Dilemma of Wit
She says modernity goes
Literature is a collage earthen
New names brought to the village
Hundred years in amnesia
Goodies invent genres
Red peppers the Portuguese brought
British sign posts elongated
A girl was once hired by the company
To rob the miners of their money
Who were caving the longest tunnel in Asia
Vulgarity is the name other of wit
Humor of the sycophant
Freedom of expression espoused well
How we learn languages afar
Islamabad
24/3/2010
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Brought Down
I was seldom sober in nineteen hundred and fifthy-four
Hey baby, maybe cause my baby had a baby by me
And I was still drinking dry gin
While you cried no, no more
And you were lyin and a-cryin,
And your tears fell dying on the floor
And Im brought down,
And I dont think I can get up again
Brought down,
My heart is hurt again
You were the fine lady in the early mornings
That always painted her toes
And lookin towards the east
Youd say hello to the early dawn before they rose
And you were the love lady
That always hung up her finely pressed clothes
And sayin so long to the western sundown,
You taught me how it grows
And Im brought down,
And I dont think I can get up again
Brought down,
And you just hurt my heart again
Brought down
Brought down
Im brought down
Brought down
Brought down
Brought down
Down
Im brought down,
And I dont think I can get up again
Im brought down,
Im hurt, its bad
[brought down]
God, its a shame theres no more dr. strangely strange {dss=1960/70s band}
[brought down]
And Im brou.....[brought down]......ught down
[brought down]
And there must be more to life than this
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brought Down
I was seldom sober in nineteen hundred and fifthy-four
Hey baby, maybe cause my baby had a baby by me
And I was still drinking dry gin
While you cried no, no more
And you were lyin and a-cryin,
And your tears fell dying on the floor
And Im brought down,
And I dont think I can get up again
Brought down,
My heart is hurt again
You were the fine lady in the early mornings
That always painted her toes
And lookin towards the east
Youd say hello to the early dawn before they rose
And you were the love lady
That always hung up her finely pressed clothes
And sayin so long to the western sundown,
You taught me how it grows
And Im brought down,
And I dont think I can get up again
Brought down,
And you just hurt my heart again
Brought down
Brought down
Im brought down
Brought down
Brought down
Brought down
Down
Im brought down,
And I dont think I can get up again
Im brought down,
Im hurt, its bad
[brought down]
God, its a shame theres no more dr. strangely strange {dss=1960/70s band}
[brought down]
And Im brou.....[brought down]......ught down
[brought down]
And there must be more to life than this
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver Series 1 Positive Energy
The goddess of white silver
On long slabs of stones
Reflection of light
From the river
Richness of green and grey
With earthen sensuality
1/2/2010
Islamabad
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Discourses IV ‘The Dream Couplet’
Written in gold
I forgot the one
The other said
“Crime is the expression
Of the wishes of many”
Islamabad
18/2/2010
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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And I was asked if I would come and help with the recovery of this great British company, Cable and Wireless, and I'm delighted to become part of the new and very talented management that have been brought in to that company as well.
quote by Lord Robertson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Possessed
Possessed with the idea of love
Romance and ritual hard to discern
Faith is belief in the unseen
Seen is all held mirror to inner eye
Sky above and earth below
No love is pure than the destiny
Not one love but many
Like bee to each flower
Freedom from gallows is naught
Freedom of mind is freedom sweet
All the four freedoms are freedoms more
Freedom to think and imagine too
Freedom of all is freedom of self
23/1/2010
Islamabad
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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My Grandfather's Tears!
Stomack groans; my heart moans;
on the road, this mind roams.
What can I achieve in this life?
Eyes of my granddad dropp tears of sorrow
worrying for his ill-fated history;
expecting money from this boy jobless
to regain all his mortgaged estates.
I didn’t reclaim all his lands from a
money lender wild and heartless fickle fiend.
Failure in business sailed him to Lanka
and from there to work in Malaysia.
Brought his wealth to his native village
soon to be a landlord esteemed.
What he earned off, lost to the lender,
What he inherited, remained for his five sons.
People called me a Gandhian’s grandson
For he took part in freedom struggles.
Laying link roads to our village
Pawned his lands and bade bye to his soul.
The wealth he brought home gave him status
but his sons were useless and thoughtless.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
An Ode To A Saint Of Peace
An Ode to a Saint of Non-Violence – Mahatma Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
He came from a non-descript Indian place
A village which would not have a place
In Her Majesty’s palace’ grace
What could this man for India raise?
