doing fairly well,
While they break our hearts, oh, they kill our hearts! do the things we must not tell.
We see but pride in a selfish breast, while a heart is breaking there;
Oh, the world would be such a kindly world if all men's hearts lay bare!
We live and share the living lie, we are doing very well,
While they eat our hearts as the years go by, do the things we dare not tell.
We bow us down to a dusty shrine, or a temple in the East,
Or we stand and drink to the world-old creed, with the coffins at the feast;
We fight it down, and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well,
But the best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XVIII
Therefore do thou at least arise and warn,
Not folded in thy mantle, a blind seer,
But naked in thy anger, and new--born,
As in the hour when thy voice sounded clear
To the world's slaves, and tyrants quaked for fear.
Thou hadst a message then, a word of scorn,
First for thyself, thy own crimes' challenger,
And next for those who withered in thy dawn.
An hundred years have passed since that fair day,
And still the world cries loud, in its desire,
That right is wronged, and force alone has sway.
What profit are they, thy guns' tongues of fire?
Nay, leave to England her sad creed of gold;
Plead thou Man's rights, clean--handed as of old.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Hearts On Fire
We saw the writings on the wall
When heathens ruled above us all
Tormented, we still heard the call
You come to bring us down
Wield the scepter, steal the crown
Time on the throne is running out
Cause seasons change but we are still the same
Event though the cold winds blow were burning like a flame
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Burning for the steel
Hearts On Fire
For years shunned by society
Outcasts, condemned for our beliefs
Our legions grew in secrecy
And now, the time is here
I see the Templars everywhere
The Freedom Call is drawing near
We hold our rebel banners up with pride
The colours crimson and the Hammer is the sign
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Burning for the steel
Solo: Stefan
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sign On The Wall
There's a sign on the wall and I wonder what could it mean?
there's much in the world that people do without explaining.
Is it a symbol of hope and joy just another person's dream?
a message of love and peace or someone's silent scream?
Is it a sign of the times that the whole world now is facing?
a mark of gloom and despair perhaps well worth noticing?
There's a sign on the wall that has just appeared lately
something never before seen and yet which seems stately.
Is it some kind of warning by an unknown human hand?
a script or note for all concerned to see throughout the land?
Or is it an omen of great significance heralding the times that are coming?
a signal of change conveying special tidings of what we'll be all undergoing?
There's a sign on the wall which has suddenly appeared everywhere
a work of an unseen hand that's showing as black and white on there.
Is it a piece of art perhaps being of some extra-terrestrial origin,
a souvenir left behind reminding us all that they're genuine?
Or is it just one more puzzle to figure out baffling to the mind?
another addition to those mysteries of the ages that beset mankind.
There's a sign on the wall that's evident for anyone to see
an image of some sort representing for many a secret key.
Is it a shape or token conceived in one's transcendent mind,
a depiction in form of our ultimate freedom - a blissful kind?
Or is it then a divine inscription which means but only one word,
that which was in the beginning and now also again can be heard?
.AUM.
poem by George Krokos
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Beautiful, Fair and Kind
For all the world would say to me
She is beautiful, she is fair and she is kind
I reply to the world in no uncertain tone
That all of that is true I shall not deny
But alas her heart it is not mine
So what value I place upon such beauty
Cannot be accounted or held at ransom
For it is a passing thought in fact
It may well become forgotten
Or misused for whatever effect I desire
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
So the tired old saying goes
Do the blind only look upon me
What eyes see no beauty in my soul
Or is my lack of wealth my mental acclaim
A poor madman’s mind the reason
I remain without another’s heart
Still the world presents to me and says
She is beautiful, she is fair and she is kind
I acknowledge and agree whole hearted
But alas she is not ready for my mind
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Universal Freedom Is......
Freedom from hunger and freedom from pain
freedom from loss and so freedom from gain.
Freedom to give and freedom to share
freedom from want and that of despair.
Freedom to think and freedom to know
freedom to achieve and freedom to grow.
Freedom from bondage and freedom of liberation
freedom from ignorance and any unknown situation.
Freedom to come and freedom to leave
freedom to stay and freedom to conceive.
Freedom from struggle and freedom of ease
freedom to enjoy and the capacity to please.
Freedom from failure and freedom of success
freedom from denial and freedom of access.
Freedom from illusion and freedom of reality
freedom to become what we are in actuality.
