Injustice Here
Some place far from here
A baby is crying
A child is hungry
A mother is dying
Some place far from here
A family is in need
Adults cannot read
Children capture
Never again to be seen
Some place far from here
There’s no drinking water
Someone’s lost their daughter
Some place from here
People are homeless and alone
Without light and are cold
They sleep on dirt roads
With only their skin and their bones
Some place from here
There are so many things
So much injustice happening
Lots of poverty
Lots of death
But we forget
That right in our country
We have all these things too
We worry about a place far, far from here
And don’t take care of our priorities here
What about the poverty that covers our streets
Or children that are dying with no food to eat
The people in our country are suffering too
So although helping somewhere else
Is what we should do
There are obligations here first to pursue
We’re a great country
We have always been
But to continue this legacy
This is where we begin
poem by Jessica Collazo
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Related quotes
War Vets Dream
When he came from Nam he had a plan
That not many people would understand.
To help children see that not all in life
Was destruction and poverty.
With death and bombings all around
All he could hear was the children s sounds.
With tears in their eyes and not understanding why
Why so many bodies on the ground
And not a one making a sound.
All he could see was these faces of despair
Children did not understand and could not care.
These visions of the war would
always stay in his mind
From that day forward till the end of time.
He vowed that he would do all that he can
To help all children and his fellow man.
When you see the ravages of war
And a country torn apart
And its people scattered
Then staying alive is all that matters.
He knew that he could not stop this genocide
But he knew for the future children he had to try.
He wanted to create a place called “children s world”
A safe haven for every boy and girl.
A place where children could be children
And war they would not see.
Where they could be with friends and their families.
A place with a roof over their heads
Hot food and a bed.
He knows with time this dream will come true
“It just depends on people like you.”
poem by Louis Rams
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Take Me Home, Country Roads
(bill danoff/taffy nivert/john denver)
Country roads,take me home
To the place I belong
West virginia,mountain mama
Take me home,country roads
Almost heaven,west virginia
Blue ridge mountain,shenandoe river
Life is old there,older than the trees
Younger than the mountains
Growing like the breeze
Country roads,take me home
To the place I belong
West virginia,mountain mama
Take me home,country roads
All my memories gather round her
Mine is lady,stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine
Teardrop in my eye
Country roads,take me home
To the place I belong
West virginia,mountain mama
Take me home,country roads
I hear her voice in the morning
Now she calls me
The radio reminds me of my home far away
And driving down the road I get a feeling
That I shouldve been home yesterday,yesterday
Country roads,take me home
To the place I belong
West virginia,mountain mama
Take me home,country roads
Country roads,take me home
To the place I belong
West virginia,mountain mama
Take me home,country roads
Take me home,country roads
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Damed Society
Is society damed
all across this land by the hands of man
as poverty and crime shine from the front page
of every paper and every television set
i sit and wonder
what will be left for our children or their children
will they have to fight for their food
or be the next victim on tv
why cant people see
that human life is precious indeed
for all to love one another
wouldn't that be grand
close your eyes and imagine
no more gangs in the streets
and
everyone has enough to eat
no more wars to be won or lost
sounds like a place for the
human race
I'm not a man of faith
but it sounds like a place
a god would create
maybe in the end we all will find this
place
poem by Art Kuttler
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Read All About It
Riots on our city streets
violence behind closed door
while the rich are getting richer
all the rest are sad and poor.
Young people can't find work
the elderly left on the scrapheap
people are feeling anxious
they struggle to get some sleep.
But that's all the bad news
surely there's some good as well?
this used to be a great country
not a mixture of misery and Hell.
The papers only cover the bad stuff
this is what we all want to read
but this isn't a bad place to live
full of badness, poverty, and greed.
What about the doctors and nurses
who tend the sick in their hospital beds
or all those selfless charity workers
with only good thoughts inside their heads?
People running marathon after marathon
to help someone who is ill and in need
they do it because they're full of compassion
not motivated by lots of money or greed.
So this country isn't yet gone to the dogs
whatever the newspapers like to say
there's still lots of brightness to be found
not everything is dull, depressing, and Grey!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Sameness They Only Embrace
The wealthiest person in the place far from financial renown
And the poorest one is very poor in the poor Country Town
Where everyone knows everyone your business not your own
And even family secrets by everyone else known.
This not a Town for migrants not many migrants live here
The locals do not embrace difference that's how it does appear
But of course there are exceptions though their type in the minority
Who speak out for the fair go in a place of cultural poverty.
