History is Bunkum
History is Bunkum
History is often written by the victor
A web of deceit woven by the writer
To glorify the deeds of his master
And decry the good deeds of the loser:
His name is vilified
His good deeds set aside
His just cause demonised
Only the winner is glorified
History is father and mother of lies
Fabrications the writer describes
Leaving us an account after his demise,
A legacy that hopefully fools and survives
The passage of time testifies to its credibility
Self-interest confers on it the seal of authenticity
It is then paraded as the voice of truth and sanity
But we all know it is mostly hot air and vanity.
poem by Isam Hussain
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Related quotes
Three Kinds of People
The books of my history
Begins with comedy
And end with tragedy
“Son”, do you know this
Spontaneous?
If you don’t know
Don’t mind
Your father will tell you.
There are three kinds of people
But the history knows only two
The first are foxy foxes
Who do right things and
Great good deeds
They stand at the top of history
The second are mad dogs
Who do wrong things and
Great evil deeds
They stand at the bottom of history
The third are piggy hyenas
Who are neither wise nor foolish?
Who cannot do right or wrong?
The history doesn’t know them
They have no chapter in history book
Can you choose among them for
Your inspiration and if you
Can heed my advice
The foxes are the best stars
To stick to.
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Getting Good Deeds Done
The best of good deeds,
Are not the ones discussed to be done!
The best deeds that are good...
Are those deeds lived,
And done by the ones who know
When and how to give!
Getting deeds done
Without discussions,
Weaken good intentions...
With diminishing attention given!
And spoken words without action,
Provide no satisfaction.
Although distracts with attraction,
That gets everyone talking...
And then walking away,
Just to say,
They promised they would come!
They promised to provide support...
But not get involved,
With getting good deeds done.
They see deeds as no lasting remedy!
But distortions of their involvement,
In the eyes of everyone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Soldiers Rest
This mound of earth, now greened o'er;
Such a small plot for his large spirit.
We all come to this small space,
Or else are set free in the playful air
By those left to mourn our passing.
The small deeds of the anonymous,
Are by history soon forgotten;
Yet upon these backs great deeds were done.
Yet those who gaze down history's path,
They only see bright luminaries;
Not this simple soul who lies here now.
Beneath this bright daisy sprinkled lawn
Neath a stone that bears no name
Crumbling and grey with age
And soon to tumble into dust.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Often Awed
A doer of good deeds,
Isn't sitting to receive accolades...
Heard,
In thunderous applause.
Thinking what is done is deserving of it.
A doer of good deeds done to do...
Is often awed,
That what is done naturally...
Gets any attention for those deeds done,
That pleases the giving of the doer...
Whose choice is the choosing,
Of the doing of those good deeds to do.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tales of my past
Don't write me down in history,
In reference to my past deeds,
Works I derived no joy from,
Or mistakes of those years.
Don't write me down in history,
The ages gone show little of what I am,
That part of me is truly done,
My dreams now can say it all.
Don't write me down in history,
The lessons of life flows in my blood,
My blunders are now my teachers,
The scars now my daily pledge.
Don't write me down in history,
I am yet to achieve perfection,
Still I strive for redemption,
Searching the soil for my lost glory,
Don't write me down in history,
The tales of my past I recall,
That was then, this is me,
Woes to your judgment.
poem by Venessa Ambrose
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~ His[s]tory ~
History Maker ~ Fossilized Custodian
History Breaker ~ Reckless Bohemian
History Reformer ~ Abortive Artisan
History Seeker ~ Obsessive Varifocalian
History Writer ~ Hyperbolic Historian
History Critique ~ Diplomatic Confucian
History Reader ~ Befuddled Bookman.
Better Opt For ~ Gymnastic Geography
Enjoy Floor Exercise ~ In Poetry.
Won’t You?
If Not Check Cervical Spine
For Etiology Of Vertigo Sign.
==
Glossary: Humbly given for what I tried to express: ~
Varifocalian: Metaphorically used relating to a lens that is graduated to permit any length of vision between near and distant.
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Matthew being a constant attendant on our Lord, his history is an account of what he saw and heard; and, being influenced by the Holy Spirit, his history is entitled to the utmost degree of credibility.
quote by Adam Clarke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An upright soul
Thoughts must conform to words
And words to deeds to give peace.
Good thoughts and bad words: one is
raw.
Bad thoughts and good words: one is a cheat.
Good words and bad deeds: one is
cruel.
Bad words and good deeds: one is a
barker.
Thoughts, words and deeds must not
be
In conflicts to ensure an upright soul.
25.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Just Do Your Deeds and Be Done With It
Just do your deeds and be done with it.
Why struggle against ignorance...
When the force of it,
Can create powerful setbacks.
Just do your deeds and be done with it.
Without the need to seek attention.
Your deeds done will speak for themselves.
Leave them to do what it is to benefit!
And go.
Those living to fulfill an ego,
Will never understand...
Why their lives lived,
Have less peace in them!
Just do your deeds and be done with it.
That is all The Almighty requires.
And this 'Deity' is the judge of your soul.
No other opinion does The One solicit!
Just do your deeds and be done with it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The History of Now
The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.
The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.
Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.
We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.
The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.
The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.
poem by David SmithWhite
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History why do we care
History
a famous person dies
History
a war rages
History
a new invention
History
a building opens
History
what happens if something happens to me
is that history?
no....