When the Indian nation reeled
Under a foreign yoke
This frail man with iron will
Preached a master stroke
He visualized violence was no funnel
To get to the end of the tunnel
That the spring of freedom would gurgle
For the Indian freedom struggle
It is not arms and blood
Or revenge, violence or death
That will get India freedom
From the British kingdom
They can take away our right
They can make their sticks bite
They can take us to gaol
But they cannot take away our soul!
Protests with no violence
Will shake their conscience
It is the only way
For the British to loose its sway
Despite British scorn
And ire of critics
He made every Indian “re-born”
And friends of skeptics
Respect for all and love for mankind
He preached & practiced
He made every Indian aware
And the British beware
When the British enacted suppressive laws
This soul bonded us with his non-violent straw
His simplicity and truthfulness held all in awe
He gave us belief, pride and strength not to thaw
In 1930 Gandhi gave a key freedom call
Civil disobedience was the mantra for all
Salt Tax was the symbol of oppression
That every Indian was to defy and make it fall
Men & women all were one
With Gandhi, they feared none
When Gandhi gave his peaceful protest call
They all rallied behind it like a wall
In Gandhi’s belief the nation rallied
Made the British rulers harried
The struggle for the British to leave continued
The voice of India was not to be subdued
The Salt law was broken
It was a challenge in token
The average Indian now believed
That the British could be shaken
The British police rained bullets and blows
Gandhi remained defiant with his followers in tow
Line replaced line as protestors were brought down
Under the bullets and blows of the Crown
A trickle became a torrent
The British blows served no deterrent
Pan India the rallies and crowds swelled
The peaceful voice of freedom could not be quelled
British goods were boycotted
In public rallies, they were burnt
Swadeshi! Swadeshi! rent the air
While the British sirens blared
Civil dis-obedience and satyagraha – grounded
The British were perplexed and confounded
The entire nation rallied to his non-violent call
The world took notice of it all
Came World War II
The Allies were stretched
While the war was won
British revenue coffers were wrecked
The Indian “Golden Hen”
Became a revenue drain
While Gandhi did not give in
His non-violent freedom refrain
Quit India! Quit India!
Unrelenting was Gandhi’s call
While the clamor gathered
The British “will” shattered
The Britsh knew not - how to handle it all
A frail looking man, had challenged them all
Years of supremacy of the British domain
Had cracked up under this non-violent virus strain.
The British empire gave in
To Gandhi’s non-violence spin
India was to become free
Without any violence or fee.
It is to this frail looking man
That the world gives credit
The strong belief in non-violence
He continues to inspire without any edit
To Indian, he is Bapu – The Father of the Nation
To the world he is an apostle of non-violence
And while the world looks on in silence
On still continuing theatres of violence
I pray that conflicting parties learn
No peace comes from the power of the gun
In how Bapu got us freedom – they should learn
Violence - they should shun
poem by Arvind Chandak
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Love Has Brought Me Around
Dont come to me with your sorrows anymore
I dont need to know
How bad youre feeling today
I declare Ive had my share
And Ive heard it all before
Its time for me to be stealing away
Let those rain clouds roll out on the sea
Let the sun shine down on me, hey, hey
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around (yes, it has)
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
When my sky was full of gray
And my day was full of blue
There was nothing I could do
To see myself through
Now my head is full of springtime
And my heart is full of you
Good-bye lonely blue
It shall all come true
Miss november I detect a frown
Close your eyes and turn it upside down
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around (dont you know)
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
I know you know what
Ive got to say is an old clich? anyway so they say
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around
Love has brought me around (yes, it has)
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Encounter in Poetry
We've met in poetry discussions
Within a professional ELT environment
Which gathered thousands of teachers
Eager to learn, updating contents.
Words of welcome and introductions
Opened the way to our thoughts
Which were spontaneously brought
Through streams of emotions.
Different posts had come to light...
Expressing our views on what we feel and write.
Lovely poems were enthusiastically posted
Some were simple others refined.
We did perceive some depth of thinking
Which fascinated us entirely
Depicting poetic stories so nicely
In a unique language of inner feelings!
(July 2010)
poem by Maria C. Costa
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True Dancing Souls
Our souls want to dance forever
not now. for you must see
Fate brought us together
too soon, he did
Finish your journey with her
and waiting I’ll be
For fate brought us together
too soon, he did
On future days we’ll be forever
our lives as one.