Not a place of great commerce and few evolved thinkers live here
In the pubs they talk of work and football between spells of guzzling beer
They feel happy in their sameness it is difference they do fear
Though quite knowledgeable in football and their football heroes they revere.
A small rural Town in the country a few hours drive from anywhere
A place of a small population where many things in common they do share
The people with a fondness for sameness and sameness they only embrace
And if to them you have different interests amongst them you feel out of place.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There is no sound sleep as sound as home
In the foreign land where you live
Where the snow is cold and slippery and smooth
You say you cannot sleep
And all alone not feeling safe
In that house made of steel and fortified walls
Here in our country
Where walls are weak where beams are but coconut wood
Where the sun is hotter
Where the dust spread like blanket on the bed
Where the noise is simply intolerable
Where beggars come asking for food
Where poverty and calamities abound
Here in my country I sleep so soundly
Because lady, this is my home this is where my heart is
Because lady, I am safe in this place that I call my own
Because lady, there is no place like home
Where sleep is sleep and will always be sound
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Country Roads
Almost heaven, west virginia
Blue ridge mountains, shenandoah river
Life is old there, older than the trees
Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
All my memries, gather round her
Miners lady, stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
I hear her voice, in the mornin hours she calls to me
The radio reminds me of my home far a-way
And drivin down the road I get a feeling
That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Patriotic Stance
i have decided now, i will not go to another place
there is no other place than this
i am singing here and writing poems for my loved ones
whatever i do here turns out to be pleasing
and my heart beautifully sings for the living
what can i ask more of myself, or of this place where i was born
wherever i look or turn my gaze
i always see the blooming flowers and green bushes
my years are spent but not wasted, nothing is ever destroyed
whatever is sown, grows here
whatever is built remains strong
i can't find another country
this country has been so good to me
i will walk its streets, i may grow old in the same neighborhood
there are always ships and roads but i am not going anywhere
i have chosen now & this
i live here and shall die here
there is no other.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Refugees
I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
I come from a beautiful place
Where girls cannot go to school
There you are told what to believe
And even young boys must grow beards.
I come from a great old forest
I think it is now a field
And the people I once knew
Are not there now.
We can all be refugees
Nobody is safe,
All it takes is a mad leader
Or no rain to bring forth food,
We can all be refugees
We can all be told to go,
We can be hated by someone
For being someone.
I come from a beautiful place
Where the valley floods each year
And each year the hurricane tells us
That we must keep moving on.
I come from an ancient place
All my family were born there
And I would like to go there
But I really want to live.
I come from a sunny, sandy place
Where tourists go to darken skin
And dealers like to sell guns there
I just can't tell you what's the price.
I am told I have no country now
I am told I am a lie
I am told that modern history books
May forget my name.
We can all be refugees
Sometimes it only takes a day,
Sometimes it only takes a handshake
Or a paper that is signed.
We all came from refugees
Nobody simply just appeared,
Nobody's here without a struggle,
And why should we live in fear
Of the weather or the troubles?
We all came here from somewhere.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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Unwanted Children
when i looked into this childs eyes
i saw the hurt, the pain, and i began to cry.
it was a house of despair
the homeless and unwanted children
all lived there.
all their lives they searched for love
and a place to live
so much love they had to give.
all they wanted or needed
was a loving family.
is this too much to ask from you or me?
how can we go to bed, when they
have no place to rest their heads.
how can we expect these children to survive
when we turn our backs
and close our eyes.
i heard adults say: why should i shed a tear
for a child i did not conceive.
why should i be the one to bereave.
do we still not cry for the death of CHRIST?
he was conceived by another.
wouldn't you be proud
to have been his father or mother?
GOD put all these children on this earth
more than gold i think they; re worth.
let's get them out of that house of despair
and show them all that we do care.
a lttle step goes a long way
and it'll be done day by day.
poem by Louis Rams
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Nigeria
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The best country in the area
The country where cultures reign
Just to bring pride to the heart that preys
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The home where my pride lays
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The country only to pay
Through all pain and suffering
It's still a country that's loving
Through the hard time jorneys
It's still the country with hidden moneys
The 'Buba' we put on
Is alwayz the prize of the father zone
The 'Shokoto' we wear
Is alwayz the pride that the village owns
How could I forget my country
The country that pays my dowry
How could I forget my country
The country that's filled with honey
Though, there is not much overwhelming riches
We have happiness that the body wishes
Though, we battle days with a lot of wishes
It's alwayz the best place of wisdom riches
Have you ever being to our parties?
