It is known,
It is known,
It is known,
It is also known as the Victor,
Many like History,
There were many victims,
I was laced up by History,
It is known,
The little girl is being watched,
Be prepared,
Life is all unfair.
poem by Maxim Muyu

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Related quotes
Who To Love?
should i love the girl who i already know?
or the girl who is newer in my life?
both are my close friends
should i love the Best Friend
or the one i already have a crush on
both are beautiful
should i love the girl who has been my friend from childhood?
or the girl who ive known for a year?
both I know well
which would be better, the girl who has more history with me
or the girl who I want to make history with
both are really nice
which would be the best choice the girl who could like me
or the girl who likes another guy
both are super fun
which would be my match the girl who knows me
or the girl who sort of knows me
both could be the one
which would you choose?
the one who i have history with?
the one who i already like?
who to love?
girl on line one?
girl on line two?
History Stones People.
History stones people.
They stoned Moses, David and Linclon,
history did that for all to see
Marbel and cement,
that's all it leaves behind
of a long changing life.
Great heroes of time,
fall under the mercy
of the sculptor's knife.
History stones faces,
in a way that would make
ecclestias cringe.
History stones feet,
in a way that would make
piligrims cry.
History stones life
to always stay fresh,
yet, what is life without
the sins of the flesh.
All the radical kids
get stoned
and never change
or even move a muscle.
All the sword raising warriors
history stoned
without blood in their veins.
You can see all the victims
that history stoned
when you walk in the park,
they got kings
and queens
hell, they even got Gods.
They are there captive
in history's stones,
never to be again what they were;
wilting flesh and
breakable bones.
People look up at them
they are victims too.
History's stones fall far,
even on to you.
Those stoned to live
are like the ones stoned to die.
enslaved to the search
of the frozen smile.
Life is a burning bush
that doesn't get consumed.
not a dead rock
or a statue of history.
It's a fusing wind
of happinnes and misery.
An exploding volcano
of courage and fear.
It is the stem of the flower
struggling through the seasons
to stand and bloom
above the drying soil.
Life is the fighting wave
you see at sea
forgotten and denied
by the stones of history.
poem by Samuel Katz

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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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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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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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The History Of Tomorrow
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame
© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob
Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.
poem by Adegbenro Adekunle

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History is a living horse laughing at a wooden horse. History is a wind blowing where it listeth. History is no sure thing to bet on. History is a box of tricks with a lost key. History is a labyrinth of doors with sliding panels, a book of ciphers with the code in a cave of the Saragossa sea. History says, if it pleases, Excuse me, I beg your pardon, it will never happen again if I can help it.
quote by Carl Sandburg

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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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My heart goes out to victims and survivors of the Hurricane Katrina tragedy and to their families. This disaster will go down in history books as one of the largest natural disasters in U.S. history.
quote by Ellen Tauscher

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan

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Our History
If my history would end here
I know
your history will begin.
Our history
happens not at the same time
how I wish I could see
what history you will make.
If my history would end here
I know
your history will begin.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano

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Dont Stop For No-one
Dont stop for no-one
And then it goes on
(repeat 3 times)
One day my father said to me
its time for you to leave,
But dont wait for me, its pre-destiny
Dont wait around for someone to believe in
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Just like moses waiting on the mountain
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Dont hang around in the babylonian gardens
You know, history dont stop for no-one
(? ) tourist attraction
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Dont stop for no-one
And then it goes on
(repeat)
Sometimes I told I must confess
To a life of tenderness
But I just repeat what he said to me:
dont close your eyes because seeing is believing
You know, history dont stop for no-one
(? ) child, fighting for a meaning
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Dont dream too long, its time to awake now
You know, history dont stop for no-one
Like sleeping lucy waiting for a kiss now
You know, history dont stop for no-one
I think you know the way its gonna go now
You know, history dont stop for no-one
From aztech kings to new york queens
And then it goes on
song performed by by Heaven 17

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no history of mankind, there are only many histories of all kinds of aspects of human life. And one of these is the history of political power. This is elevated into the history of the world.
quote by Karl Popper

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There is no history of mankind, there are only many histories of all kinds of aspects of human life. And one of these is the history of political power. This is elevated into the history of the world.
quote by Karl Popper

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Following Orders As Soldiers.
Some follow orders well,
Others question authority
Everyone is someone's child
And sad it is
When their lives are snuffed.
Perhaps the War is noble
Could well be, that it is just
And pitiful are the answer
When consulting history books
Death is a constant
Remembrance a must
Difficult it is to judge when
The Victor writes the history books
© Calac.
poem by Chris Lane

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Are You Ready?
Are you ready?
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to climb another mountain
Are you ready?
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to swim across the ocean
Are you ready?
Be prepared
To fill you plate
Be prepared
Dont hesitate
Be prepared
For a great big bust
Be prepared
To do what you must
Be prepared
To take a hit
Be prepared
To go for it
Be prepared
For a sneak attack
Be prepared
Just dont look back
They say, where theres a will theres a way
Weve heard, these are the things that they say
So.
Reach out for that big fat star
Stick to the groove
And go real far
Outrun the ones who steal the abar (? ? )
Are you ready?
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to blast into the future
Action boy now
Action girl now
Be prepared to rearrange the picture
Are you ready?
song performed by by Devo

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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I need you son,
I need you son,
I need you son,
This is the telling,
That you are there for me,
Never watch me die that I may fail,
I need you son that I may see you Father,
The chosen that you may rock I with love,
I need you son that you may never take mine,
To take mine is not the calling,
I need you son,
That I may find that knowledge from victim to victor,
Call on me son,
That you may come and see prayer as the only resolution,
Son that I need it,
In all the Master Plan,
That I need you son,
That I may see all the plan that you gave this man,
Man to man,
Tell me that I got to survive in all injustice,
This is the Battle of the saints,
That there is no justice in the world today,
Think that History is being laced by these words again,
God will never let us down even if they plan evil.
poem by Maxpoet Beauty

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