Sha-Clack-Clack

If I could find the spot where truth echoes

I would stand there and whisper memories of my children's future
I would let their future dwell in my past
so that I might live a brighter now
Now is the essence of my domain and it contains
all that was and will be


And I am as I was and will be because I am and always will be


that nigga


I am that nigga


I am that nigga


I am that timeless nigga that swings on pendelums like vines
through mines of boobytrapped minds that are enslaved by time
I am the life that supersedes lifetimes, I am
It was me with serpentine hair and a timeless stare
that with immortal glare turned mortal fear into stone time capsules
They still exist as the walking dead, as I do
The original sulphurhead, symbol of life and matriarchy
severed head Medusa, I am

I am that nigga


I am that nigga!


I am that nigga!!


I am a negro! Yes negro, negro from _necro_ meaning death
I overcame it so they named me after it
And I be spitting at death from behind
and putting "Kick Me" signs on it's back


because I am not the son of Sha-Clack-Clack


I am before that, I am before
I am before before
Before death is eternity, after death is eternity
There is no death there's only eternity
And I be riding on the wings of eternity


like HYAH! HYAH! HYAH! Sha-Clack-Clack


but my flight doesn't go undisturbed
Because time makes dreams defer
And all of my time fears are turning my days into daymares
And I live daymares reliving nightmares
of what taunted my past


Sha-Clack-Clack,

time is beatin my ass
And I be havin dreams of chocolate covered watermelons
Filled with fried chickens like pinatas
With little pickaninny sons and daughters
standing up under them with big sticks and aluminum foil
Hittin em, tryin to catch pieces of fallin fried chicken wings
And Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben are standing in the corners
with rifles pointed at the heads of the little children

"Don't shoot the children," I shout, "don't shoot the children!"


but they say it's too late
They've already been infected by time
But that shit is before my time


I need more time


I need more time


But it's too late


They start shooting at children and killing them!

One by one,

two by two,

three by three,

four by four
Five by five,

Six by six, but

my spirit is growing

seven by seven

Faster than the speed of light
Cause light only penetrates the darkness that's already there
and I'm already there
I'm here at the end of the road
which is the beginning of the road beyond time, but

where my niggaz at? (Oh shit!)


Oh shit, don't tell me my niggaz got lost in time


My niggaz are dying before their time


My niggaz are serving unjust time


My niggaz are dying because of.. time

Favorite Poem

A bird soaring high, and high in the sky
As soon as I, I look in the sky
It craps in my eye……

by Lucas

I chose this poem because after reading it, it made me laugh so much.... and if a poem makes me laugh, its awesome. I mean, why cant poems be short, simple, and totally random... there's no thinking in this poem... just enjoy... - Jonny

Favorite

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too

by Shel Silverstein
from the book "Where the Sidewalk Ends" (1974)

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Went for a ride in a flying shoe.
"Hooray!"
"What fun!"
"It's time we flew!"
Said Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle was captain, and Pickle was crew
And Tickle served coffee and mulligan stew
As higher
And higher
And higher they flew,
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Over the sun and beyond the blue.
"Hold on!"
"Stay in!"
"I hope we do!"
Cried Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle too
Never returned to the world they knew,
And nobody
Knows what's
Happened to
Dear Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.

faith poem by thomas hood (chevar cummings)

Faithless Nelly Gray


A Pathetic Ballad



Ben Battle was a soldier bold,

And used to war's alarms;

But a cannon-ball took off his legs,

So he laid down his arms.



Now as they bore him off the field,

Said he, 'Let others shoot;

For here I leave my second leg,

And the Forty-second Foot.'



The army-surgeons made him limbs:

Said he, 'They're only pegs;

But there's as wooden members quite,

As represent my legs.'



Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, --

Her name was Nelly Gray;

So he went to pay her his devours,

When he devoured his pay.



But when he called on Nelly Gray,

She made him quite a scoff;

And when she saw his wooden legs,

Began to take them off.



'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!'

Is this your love so warm?