So why do we care.....
poem by Andrea Thepoet
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Seeds Of Ideas
Karma destiny is also born in the seed of ideas
thoughts are father to our deeds these deeds
sown both good or bad are seeds of our destinies.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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History is full of stories, full of triumph and tragedy and battles won and lost. It is the people who speak to me, the men and women who once lived and loved and dreamed and grieved, just as we do. Though some may have had crowns on their heads or blood on their hands, in the end they were not so different from you and me, and therein lies their fascination. I suppose I am still a believer in the now unfashionable "heroic" school, which says that history is shaped by individual men and women and the choices that they make, by deeds glorious and terrible.
quote by George R.R. Martin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love These Laws
I love the laws that God sends down on us, raining,
Opening the doors of heaven, of absoluteness, raining.
My heart speaks to the delight of the creation,
Offered by us is this religion of accurateness, raining.
Let the ages pass and make us supreme, from all the water
Descending on the skulls and bones of adorableness, raining.
Let the brain be a monster to be rewarded for the drops of deeds
Falling into the ocean of our lives, always in activeness, raining.
Pass your test if this soul in the heart matters most,
Rain has arrived for the heart to be famous, raining.
Little tests are good deeds when passed for success
To reign in our history, of this history is fatherliness, raining.
My mad health kept a watchful eye on the laws of men and stones,
In Hell the men and stones are buried with hazardousness, raining.
My loving and dying is like death for the message to be profound,
But may we shrink from the fires where we would be helpless, raining.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Deeds
Of all the greatest deeds
That man has ever conceived
It would be that one deed
That no-one ever did see.
The greatest deeds of them all
The one that people would recall
It would be that one deed
That no-one had ever saw.
The deeds that are always shown
Is like the wind that has blown
You are are cold and then awakened
But its memory is never known.
The good deeds that are quite
They are the ones with all the might
They are never, ever forgotten
And they are always in ones sight.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The History Teacher
Woman!
Where exactly
Did you put me
In the women's history?
Am I History?
Or a part of it?
And for how long you are lacking me in;
Between
Your History,
Women's History, and
Your archives?
Does time make sense to you
As a History teacher or
As a History professor?
Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenation
Are for emperors.
Are you making me
An emperor?
Or a Faeroe?
If so,
How precise your are?
And if you can't feel my present presence
how possibility could you feel me through your archives?
poem by Atef Ayadi
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To write is a challenge, But to understand the writer is a mystery
Right now I am writing history
Amongst a million other writers
But what makes me different
from that never ending million?
Every word has a meaning, has
it's background, I, on the hand don't.
Just a meaningless word, nothing more
But a word it is, nothing less
To write is a challenge
But to understand the writer is a mystery.
Right. Write only with the mind and heart.
So powerful, So strong, So moving.
Today, Tomorrow a never ending cycle.
Today becomes history when tomorrow becomes today.
So right now I am writing history
But tomorrow it becomes forgotten
It will not be forgotten if the writer has a mystery to solve, so to write is a challenge but to understand the writer is a mystery.
poem by Lady Simple
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On Passing Cromwell Street
In Melbourne streets named in his honour though he does not warrant such fame
For he lived a life of dishonour yet he never felt any shame
For his crimes against the poor of Ireland the winners write the history they say
And historians are too kind to Cromwell the one who did awful things in his day.
He evicted the poor of rural Ireland those who only knew of poverty
And put them on the hard road to Connacht the victims of crimes against humanity
His army were thugs and not soldiers for they did things that soldiers ought not do
The winners always write the history though their version of history is often not true.
In Cromwell's time the winners wrote the history and the winners still write the history today
But for any crimes against humanity the winners too should be made to pay
But Cromwell and his army honoured for their crimes in Ireland against the poor defenceless poor
'Tis sad to think that one so unworthy of a place in history is secure.
To hell or to Connacht his catch cry he forced thousands of poor families on the road
To people who were penniless and innocent not one scrap of mercy he showed
Thousands of them died in the harsh Irish Winter when homelessness on them took it's toll
Because they were poor they were punished though their life circumstances beyond their control.
I think of the untruths of history each time I drive by Cromwell street
The history written by winners their history of lies and deceit
I say to myself they honour a tyrant and I struggle for to understand
Why they name a street after somebody who oppressed the poor of Ireland.
Andrew Marvell in verse glorified Cromwell but he was one who would not know
What Cromwell and his army got up to in Ireland in those bleak times centuries ago
But he only believed what they told him and they told him what he wanted to hear
History often written by unworthy people those who rule by terror and fear.
In Melbourne streets named in his honour his poor victims long forgotten and gone
Into the World of the forgotten but Cromwell's fame is living on
And the lessons we should have learned from history did not lead to a fair go for all
And the winners only write the story though the real truth they never recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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With Sharp Teeth
Proclaiming religious beliefs,
As a means to unleash evil deeds committed...
Throughout history as that history is perceived to be,
Is...
More a worship steeped in hyped hypocrisy.
And...
With a fine line those have chosen to walk,
Between truth and pretentions that eventually stalk...
Deceivers haunted nightly where they sleep,
As shadows appear to approach with sharp teeth...
Come to bite and leave them bleeding.
'Wake up, wake up you are having a nightmare.'
~But it all seemed so real.
And even 'you' were there.~
Proclaiming religious beliefs,
As a means to unleash evil deeds committed...
Throughout history as that history is perceived to be,
Is...
More a worship steeped in hyped hypocrisy.
And...
With a fine line those have chosen to walk,
Between truth and pretentions that eventually stalk...
Deceivers haunted nightly where they sleep,
As shadows appear to approach with sharp teeth...
Come to bite and leave them bleeding.
'Your arms and your neck...
I suggest you cut your nails,
Before you scratch yourself to death.'
~But...
Those are not scratches.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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