Freedom to live and freedom to die
freedom to laugh and freedom to cry.
Freedom to speak and freedom to listen
freedom to act based on a wise decision.
Freedom from hate and freedom of love
freedom of below and freedom of above.
Freedom of the past and freedom of the present
freedom of the future and what it can represent.
Freedom from war and freedom of peace
freedom to begin and freedom to cease.
Freedom from sickness and freedom of health
freedom from poverty and mishandled wealth.
Freedom from wrong and freedom being right
freedom of the day and freedom of the night.
Freedom to choose and freedom to reject
freedom to imagine what there is to expect.
Freedom from lust and freedom from greed
freedom from anger and freedom from breed.
Freedom from jealousy and freedom from pride
freedom from within and freedom from outside.
Freedom of always not having anything to hide.
Freedom from space and also freedom from time
freedom from attachment and freedom from crime
Freedom to work and freedom to play
freedom to believe and freedom to pray.
Freedom to experience a rebirth someday.
Freedom from the body and freedom from the mind
freedom from the ego and freedom from being blind.
Freedom of transcendence being of the spiritual kind.
Universal freedom is eternal and infinite bliss
we should all therefore be able to realise this.
poem by George Krokos
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When You Thought Of Me
From the cradle of england
To a foreign exchange
Thorough the clamour of long years away
I never lost sight of
The reason that I left you:
To return to you one day
From the bleak and familiar
To the tropical strange
Through the glamour of empires abroad
I never abandoned
The hope of reclaiming
My legitimate reward
When you thought of me
If you had the time
You never would have known
The mountains Id climb
I wont be without again, woman
You wont drive me out again, woman
And as you come to learn
All that *Ive done was for you
Youll see what obsession can do
Woman
So the unschooled outcast
The irascible youth
Has become all the things you desired
I took all they offered
And learned their deceptions
All relentlessly acquired
And the eyes of the traveller
See an obvious truth
Youve become all the things youve denied
And the loss of ambition
Was colouring your reason
As the pleasure in you died
When you thought of me
Had me on your mind
You never would have dreamed
Of the riches Id find
I wont be without again, woman
You wont drive me out again, woman
And as you come to learn
All that Ive done was for you
Youll see what obsession can do
Woman
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice of the Voiceless
I am the Voice of the Voiceless
Through me the dumb shall speak
Till the world's deaf ear be made to hear
The wrongs of the wordless weak.
Oh shame on the mothers of mortals
Who do not stoop to teach
The sorrow that lies in dear dumb eyes
The sorrow that has no speech.
From street, from cage, from kennel
From stable and from zoo
The wall of my tortured kin proclaims the sin
Of the mighty against the frail.
But I am my brother's keeper
And I shall fight their fight
And speak the word for beast and bird
Till the world shall set things right.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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DUMB PEOPLE...by talile ali
DID JU KNOW
AMERICAS FULL OF DUMB PEOPLE
DID JU KNOW
AMERICA GETS IT ALL WRONG ALL THE TIME
DID JU KNOW
AMERICANS CAN BE SUCH DUMB PEOPLE
THAT IS WHY
I'M SITTIN AND SINGIN THIS SONG
HAVIN SLAVES FOR PROFIT
LIKE HAVIN SIN FOR LIFE
SAYING THAT ONE RACE IS BETTER THAN ANOTHER
CAUSING SO MUCH STRIFE
GREED AND FEAR CAN WARP THE HEARTS DESIRE
MAKE ONE FEEL SO LOST AND SO WITHDRAWN
DID JU KNOW
THE WORLDS FULL OF DUMB PEOPLE
DID JU KNOW
THE WORLDS GOT IT ALL WRONG
HOW'D THE HELL
EVERY BODY GET SO MIXED UP
HOW'D THE HELL
EVERYBODY DO IT SO LONG
THE WORLD IS FULL OF DUMB PEOPLE
THE WORLD IS FULL OF DUMB PEOPLE
IT REALLY IS THE ONLY REASON WE COULD ALLOW THIS SO LONG
THE WORLD IS FULL OF DUMB PEOPLE
THE WORLD IS FULL OF DUMB PEOPLE
WHEN WILL WE STOP GETTING IT ALL WRONG
poem by Talile Ali
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The Man Who Took On Big Brother
The man who stand for human rights, freedom and justice
Is now in jail perhaps for a long stay
The authorities say he an an agitator
The only reason he is locked away.
