So Old
History, like a rotten egg, tills the endless fields,
it smells to high heaven, back inwards it is reeled,
For truly forever do the rivers run,
and back towards their source, as the rising sun.
Death is new, and yet so old,
it seems so strange for us to be so bold,
When like a calf we balk at wolves,
Though wolves we've slain, broken countless 'rules'
Our culture lies in myth and legend,
traditions born of a moment's villein and,
though so new they're now so old,
and yet we still don't act quite so bold.
To death and strife we cast but an observant eye,
while in culture, tradition, we take to the sky.
poem by Kevin Maroney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Throw Them Back To The Wolves
Throw them back to the wolves.
The ones released from cellblock envy.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who love their crime defined.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who break laws all the time.
With nothing but 'bling' on their minds.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Trouble makers showing butt.
Groom to believe they should give it up.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Victims of their own disguises.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Raised on 'rap' and packing 'heat'.
Dimmed with wit is their destiny...
This was how they were raised to be.
Detoxed and recovered.
From baubles, beads and bangles hanging.
Some don't want to have another...
Victimizing chain of gold,
To prove to anyone they're bold.
Leaving streets to the others.
Those who choose to do their 'thing'
From swagger punted schoolyard swings...
And learning from demented idols.
Who could care less who is destressed.
Throw them back to the wolves.
The ones released from cellblock envy.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who love their crime defined.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Those who break laws all the time.
With nothing but 'bling' on their minds.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Trouble makers showing butt.
Groom to believe they should give it up.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Victims of their own disguises.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Raised on 'rap' and packing 'heat'.
Dimmed with wit is their destiny...
This was how they were raised to be.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo doo boo doo boo boo doo.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo boo doo boo do boo do!
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo doo boo doo boo boo doo.
Throw them back to the wolves.
Boo doo boo doo boo do boo do!
Throw them back to the wolves.
That's the way they'll always like it.
With the others in cellblocks...
Locked out!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Jungle Bhoys
On the terracing at Parkhead we gather
Watching the Bhoys in green play,
we’ll sing you a song of the Celtic
And of the players who played down Parkhead’s way.
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys
We’ve grown in our years with the Celtic
Raised on the history and pride
Wishing we could play for the Celtic
And wear the jersey of the old green & white
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
We’re the sound of the Paradise voice
Our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys
As we travel to the east end of Glasgow
Wearing our colours of green, white & gold,
We’ll celebrate and sing of the Celtic
Who live forever in our green and white soul.
Chorus
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
we’re the sound of the Paradise voice
our culture, we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys.
With our banners and flags of the Celtic
we’re the sound of the Paradise voice
our culture; we’ll bring back to Parkhead
Hail Hail to the bold Jungle Bhoys.
Nov’2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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Racism and the Culture Of Racism
We must be aware…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It’s a slur and a swear….,
The Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can’t turn your back….,
On the Culture Of Racism….,
Or you’ll feel the whack…,
Of the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
It’s hard to believe….
The Culture Of Racism….,
That’s why we all grieve….,
The Culture Of Racism…! ! !
We must face the facts….,
On the Culture Of Racism ….! ! !
Cause we’ve seen the attacks…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It follows us all…,
The Culture Of Racism….,
But we must stand tall….,
Against the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can we control or stop it….,
As long as it’s been livin’….? ? ?
That’s the priceless question….,
On the Culture Of Racism…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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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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Snow wolves
I can hear the wolves
Howl in the distance
The howl is suddenly
Dampened by the falling snow
In a clearing
I see the wolves howl
Perched on the slanted rock
They cry to the moon
The moon cries back
It cries with agony
It cries because of death
Death witnessed beneath it's glow
The wolves turn and howl
The snow doesn't let up
But blows harder
Through blind panic
i run
I hear the wolves howl
Only it isn't in the distance
poem by Eric Ripley
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The Winter Wolves Are Coming
The Winter Wolves are coming
They are drawing ever near
The Winter Wolves are coming
They smell our blood, our fear
The Winter Wolves are coming
In packs of hundreds and more
The Winter Wolves are coming
They are knocking at our door
The Winter Wolves are coming
With teeth as sharp as knives
The Winter Wolves are coming
They mean to take our lives
The Winter wolves are coming
The smell our blood, our fear
The Winter Wolves are coming
The Cold of Death is here.
poem by Tim Vallie
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Grey Wolves Grey
The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.
As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.
He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.
And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.
And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The African Tradition
Libation! It is the African tradition;
It is the centre culture of our tradition;
The power of the African child,
The network of the information from the household gods
And the gods of kingdom, the gods of our identity.