Where it's filled with happys
Have you ever being to our gatherings?
Where it's filled with money sharing.
Aren't too connected with mordern medicine
But we have a secret weapon of true legacy
Though, there is no core science
We have the best herb technology that ever hence
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
The dearest home in the area
Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria
How could I forget the place of my interior.
poem by Olufunmbi Aransiola
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What Is A Barn?
A barn is many things-
A barn is a fun place
To run, romp, and play.
It is also a place of refuge,
On hot or stormy days.
A barn is a storage place
For all your tools, grain, and hay.
It is also a place to unwind,
When you have had a tough day.
A barn becomes God's sanctuary,
When you begin to pray
It is also a place of work,
When work is needing done.
A barn is a place
Where freindships can be made
It is also a place
Where new life is born.
A barn is a place
To try with all your might
And finally when its doors are closed,
'Tis safety from the night.
A barn is a place for horses,
And it is a place for cows
A barn is also a hayloft,
Full of little meows
A barn is the Inn
Where our Savior was born
God, our Savior,
Christ, our Lord.
A barn is a work place,
A barn is a play place
A barn is a great place
A barn is a training ring...
A barn is..
Well, when it comes right
Down to it,
A barn is everything!
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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I Lie Around
I lie around
All over the place
It seems that I have no choice in the matter
Roll along wheel of fortune
As you roll along I stick around
Furthermore in the country
I will lay my burden down
I lie around
I lie around
I lie around
All over the place
All over the place
All over the place
All over the place
Too long have I been the heart of the matter
All along I was only over tired and overtaken
Furthermore in the country
I will lay my burden down
I lie around
I lie around
I lie around
All over the place
So long, bye bye, it was fun while it mattered
Roll along wheel of fortune
As you roll along I stick around
Furthermore in the country
I will lay my burden down
Yes, I lie around
All over the place
All over the place
All over the place
I lie around, around
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Earth
A pale blue dot caught in a beam of light
A palace of ravishing greenery
A harmonious symphony of life
A perpetual puzzle of land and sea
A place where volcanoes vomit lava
A place where hurricanes swarm
A place where tornadoes gyrate
And yet creates itself again
The Earth
A place of ambitions
A place of emotions
A place of cruelty
A place of poverty
This is the Earth
GOD's little stage of mortality
A gateway to utopia
A gateway to immortality
poem by Shanthosh Suganthan
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Same Place, Same Time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
The coffee’s hot
And the company is good
Conversation flows, as it should
A joke or two
And when all is said and done
We’re right back to where we begun
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
These crowded streets
I balance tight roped on the curb
Car screeches past, a scream is heard
De ja vu
Yes I’ve been here before
Time moves slowly as traffic stalls
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Break
It was good
You were sublime
I’m so glad that we spent the time
Time is short
What we have is rare
Love is oxygen with you there
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Same place, same time
Copyright 2006 (updated 2010)
poem by Colin Coplin
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Inang Bayan (english 'Mother Country')
Oh, mother country
it's no longer
a short time
since you become
a free nation.
Oh, mother country
truly, you are free
but why
did you let yourself
be imprisoned
by poverty?
Was it your choice?
Oh, mother country
when will you be able
to take good care
of your abandoned children
who wish
for three times a day meal,
for shelter,
and for affordable medication
and education.
Oh, mother country,
Oh, mother country.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Homeless Childrens Covenant
So much bad news- about children being abused.
What kind of thoughts can go thru a molesters mind
Don’t they know they’ll be caught with time.
Do you know how many children have run away
Because in their house they could not stay.
At the time they think that the streets are their escape
But they don’t know that predators sit and wait.
They offer you food, a roof, and a bed to sleep
Once they get you - you’re in trouble deep.
They will tell you that you have no value, no worth
You’ve never been loved since your birth.
They’ll tell you that the only thing that you can do
Is give a sexual favor or two.
You have no money- no food
Just the clothes on your back
Against you the cards have been stacked.
No education and no place to live
What can you offer- what do you have to give.
They’ll say anything to get control
They want to own you body and soul.
Go to your local churches, or the YMCA
If they can’t help you, they’ll recommend a way.
There are places that you can go
Where they can help you- more than you know.