The love that loves a scarlet coat

Should be a little more uniform.



Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,

For he was blithe and brave;

But I will never have a man

With both legs in the grave



'Before you had those timber toes

Your love I did allow;

But then, you know, you stand upon

Another footing now.'



'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!

For all your jeering speeches,

At duty's call I left my legs

In Badajos's breaches.'



'Why, then,' said she, 'you've lost the feet

Of legs in war's alarms,

And now you cannot wear your shoes

Upon your feats of arms!'



'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!

I know why you refuse:

Though I've no feet, some other man

Is standing in my shoes.



'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;

But, now, a long farewell!

For you will be my death' -- alas!

You will not be my Nell!'



Now when he went from Nelly Gray

His heart so heavy got,

And life was such a burden grown,

It made him take a knot.



So round his melancholy neck

A rope he did intwine,

And, for his second time in life,

Enlisted in the Line.



One end he tied around a beam,

And then removed his pegs;

And, as his legs were off -- of course

He soon was off his legs.



And there he hung till he was dead

As any nail in town;

For, though distress had cut him up,

It could not cut him down.



A dozen men sat on his corpse,

To find out why he died, --

And they buried Ben in four cross-roads

With a stake in his inside.

Destiny by andrew downing (chevar cummings)

A wise old mother is Nature--

She guideth her children's feet

In many a flowery pathway;

And her strong life-currents beat,

Sometimes in intricate channels--

As a mountain stream may run--

But ever her purpose triumphs,

And ever the goal is won.

Her eyes are the eyes of Argus,

And she utters her decree:

The brook shall come to the river,

And the river shall reach the sea.



We have failed to read the riddle

Of the impulse and desire,

That burn in the soul of being,

Like the sun's great heart of fire,

Impelling the bird, storm-drifted,

To come to its sheltered nest,

And the mother to bring her baby

The warmth of her shielding breast;

And the blossom to yield its honey

As the spoil of the bandit bee--

While the brook goes down to the river

And the river reaches the sea.



But whatsoever we name it--

Be it Destiny, or Fate--

It leads the prince to his kingdom,

The king to his palace gate;

The lover shall taste the kisses

That grow on the maiden's lips;

And safe, in the land-locked harbor,

Shall be moored the wand'ring ships;

And the soul shall gain its heaven--

Where the white-robed angels be--

And the brook shall blend with the river

And the river shall wed the sea.

Faith

By: Grayson Givens (Gilbert Noel)


I once knew Hope

She was sweet
She was gentle
She had Faith
Faith was strong
Until that cold shady day
I turned way to crazy
Lazy thoughts
Turned my faith off
Just wanted to Die
SHoot all thes lies
back into my veins
Cut My Damn Heart out
Throw it Out
Split My Brain
Cause all I fill pain
Lost My Faith
So hope left to
Just wanted to leave
This Mental hell
Cause I lost all
My Faith and Hope
Those emotions are useless
to Me
So I am Gone
and Thats my faith

Fateful Death

By: Makinotsuki Higurashi (Gilbert Noel)


Blow your mind

Sink in the air

They love you

They loath you

Smile

It makes you look better

Feeling your way through the blindness

Seeing nothing, and everything simultaneously

Let go

Your fate is inevitable

Who am I?

Sitting so lonely on the pale window sill…

Come closer, here

Smile into the eyes of your death

Who am I but your fate?

I will corrupt you, love you

Torment you, kill you…

Your inevitable fate…

Fate BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

That you are fair or wise is vain,

Or strong, or rich, or generous;

You must have also the untaught strain

That sheds beauty on the rose.

There is a melody born of melody,

Which melts the world into a sea:

Toil could never compass it;

Art its height could never hit;

It came never out of wit;

But a music music-born

Well may Jove and Juno scorn.

Thy beauty, if it lack the fire

Which drives me mad with sweet desire,

What boots it? what the soldier's mail,

Unless he conquer and prevail?

What all the goods thy pride which lift,

If thou pine for another's gift?