We libate with schnapps, awake the spirits
Of our ancestors so speed us in action an' reaction
But done upon the gad at ease we no longer
For our centre culture active no more as things fell apart
But who is he that makes our minds troubled?
And walk we abroad and forgot our tradition,
Our culture, belief, our vehicle and our tradition
Woe to you foreigner for deception is you;
The betweeness between us took you away from us
And our offspring you turned rebels with your foreign ideas.
The networks of our wise ones you intercepted
And your strange God now we serve with you
While our wise ones slave for your topless.
No to you foreigner, for me, myself and I shall awake
And maintain my fathers' beliefs, culture and tradition
Which I have come and seen, for it is my true identity,
For I am a true African child.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Song: Popular Culture
Oh I'm sick to death of spin,
And this banal, self-serving sin,
That justifies usurpation like a king.
When shove will come to push,
Weilding power without blush,
This vigilante State is so right-wing!
Pop, pop, popular history,
Grows a crop of myth and mystery,
Where legends reap the cynical flattery,
That maintains the lie:
Of who we are,
What we've become,
In whose name,
Was violence done;
Of why we're here,
And how we came.
Who's excused,
And who's to blame.
Of where we're going,
And where we're from;
And what we're doing,
To right the wrongs...
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Does it diminish or exalt ya?
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Is it Art or just sheer torture?
Pop, pop, popular culture;
Soporific by it's nature,
From mediocre to bad.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Confers on all a bland inertia,
Embracing every fad:
Of how we look,
The way we feel;
What is image,
And what is real.
Of what to eat,
And what to wear;
How best to cheat,
Or how to care.
The puzzle of love,
The seizures of hate;
How best to survive,
The quirks of cruel fate.
The rule of the stars,
Or the lives of the great;
Hints from the famous,
To grow and create...
Pop, pop, popular culture.
What you love, and what insults ya.
Pop, pop, popular culture.
What you hate, and what co-opts ya.
Oh I'm bored to bits by cant.
And all that ritualised behaviour,
The patriotic fervour,
That is the flavour of the year.
To my cups I'll so decant,
For from high the view is clear:
The world below is idiot,
The age of farce is here!
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Selling slops of dizzy rapture.
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Nurtures minds to easy capture:
What could be wrong,
What could be right,
When a little change,
Inspires a fight,
For what we think,
Or how we live,
Should we repent,
More than we give?
Can our actions
Be so believed,
When some are censured,
And some reprieved..?
Pop, pop, popular history,
Scuttles verity in a lonely estuary,
And sinks the well of common fallacy:
That heroes never die!
Pop, pop, popular history,
Expels reality to forbidden territory,
And absurdly plays tragedy,
As a slick slapstick comedy,
To entertain the lie:
Of who we are,
What we've become,
In whose name,
Was violence done;
Of why we're here,
And how we came.
Who's excused,
And who's to blame.
Of where we're going,
And where we're from;
And what we're doing,
To right the wrongs...
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Pulls out all stops to pimp and pander.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Dead of meaning, truth or candour.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Where vultures feed on lies and slander.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
The carrion flesh that's propaganda!
poem by Dave SmithWhite
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Museum of Culture
Preserving the culture has been like the tusk of mastodons,
This is only suitable for preserving in the billiard balls,
Sustaining the culture has been like the extinct saber truth,
That is only suitable for experimental use.
Other customs are influencing on the real ones,
Like Mongols of east, east culture is ruling west,
And, as barbarians of west, west cultures have come to east,
So, preserving it has been a museum’s job.
In the show case of museum our tradition is seeing the change,
Youth are busy copying other’s tradition,
All are getting puzzled in culture,
Can’t we once again retain our own ethnicity?
The clear answer I hear is ‘no’.
Thanks to Museum of culture which is dong it.
poem by Sambidhan Acharya
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And Death Washes Only Bones
And death washes only bones;
The mouth of death speaks oft of every tounge
Never his patience once lost is found in all your nature;
Death washes a bone and the astrologer hands two back,
So the moon when lined up, shines down on Venus asleep.
Time smiles on the heart beating and long of face therein,
death puts it back on the middle shelf prearanged.
And death washes only bones;
Deep valleys are filled with man's rich oil,
And covered over memories by death too often dredged.