One of these is called “COVENANT HOUSE”
Helping boys and girls of all ages
Knowing each child has gone thru different stages.
A roof, a bed, food to eat
You can finally get off the streets.
They can help you turn your life around
And no more being put to the ground.
Giving you self respect, and it gets better yet.
A place where there is love abound
This is the place that many have found.
Many had to get out of an abusive family situation
But the streets is not your salvation.
There are kids younger than you
What do you think they’ve gone through.
Use the strength and knowledge
that you have gained
To help others of the same.
poem by Louis Rams
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Are They Children Of A Lesser GOD?
the children of this country should be happy as can be
for they do not have to live in such poverty.
most at least have clothes on their backs
a bed in which to sleep, and food
even if it's only once a day.
and they're taught how to pray.
we are much better off than other countries
around the world.
but try to tell that to the hungry boy or girl.
we are a nation from all walks of life
and have fought so that freedom can ring
and to our national anthem sing.
our children dream of things that they could be
because in this land, dreams can come true.
so let us now see what we can do
to help our brothers' me and you'.
the other child dreams of a warm bed
and a roof over their head.
a bath to wash off the dirt of the day away
a family member with whom they could stay.
clean clothes, clean socks, something which
they have not got.
food set on a table, and someone to help
them if their not able.
to be able to go to school, and learn the golden rule.
to be able to play in the streets
instead of digging in cans for something to eat.
to be able to see a doctor when they're not well
instead of being 'sent to hell'.
to be able to see love in an adults face
and not have to hide in fear and disgrace.
because they were abused by someone who did
not care, whether they lived or died.
and always told the same old lies.
are they children of a lessr GOD?
no! ! for GOD gave us all those rights
and we as adults have to stand up and fight.
stop the abuse in third world nations
let them see GODS creations.
stop the wars, stop the abuse
put the drugs we've got, to good use.
help the elderly, the young, the lame
for we are all the same.
we must practise what we preach it is
the only way that we could reach
all the children who were given to us from above
if they're shown kindness and love.
we won't be here to help them grow
so let's help them today
that much i know.
they are our future, can't you see
for tomorrow we'll be history.
poem by Louis Rams
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South Africa Is Also My Country
From my birth South Africa is my own country
and my people can flee to an island
but my own culture and language stays holy
although this place is not safe,
I still trust on a much higher hand,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
even if the struggling government gives me resistance,
do oppress me with unfair laws,
even if nothing can stop the disintegration,
even if I am not safe against the onslaught,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country,
even if some act with effrontery against my people
I come from a noble heritage,
I am proud on my Afrikaner lineage,
even if people and buildings are set alight,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
with no other place I have such a deep bond
and even if here I will never have any job,
I believe in God and a Christian church,
God himself still keeps my ways intact,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Harare
The midsummer sun hangs flaming
over the capitol city
which is painted white,
(the same colour as the graves)
in a country
stripped from the white man’s might,
stripped from providing
and exporting food, minerals
and products
where the value of the currency
changes faster than the billion dollar number
printed on the worthless bills.
Just here and there a car moves
as the country is without fuel
and even the traffic lights
are not working
(and neither are most people)
as the electricity is down.
.
The rural farms stand stripped bare
with primitive peasants
living there in utter poverty
and the fertile soil is vacant
as everything has being taken
by the people
(by force from farmers)
and now nobody has anything
and nothing has being planted
on a commercial scale
and famine is getting
to chaotic lengths
and the people
have returned to the land
to find a resting place there.
Children play under flowering jacaranda trees
in a light hot breeze
with stomachs swollen from hunger
and slime running from noses
and flies wandering over their faces
and some men urinate
against the nearest tree.
The street is filled with fear,
poverty, hunger, pestilence and death
and soldiers stand around idle
smoking cigarettes
longing back to the days
when they went as the fifth brigade
to the south west regions
and killed Ndebele people
plundering their villages,
raping their woman
and slaughtering the children.
Still there’s no sound
of real opposition, as apposing politicians
are arrested and beaten
time after time
by the police
and an out voted president,
a man proclaiming to be a Jesuit,
remains in the ruling chair
and the secret police is everywhere
and he holds out a begging hand
to neighbouring countries
for fuel, electricity, food and medicine
and whatever he wants
and it’s quite easy to head south
even if you have to crawl,
walk, take a bicycle,
a car, a bus or a train
to a neighbouring country
where the colour of your skin
counts much more
than a place of birth.
poem by Gert Strydom
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