Alas! that one is born in blight,

Victim of perpetual slight:

When thou lookest on his face,

Thy heart saith, "Brother, go thy ways!

None shall ask thee what thou doest,

Or care a rush for what thou knowest,

Or listen when thou repliest,

Or remember where thou liest,

Or how thy supper is sodden;"

And another is born

To make the sun forgotten.

Surely he carries a talisman

Under his tongue;

Broad are his shoulders, and strong;

And his eye is scornful,

Threatening, and young.

I hold it of little matter

Whether your jewel be of pure water,

A rose diamond or a white,

But whether it dazzle me with light.

I care not how you are dressed,

In the coarsest or in the best;

Nor whether your name is base or brave;

Nor for the fashion of your behavior;

But whether you charm me,

Bid my bread feed and my fire warm me,

And dress up Nature in your favor.

One thing is forever good;

That one thing is Success, —

Dear to the Eumenides,

And to all the heavenly brood.

Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,

Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.

Faith BY FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE

Better trust all, and be deceived,

And weep that trust, and that deceiving;

Than doubt one heart, that, if believed,

Had blessed one’s life with true believing.

Oh, in this mocking world, too fast

The doubting fiend o’ertakes our youth!

Better be cheated to the last,

Than lose the blessèd hope of truth.

FATE POEMS ANDREA GUERRA

Fate Factor




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You choose your fate

By the things you do

If you are good

Your fate will be too



Fate does not choose you

It won’t take time to choose you

Just watch what you do

And fate will be good to you



A fate worse than death

For being bad that’s what you get

I’ve been there and back

So I know the facts



Take my advice

Live life right

Just do onto others good

And fate will do onto you



Follow one of the golden rules

Do onto others what you,

Want them to do onto you

And that’s how you choose your fate



LaTisha Parkinson



The Cloud of Fate


by: Bacchylides (5th century B.C.)

translated by John Herman Merivale









Peaceful wealth, or painful toil,

Chance of war, or civil broil,

'Tis not for man's feeble race

These to shun, or those embrace.

But that all-disposing Fate

Which presides o'er mortal state,

Where it listeth, casts its shroud

Of impenetrable cloud.

Her Faith by Raymond A. Foss

Like a second layer of skin is her faith
right out there, the outer edge of her
exuding from her pores, from her being
Proclaiming the good news, living the Word
sharing her faith, her joy, not letting the world,
life’s little problems steal her joy
Being the faith she believes, sharing her gifts
her spirit, His grace, answering His call
open and honest, ready to do His work
Be His hands, now

Faith-by Linda Pastan & Fate-by Carolyn Wells

Faith
by Linda Pastan

For Ira

With the seal of science

emblazoned

on your forehead,

like the old Good Housekeeping

Seal of Approval,

I believe what you tell me

about cells and molecules,

though I can't see them.

And though the language you speak

is full of numbers and symbols

I'll never understand;

though your tie is askew

and your hair unruly, still I believe

what you say about the size of the universe,

which is either expanding or contracting,

I've forgotten which already.

So if tomorrow you tell me

you made a small miscalculation,

that God indeed created the world

in 6 short days, then rested on the 7th,

that it was Eve who landed us

in all this trouble, I would believe you.

I would believe you

as I've always done before.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fate

by Carolyn Wells

Two shall be born the whole world wide apart,

And speak in different tongues, and pay their debts

In different kinds of coin; and give no heed

Each to the other’s being. And know not

That each might suit the other to a T,

If they were but correctly introduced.

And these, unconsciously, shall bend their steps,

Escaping Spaniards and defying war,

Unerringly toward the same trysting-place,

Albeit they know it not. Until at last

They enter the same door, and suddenly

They meet. And ere they’ve seen each other’s face

They fall into each other’s arms, upon

The Broadway cable car – and this is Fate!

FATE

Deep in the man sits fast his fate


To mould his fortunes, mean or great:

Unknown to Cromwell as to me

Was Cromwell's measure or degree;

Unknown to him as to his horse,

If he than his groom be better or worse.