Lined up end to end exposed again to harvest the tears of wait;
And death washes only bones and man who drinks so bold,
There being no truth and lies sown shut death eyes all bottoms.
d.t.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Celtic Aggression
Somebody cried the death of culture
Somebody spit in a little boy's face
Somebody said you robbed my homeland
Somebody got the wrong impression
So we came across the water
From the shores of the isle of green
Speaking separate tongues
In the death of culture
Somebody said you stole my language
Some people will say anything
Somebody said you robbed my heritage
Some people will believe anything
Somebody said you always spoke English
Somebody got the wrong impression
So we came across the water
From the shores of the isle of green
Speaking separate tongues
In the death of culture
It was the death of culture
It was the death of culture
Bhi machree
Ohin trasna na farraige
Bhi machree
Ohin trasna na farraige
So we came across the water
From the shores of the isle of green
So we came across the water
Speaking seperate tongues
In the death of culture
song performed by by Tonic from Lemon Parade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In A Certain Culture
In a certain culture,
People do eat and drink blood;
In a certain culture,
People wake up early to eat before they brush their teeth;
In a certain culture,
People eat animals already found dead;
In a certain culture,
People wake up early to eat before they bath;
In a certain culture,
People eat snakes and dogs;
In a certain culture,
People wake up to brush their teeth before eating;
In a certain culture,
People eat monkeys and crocodiles;
Ina certain culture,
People wake up in the morning to bath before they eat;
In a certain culture,
To be naked at the beachside is okay;
In a certain culture,
It is a taboo to be naked at the beachside;
And this is all about life on this earth!
Because what is sweeter on your lips is bitter on mine;
And it is very strange to experience all these facts around the world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Lost
Find out, care for them.
Fear the spawn, fear lies dead.
Believe you come with me.
You'll soon know, god destroys lives.
Call for, my future.
In the graves, souls find rest.
The search for lives fortune.
We find you, find your remains.
Find out, care for them.
Fear the spawn, fear lies dead.
You'll suffer here we go.
We're dead, the sights we're in for.
Why wage, tortured lives.
Through life's, burning sun.
Torture is, torn hearts.
Death for, death is for the opposed.
Set back, you face pain.
And fight, wolves pack run.
You face pain.
You face pain.
Your soul just lost time.
Lost time.
Why wage, tortured lives.
Through life's, burning sun.
Torture is, torn hearts.
Death for, death for opposed.
Set back, you face pain.
And fight, bad wolves run.
Death to, all this war of lies.
Watch out, your soul just lost time.
Your soul just lost time.
Lost time.
For those, butchered hearts.
Take the fears, squeeze fast.
Sign on to refuel.
The touch of your face, is sealed.
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't have space to enter into the examples or the history of this, so I'm left with having to make the bold statement that culture is extinct.
quote by Vivienne Westwood
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
Death death
Death death death
Death death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death death
Death death death
Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Culture Of Stupidity
Open your naive eyes…..,
To the Culture Of Stupidity….,
It’s all around you….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! !
No way to escape….,
From the Culture Of Stupidity ….,
It haunts and stalks you…,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! !
It’s hard to believe it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
That so many can’t see it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity …! !
As liberals keep shying away…..,
From the overwhelming threat…..,
Of radical terrorism today…..,
How long will The Culture Of Stupidity go on….? ?
My answer is as simple as this….,
The Culture Of Stupidity shall live on…..,
As long as humankind and liberalism will exist…! !
poem by Trade Martin
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The Culture Of Stupidity
Open your eyes…..,
To the Culture Of Stupidity….,
It’s all around us….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! ! !
We can’t escape….,
From the Culture Of Stupidity ….,
It haunts and annoys us…,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….! ! !
It’s hard to believe it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
Why so many can’t see it….,
The Culture Of Stupidity …! ! !
So tell me, The Culture Of Stupidity ….,
How long will it go on….? ? ?
The answer is as simple as this….,
The Culture Of Stupidity shall live…..,
As long as humankind will exist…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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What is Culture
What is Culture?
What we think of in Rumbek
What we think of in Jerusalem
What we think of in Moscow
All different things we think, say,
Do and make at different places at the same time
What differentiate a man from insects, birds and beasts?
If you don’t have a culture
You’re a housefly
If you don’t keep your culture
You’re a beetle or cockroach
If you adopt a culture
You’re a tick
If you hate other’s culture
You’re a toad
If you don’t hate or love other’s culture
You’re real man
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Death, Death And Death
I see the death everyday
Death in relations
Death in religion and faith
Death of man in man
Everyday, everywhere, every moment
Death, death and death.
I experience the death around me
Millions and billions of ceremonies
The smoke on maps of mankind
Death in temple and streets
Death in clubs and parties
Death, death and death.
I foresee the death of humanity
Harassment, discrimination and hatred
Death in purity and sacredness
Death in broken mirrors and home
Death in king, death in masses
Death, death and death.
poem by Abhimanyu Kumar.s
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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