For fate brought us together
too soon, he did
Our lips touch, our souls dance
bounded we’ll be soon
For now wait we must because
Fate brought us together
too soon, he did
Soul mates forever but not for now
we wait, for time will come.
For fate brought us together
too soon, he did
Friends for now but forever we’ll be
wrapped by the music.
For fate brought us together
too soon, he did
For eternity or forever I’ll wait
one day we’ll be
Together happily without her
For fate brought us together
too soon you see
Fate brought us together
too late he did
For years ago we met
yet now we see our love
Fate brought us together
too late he did.
Not speaking one word,
we saved our lives
Fate brought us together
too late he did
We share now our memories
As our souls join
together they dance eternally
Our love now stays strong
our patience grows weak
No worries my love for
Fate brought us together
too soon but not too late
poem by Elicia Santoro
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Mumbo Jumbo
They came from the land of Jumbo,
Crossed the sea in their little boats,
Carried their wives and children here
In anything that would float,
They wanted the sort of freedoms we
Had always had for our own,
Would we be able to squeeze them in
And welcome them into our home?
They brought all their bags and baggage,
A thousand years of despair,
When life had been such a hardship
In the jungles of - 'Out there! '
We offered the hand of friendship,
They took it, and came right in,
Along with their prophet Mumbo
Who they carried right under their skin!
They settled in little pockets,
They kept themselves to their own,
Objected to learning the language that
Was spoken in their new home,
The women were covered from head to foot
And walked three feet behind,
Freedom for them was just a word -
They could search, but couldn't find!
They brought their own witch doctors
And scorned the likes of ours,
They told them we were an evil race
With our wealth, beliefs and powers,
They prayed to the prophet Mumbo
Said his word should be the law,
Ignored the law of the nation that
Had welcomed them to its shore.
They hated our celebrations,
And tried to get us to stop,
And we, like the village idiots
Accepted the culture shock,
We tried so hard to please them,
That we lost what once we had,
The freedom to criticize them
Or their customs, good or bad.
Our laws have turned against us,
We tread on tippy-toe,
We might not like how it's going
But we wouldn't want them to know.
The tension here is building
As our freedoms run like sand,
In this land of Mumbo Jumbo
We may have to make a stand!
8 January 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
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By reading a lot of novels in a variety of genres, and asking questions, it's possible to learn how things are done - the mechanics of writing, so to speak - and which genres and authors excel in various areas.
quote by Nicholas Sparks
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As always, the British especially shudder at the latest American vulgarity, and then they embrace it with enthusiasm two years later.
quote by Alistair Cooke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Happened To His Village
He was born just a short distance from Adelaide
And he could see the sea from his back door
And in his young days there were not many houses
But the years have brought great change to Semaphore.
His sea side Village has grown to a coastal suburb
And his old Homeplace has undergone great change
Where once were trees and paddocks now there's houses
A stranger to your old Homeplace seems strange.
What happened to the Village of his childhood
The paddock where he played in years ago
He only can refer now to his memories
Of peaceful place the Homeplace he once did know.
The cottage of his childhood gone forever
A doctor's surgery where once it stood
And not one know him he is now a stranger
In Semaphore the place of his boyhood.
But of the past he still has good old memories
Of his old Village how it used to be
And from the cottage by the wide brown paddock
Six hundred yards off he could see the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Art of Humor
The parody, the comic
The irony, the slapstick
The comedy, the joke
There are many names of humor
A little flirt, a bit sway
A random bait, a strike catch
A prick of crack, a needed pain
So far we go just for humor
Because it is fun, because it is crazy
Because it is refreshing, because it brings laugh
Lightening the mood, building emotion
Always use humor in a good way
The situation, the mimic
The trap, the surprise
The movement, the style
Only human could understand humor
The witty question, the innocence answer
The spontaneous expression, the awaited performance
The dilemma, the mistake
Everything could turn into humor
To tease, to distract
To criticize, to attract
To break the ice, to open the gag
Don't take humor too serious
In critical condition, in awkward moment
In relaxing time, in happy hour
In strange fact, in life experience
Do you know that God also has a sense of humor?
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I never had to learn English, French and German because I was brought up as all three languages. I had a private French teacher before I even went to school. That helped a lot.
quote by Karl Lagerfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Given the devaluation of literature and of the study of foreign languages per se in the United States, as well as the preponderance of theory over text in graduate literature studies, creative writing programs keep literature courses populated.
quote by Marilyn Hacker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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