He works, plots, fights, in rude affairs,

With squires, lords, kings, his craft compares,

Till late he learned, through doubt and fear,

Broad England harbored not his peer:

Obeying time, the last to own

The Genius from its cloudy throne.

For the prevision is allied

Unto the thing so signified;

Or say, the foresight that awaits

Is the same Genius that creates.



Ralph Waldo Emerson

Psalm 28

Of David.

1 To you I call, O LORD my Rock;
do not turn a deaf ear to me.
For if you remain silent,
I will be like those who have gone down to the pit.


2 Hear my cry for mercy
as I call to you for help,
as I lift up my hands
toward your Most Holy Place.


3 Do not drag me away with the wicked,
with those who do evil,
who speak cordially with their neighbors
but harbor malice in their hearts.


4 Repay them for their deeds
and for their evil work;
repay them for what their hands have done
and bring back upon them what they deserve.


5 Since they show no regard for the works of the LORD
and what his hands have done,
he will tear them down
and never build them up again.


6 Praise be to the LORD,
for he has heard my cry for mercy.


7 The LORD is my strength and my shield;
my heart trusts in him, and I am helped.
My heart leaps for joy
and I will give thanks to him in song.


8 The LORD is the strength of his people,
a fortress of salvation for his anointed one.


9 Save your people and bless your inheritance;
be their shepherd and carry them forever.

Freedom(Gaston Gros)

Ring the Bells of Freedom,
and liberty tolls for we.
Quench the Ring of Freedom,
and oppression tolls for thee.

PATRIOTISM ANDREA GUERRA

I STAND ON HISTORY'S CORNER


I once was called a State House, now I'm Independence Hall

I stand on history's corner on a Philadelphia mall

I face the green where freedom rings in silence to the ear

But the bell tolls daily in the minds of those who want to hear



In the chambers of my meeting place, two hundred years ago

Words of strong debate from out my chambers overflowed

A government was founded and a portrait finely etched

And the face of freedom's guarantee on parchment had been sketched



I listened to the arguments, I heard the strong debate

I shed a tear of joy when they discussed the people's fate

They granted all a freedom that nobody could refute

The right to speak what he believed was granted absolute



It is a freedom that's denied to millions on this earth

Yet many here still don't appreciate its' golden worth

For every freedom guaranteed, there rests a certain trust

In the right of conscience, right of thought, to say the things we must



Every day the tourists come, to visit chamber halls

To hear the words of independence echo off the walls

They glance out rippled windows at the beauty of the green

Some understand the magnitude of all that they have seen



There is an unmarked boundary by which speech is well embraced

That does not smile upon the words that scar and that deface

That offend another's tenants, that degrade and that abuse

From one without a conscience, where his freedom is misused



But yet between the lines of freedom, tolerance is clear

Sometimes we listen to the things we never want to hear

Then anger and mistrust arise within the murky mist

Of one who utters or displays what principles resist



But yet he has the right to what his conscience will attest

To those I say, just turn your back and silently protest

Rejection is the deepest pain that one will ever feel

And silence speaks the loudest as it echoes what is real



There is another boundary that blows in freedom's air

That does not allow the right to speech that cause s one's despair

Inciting danger or upheaval, with a word or sign

Intended to create despair and others to malign



The law will call to justice, the one who oversteps

The line of freedom's limits with the weight of ignorance

Those who've passed the boundaries, marked on wooden floor

Where freedom was first granted, never walked into my door



For if he had, he would be overcome with the debate

As ghosts of freedom argue in the favor of his fate

He'd hear his name be mentioned as deserving to the wise

For "every individual" was equal in their eyes



He'd understand the privilege of living in a land

Where censorship's forbidden to the eyes of every man

Where every pen is free to write the thoughts within his soul

And every soul is free in seeking knowledge as his goal



I stand on history's corner, a building with a name

Where people look at freedom's bell through rippled window pane

And realize their eyes are gazing through the very glass

Of eyes that once looked out as well in shadows of the past



Come here to see where freedom's voice was duly given birth

Come here to understand the measure of your voice's worth



-- Submitted by Elizabeth Santos from Pottstown, PA

e-mail: mesantos1@comcast.net

Got Your Back


by Autumn Parker



I am a small and precious child,

my Daddys been sent to fight

The only place I will see his face,

is in my dreams at night



He will be gone too many days,

for my young mind to keep track.

