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ogdiddynash Jul 2023
the doctor cautioned me…

no rough S?x my boy, your coeur très ancien,
ain’t up to the task, in fact, i urge you to forgo
the goings on you love to write about, leave them
words on the page, six to eight inches (!)  from the
tippy part of your…nose; for distance makes the heart
grow fonder, life longer, when you ticker gets that
‘lost that loving feeling’, keep it lost for now, cause
I no longer make home visitations and cancelled,
I did, the refills on your ****** scrip, keep your loving
confined to the twenty six alpa-bets, so you grow
old, well, alive, cursing my name repeatedly with
a strong *******, and I’m sure He’ll be listening,
cause I know He appreciates a **** good poem!
Amitav Radiance Nov 2014
The worst form of love
which loves with cautioned heart
building defenses against the feelings
to freely explore the depths
a machiavellian mind devises plans
sinister enough to stab love
behind the smiling façade
lies the most dangerous intent
OnlyEggy Jul 2011
Dear Lovely, my tormented fair-maiden
I write thou in love, transparent and unhidden
I know you seek answers that are hard to find
searching this soul and this ****** heart of mine
Seeking the signs of a lover's true intention
while hanging on the lips of every word mentioned
You look and you hunt through your longing
to discover if I am your true belonging
I know by the pause's in your words spoken
that you're trying to avoid another heart broken
I've been honest, dear Lovely, with every answer given
and as you slowly say my name I begin to give in

But these walls I create are for the protection
of a heart once fooled with misguided direction
Everything I do, I do for our future
so you know difficulty inherent with this suture
With caution I proceed, by no cause of yours
But from past loves I've learned there are no do-overs
I, with pounding heart, beg of thee, please understand
that on this earth we can walk hand in hand
But time heals all wounds, and these are freshly made
I can love and never leave, dear Lovely,
      once the scars begin to fade.
(AIP)
RAJ NANDY Nov 2014
Friends, in the Introductory portion we have seen how Herodotus
gave birth to the subject of 'History'. Now I conclude this true story
by quoting a poem by the English poet Edgar O' Shaughnessy, which
is very appropriate for my Story! Please take your time to read, there is no hurry! Thanks, -Raj Nandy.

        HISTORIANS  AFTER  HERODOTUS
Herodotus became the trail blazer with his narration
of History,
Inspiring several Greek and Roman chroniclers as  
we subsequently get to see!
There was Thucydides, Livy, Sallust, Xenophon, and
Polybius,
Not forgetting chroniclers like Julius Caesar, Tacitus,
and the oft quoted Plutarch!
The Roman scholar Cicero had called Herodotus the
‘Father of History’;
But later the Greek historian Plutarch criticized him
for his many hearsay inaccuracies!
Even though Herodotus had cautioned his readers in
his Historical narrations, -
About those hearsay accounts and doubtful portions!
Greek historian Thucydides, who was a junior and a
contemporary of Herodotus,
For his accurate historical rendering of ‘The
Peloponnesian War’ between Athens and Sparta, -
Was praised by later scholars very much!

CYCLIC AND LINEAR PATTERNS OF HISTORY:
Herodotus believed in Nemesis and a repetitive
pattern of History.
While Thucydides with his strict investigation drew
a line between myth and reality!
Thucydides viewed history as a political struggle
based on the nature of man;
And felt that since human nature does not change
often, -
The past events would reoccur once again !
The Greeks believed in this cyclic notion of History,
Also developed a prose style to narrate their stories!
Unlike the Greeks, Roman History did not begin in an
oral Homeric tradition,
But they had a ready-made Greek model for their
historical narrations!
Roman historiography began after the Second Punic
War against Hannibal of Carthage,
When Quintus Flavius Pictor wrote Rome’s History
in Greek, instead of Latin!     (around 200BC)
Cato the Elder, was the first to write in Latin Rome’s
History,
While the Roman Livy born in Padua in 59 BC, was
praised for introducing a ‘milky richness’ of style  
for narrating these true stories !
From Julius Caesar’s accounts we learn about the
Gallic Wars and events of those ancient days;
But he Romans had used History for propaganda
and self-praise !
Also to make the conquered world to look up to them
with wonder and admiration;
For the Romans were creating History with their
conquests in a steady progression!

CYCLIC VIEW OF TIME AND HISTORY
Perhaps the cyclic view of Time has influenced the
cyclic concept of History to a great extent,
Since this cyclic view was held by many of those
Ancients !
Ancient doctrine of 'eternal return' like the seasons
of Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring, existed
in old Egypt, and the Hindu religion;
Also with the Greek Pythagoreans and Stoic
conceptions;
As well as in the Mayans and the Aztec Civilizations!
In the East, cyclic theory of History as succession of
dynastic rule developed in China,
While the Vedic Hindus developed their theory of
Cycles of Yugas!    (epoch or era)
Writing of Indian History had commenced with
the Colonial British initially,
Who had criticized India for its lack of a sense of
History and Historiography!
The ancient Hindus were more concerned with
religious philosophy, and the essence of existence,
Rather than getting absorbed with historical details!
The Hindus divide cosmic time into cyclic eras of
Satya, Tretra, Dwapara, and Kali Yugas;
With each era covering many thousands of our
human eras!
These Yugas or Cyclic segments of time is said to
repeat itself in a cyclic motion, -
Which had perhaps mystified their early views
of a clear Historical perception.
However, later Indian historians have corrected
the earlier British interpretations, -
By dividing Indian History into Ancient, Medieval
and Modern Periods,
Replacing the earlier Hindu, Muslim, and British
Periods as Colonial segregation!
And also by correcting the British Aryan Invasion
Theory as Aryan Migration;
Based on more accurate historical research and
better perception!