He was a brave man to take on big brother
For those who take on big brother are few
And though he may spend many years behind bars
To a higher human principle he is true.
He could have kept his mouth shut like me and others
For human rights is not a popular thing
Instead he spoke his mind and got in trouble
And the wrath of big brother upon himself did bring.
He is that man who dared to take on big brother
But for his brave stand he is in jail today
And for speaking out for human rights and justice
His loss of freedom is the price he pay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Story To Be Told
today`s tomorrow won`t be yesterday
something in my heart won`t let it be that way
when the candle burns to the bottom of the glass
the end of something becomes the start of nothing
the road to somewhere leads to nowhere
there`s a story that cannot be told
in a life that remains so cold
for a word has been spoken yet the chapter is on hold
in a story yet to be sold
i cry yet the tears are dry
so i hide and try to get by
i hear you yet i am deaf
wondering if i have anything left
i see you yet i am blind
i just sit and wait for a sign
i feel for you yet i am numb
in my mind i feel really dumb
so a word is spoken yet i do not speak
as i climb this emotional peak
i think of you yet do not seek
like a dam with a great big leak
i just try to be kind
as i stand in life`s long line
poem by Joseph Whelan
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A Single Tribute
And there is just
A single floral tribute
On that lamppost now
On this, the latest
Anniversary of loss,
Where there were many
Those few years ago
When kith and kin
And sundry strangers
Felt unbounded cost
As life’s young dream
Was roughly wrenched
Out from their grasp
When cruel knife
Performed its task.
Now, there is only one
Memorial to your life
From whom, I do not know.
Is it a sister, lover, wife
Or grieving mother
Missing her lost son?
And though for others
Time’s healing work has done
Its level best,
One still is left
To bring you flowers;
One still remains
In whose torn heart
You still shall live
So she can share your pain.
And, though the years go past
And struggling memory fades,
Your face will smile within
Until she lays,
As you do, in her grave.
A single tribute
On the lamppost, still
Is needed just to give
The world the indication
You existed
And you lived.
poem by C. Richard Miles
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As Years Go By
Tell me how the years go by
Its been a long long time
Tell me how your plans fell through
And how you changed your mind
Tell me bout the hearts you broke
How many have you known
Tell me how the years went by
And left you all alone
Tell me dear
I want to hear
bout the lost and wasted years
Tell me when now tell me why
Tell me how the years go by
Tell me how the years go by
Like borrowed dancing shoes
That gather dust beneath your ned
Mislaid and seldom used
Like a heart that haunts a phone booth
On a corner far from home
Tell me how the years went by and left you
All alone
Close your eyes
Tell me what do you see
Its an imperfect world
Still we dream perfect dreams
Its no big surprise when were down on our knees
Truth isnt always what we will believe.
Tell me how the years go by
In seasons at your door
And how the things you left me for
Dont matter anymore
Tell me how the more we learn
The more we leave unknown
Tell me how the years went by and left you
All alone
Alone
Close your eyes (x3)
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Many Years Into Yesterday
On the banks of the Mississippi,
we fished for catfish
with a bent pin on a string.
We sat in ragged trousers
patched and tied at the waist with string.
We watched the paddle steamers gorged with passengers
waving as they passed our way.
In those summer days of our childhood
many years into yesterday.
With innocent eyes,
we watched the world turn.
Saw the sadness in our daddy’s eyes,
watched the sweat run over his ebony muscles,
and heard him cry in our mammy’s arms
when a day’s work was done.
We saw the boss man whip him
under a blazing sun.
Saw the scars on indignation across his back
and heard the mournful songs they sang
at the closing of the day
in the summer of our childhood
many years into yesterday.
Then the world turned harsh and bitter.
At sixteen, they stole your virginity
and they also stole my soul.
Worked us like cattle
from sunrise until sundown.
Tried to break our spirit
and drive us deep into the ground.
The paddle steamers still chugged
through the muddy waters
as they did in those summer days of our childhood
many years into yesterday.
With manhood and womanhood reached,
we were sold on cattle market day.
New masters were found
and we were used as breeding stock
as our daddy and mammy were
in those summer days of our childhood
many years into yesterday.
My scars of indignation
are burnt deep within my soul
that they made a rebel out of me.
In silence, you will mourn your brother
now hanging from a tree,
and always remember our times together
in those summer days of our childhood
many years into yesterday.
13-14 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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