I may be sad, but I am proud,

my Daddy's got your back



I am a caring mother,

my son has gone to war

My mind is filled with worries

that I have never known before



Every day I try to keep

my thoughts from turning black

I may be sad, but I am proud,

my son has got your back.



I am a strong and loving wife,

with a husband soon to go

There are times I am terrified,

in ways most never know



I bite my lip and force a smile,

as I watch my husband pack

My heart may break but I am proud,

my husband's got your back.



I am a soldier;

serving proudly, standing tall.

I fight for freedom, yours and mine,

by answering this call.



I do my job while knowing,

the thanks it sometimes lacks.

Say a prayer that I come home,

its me that's got your back



A M E R I C A


A

is for the Attitudes

that conquer any quest

M

is for the Multitudes

who know just why they're blessed

E

pluribus unum

from sea to shining sea

R

for all the Riches found

where everyone is free

I

for Individuals

who sacrifice their all

C

because our Christian faith

will answer every call, so one more

A

for Attitudes

That live inside of us

God has blessed America

Cause God is who we trust



G O D B L E S S A M E R I C A !

I Hear America Singing -Fareez Mamood

I Hear America Singing







by Walt Whitman (from Leaves of Grass, 1900)










I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;


Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;


The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,


The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;


The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;


The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing as he stands;


The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;


The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing—


Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;


The day what belongs to the day—


At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,


Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

A Nation’s Strength - Fareez Mamood

A Nation’s Strength







by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1904)










What makes a nation’s pillars high


And its foundations strong?


What makes it mighty to defy


The foes that round it throng?






It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand


Go down in battle shock;


Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,


Not on abiding rock.






Is it the sword? Ask the red dust


Of empires passed away;


The blood has turned their stones to rust,


Their glory to decay.






And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown


Has seemed to nations sweet;


But God has struck its luster down


In ashes at his feet.






Not gold but only men can make


A people great and strong;


Men who for truth and honor’s sake


Stand fast and suffer long.






Brave men who work while others sleep,


Who dare while others fly...


They build a nation’s pillars deep


And lift them to the sky.

patriotic poem (chevar cummings)

Any Woman to a Soldier


by Grace Ellery Channing



The day you march away let the sun shine,

Let everything be blue and gold and fair,

Triumph of trumpets calling through bright air,

Flags slanting, flowers flaunting not a sign

That the unbearable is now to bear,

The day you march away.



The day you march away this I have sworn,

No matter what comes after, that shall be

Hid secretly between my soul and me

As women hide the unborn

You shall see brows like banners, lips that frame

Smiles, for the pride those lips have in your name.

You shall see soldiers in my eyes that day

That day, O soldier, when you march away.



The day you march away cannot I guess?

There will be ranks and ranks, all leading on

To one white face, and then the white face gone,

And nothing left but a gray emptiness

Blurred moving masses, faceless, featureless

The day you march away.



Any Woman to a Soldier

by Grace Ellery Channing

patriotic poem (chevar cummings)

A Toast to our Native Land


by Robert Bridges



Huge and alert, irascible yet strong,

We make our fitful way 'mid right and wrong.

One time we pour out millions to be free,

Then rashly sweep an empire from the sea!

One time we strike the shackles from the slaves,

And then, quiescent, we are ruled by knaves.

Often we rudely break restraining bars,

And confidently reach out toward the stars.



Yet under all there flows a hidden stream

Sprung from the Rock of Freedom, the great dream

Of Washington and Franklin, men of old

Who knew that freedom is not bought with gold.

This is the Land we love, our heritage,

Strange mixture of the gross and fine, yet sage

And full of promise destined to be great.

Drink to Our Native Land! God Bless the State!



A Toast to our Native Land

by Robert Bridges

The Present Crisis by James Russell Lowell

When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast


Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,


And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb


To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime


Of the century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time.






Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe,


When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to and fro;


At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start,


Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart,


And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the Future's heart.






So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill,


Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill,


And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies with God


In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the sod,


Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod.






For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along,


Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong;


Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame


Though its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame; --


In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim.






Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide;


In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;


Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,


Parts the goats upon the left hand and the sheep upon the right,


And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.






Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand,


Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?


Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is strong,


And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng


Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.






Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,


That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea;


Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry


Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff must fly;


Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.






Careless seems the great Avenger; history's page but record


One death- grapple in the darkness 'twist old system and the Word;


Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, --


Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,


Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.






We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great,


Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate,


But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din,


List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within, --


"They enslave their children's children who make compromise with sin."






Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant brood,


Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth with blood,


Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day,


Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey;


Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play?






Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,


Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just;


Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,


Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified,


And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.






Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, -- they were souls that stood alone,


While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone,


Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline


To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine,


By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design.






By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track,


Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back,


And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned


One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned


Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned.






For humanity sweeps onward: where today the martyr stands,


On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands;


Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,


While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return


To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn.






'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves


Of a legendary virtue carved upon our father's graves,


Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;


Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time?


Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock sublime?






They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts,


Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's;


But we make their truth our falsehood thinking that hath made us free,


Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee


The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea.






They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires,


Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires;


Shall we make their creed our jailor? Shall we, in our haste to slay,


From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away


To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of today?






New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth;


They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth;


Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be,


Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea,


Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.

The Great City by Walt Whitman

The Great City



by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)


The place where a great city stands is not the place of stretch'd wharves, docks, manufactures, deposits of produce merely,


Nor the place of ceaseless salutes of new-comers or the anchor-lifters of the departing,


Nor the place of the tallest and costliest buildings or shops selling goods from the rest of the earth,


Nor the place of the best libraries and schools, nor the place where money is plentiest,


Nor the place of the most numerous population.






Where the city stands with the brawniest breed of orators and bards,


Where the city stands that is belov'd by these, and loves them in return and understands them,


Where no monuments exist to heroes but in the common words and deeds,


Where thrift is in its place, and prudence is in its place,


Where the men and women think lightly of the laws,


Where the slave ceases, and the master of slaves ceases,


Where the populace rise at once against the never-ending audacity of elected persons,


Where fierce men and women pour forth as the sea to the whistle of death pours its sweeping and unript waves,






Where outside authority enters always after the precedence of inside authority,


Where the citizen is always the head and ideal, and President, Mayor, Governor and what not, are agents for pay,


Where children are taught to be laws to themselves, and to depend on themselves,


Where equanimity is illustrated in affairs,


Where speculations on the soul are encouraged,


Where women walk in public processions in the streets the same as the men,


Where they enter the public assembly and take places the same as the men;


Where the city of the faithfulest friends stands,


Where the city of the cleanliness of the sexes stands,


Where the city of the healthiest fathers stands,


Where the city of the best-bodied mothers stands,


There the great city stands.

Fate(Gaston Gros)

Life is a Game
Fate is an Umpire
You are a Player
In your Play Fate is not a True Umpire
As you are the Player and it’s your Play.

Life is a Game
Fate is an Umpire
You are a Player
In your Play Fate is not a True Umpire
But how you played in your Game is later said as your Fate.

Life is a Game
Where every one has an Entrance and Exit
Life is a Game where every one as a Role to Play
But Fate is not which makes you Play
But you play and say it is Fate.

Fate does not decide your Play
Because, you are the one who Play

Life is a Game
Where you should play a good Play which should decide your Fate
Don’t let your fate to decide your play
Play a Sincere play thinking you are here only to play
Then there is nothing for your Fate to do with your Play

Narendra kuppan