CHRISTIAN AND LATER VIEWS OF HISTORY:
St. Augustine during the 4th century AD, systematized
the Christian view of History, -
As a struggle between the City of God and the City
of Man, where the City of God gains victory, -
Establishing peace and prosperity!
The Christian view is therefore Linear with a
positive beginning and an end;
A providential view from the Creation of Adam
till the Day of Last Judgment!

THE RENAISSANCE: (14TH - 17TH CENTURIES):
During this period the theological view gradually
begun to fade, giving rise to the Cyclic concept of
History,
As illustrated by the decline and fall of the mighty
Roman Empire, immortalized by Edward Gibbons
in his narrated story!
This cyclic view was also maintained by Oswald
Spengler, Nikolai Danilevsky, and Paul Kennedy,
during the 19th and the 20th Centuries.

AGE OF ENLIGHTENMENT : THE 18TH CENTURY
This period advocated the use of reason to obtain
objective truth, when human beings made all the
difference freed from superstition and bigotry;
Which led to favoring a Linear and a progressive
view of History.
Voltaire symbolizing the spirit of this age had
supported human wit and education, -
Since only enlightened people could give History
a positive direction !
For Karl Marx Feudalism was followed by Capitalism,
and Capitalism by Communism.
History of existing Society as the History of Class
Struggle - was Karl Marx’s new concept!
For social material forces drove History, and this
‘historical materialism’ as a revolutionary view, -
many later Scholars did accept!

SOME MODERN CONCEPTS ABOUT HISTORY
Now I share the views of three of our renowned
Historians; the German Oswald Spengler, the
British Arnold Toynbee, and the American
Carroll Quigley,
To provide you with three different concepts
of History.
Oswald Spengler (1880-1936):
Spengler’s reputation rests on his work titled
‘Decline of the West’, considered as a major
contribution to social theory;
Where he rejects the ‘Linear’ view in favor of
definite, observable, and unrelated cycles of
History!
Rejecting the Eurocentric view of History and its
Linear division into ‘Ancient-Medieval-Modern’
Eras,
Spengler recognizes eight ‘high cultures’ which
evolve as organism, following the cycles of
growth, development, and decline;
And his views astonished the Western mind!
These high cultures were the Babylonian,
Egyptian, Chinese, Indian, Mexican ( Mayan&
Aztec), Classical (Greece& Rome), Arabian,
and Western or Euro-American!
Cultures have a life span of about a thousand
years each,
So the Western Civilization too shall decline one
day, - Spengler did teach!

Arnold Toynbee (1889-1975):
Toynbee’s 12 volumes on ‘A Study of History’
covers a wider spectrum of 23 Civilizations,
Where he rejects Spengler’s cynical theory of
growth and decline of Western Nations!
“Civilization is a movement and not a condition,
a voyage not a harbor”, Arnold said;
Like human beings Civilizations were free to chart
their own course with the capacity to ‘consciously’
choose its destiny, he had felt!
Arnold moves on to formulate his Theory of
‘Challenge and Response’, since by responding to
such challenges Civilizations could move on !
These challenges could be social or environmental
he had said;
The Greeks responded to their growing population
by taking to the seas and maritime trade,
And also prospered as their overseas colonies had
begun to spread!
Toynbee’s Civilization start to decay when they lose
their moral fiber,
He perhaps over emphasized the religious and
cultural aspects, ignoring those economic factors!
But his views were certainly more popular than
the cynical Spengler!

Carroll Quigley (1910-1977):
Quigley’s scientific trained mind could not accept
either of the above views,
So he created a synthesis of Spengler and Toynbee,
while paying History its dues!
Quigley laid down seven stages for the evolution
of Civilization;
Commencing with Mixture, Gestation, Expansion,
Conflict, Universal Empire, Decay, and Invasion!
His Civilizations are neither groups nor individuals,
But each is a system which share some common
traits.
In Quigley’s model each system come into being
adapted to their environment;
But since environment always changes, Quigley
states with some relish, -
Systems which cannot adapt themselves, must
necessarily perish!

WE ARE ALL LIVING PARTICIPANTS IN THE
  LONG UNFOLDING HUMAN STORY!
“Know Thy Self” said Socrates, and the Delphic
Oracle had pronounced that he was wisest of
the Greeks!
To know ourselves truly we must know about
our past,
For this evolutionary process shall continue as
long as the Human species last!
Today we remain as a living monument to the
past,
We continue to make History as long as humans
on this planet shall last!
Our planet earth is around 4.5 billion years old;
While the first ****-erectus emerged around
two million years hence - we are told!
By walking ***** the two hands became free to
develop,
With flexible fingers and the rotating thumb;
Which was crucial for shaping the destiny of
the Human species on earth!
Our Civilization proper dates back to about
five thousand BC,
Thus an emerging pattern we can easily see!
With the development of human consciousness
we have learned to delve inwards, -
To discovered within a vast macro world!
Now, I would love to conclude this narration by
quoting from the English poet Arthur William
Edgar O’Shaughnessy’s book ‘Music and
Moonlight’;       (1874)
Do try to follow the philosophical content relevant
to the Cyclic History of Mankind!

“We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-brakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties,
We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory.
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And there with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And overthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For Each Age Is a Dream That’s Dying,
Or One That Is Coming To Birth.”

Thanks my readers and poet friends,
Sincerely hope you will now appreciate
History better, and love its contents!
**ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR
RAJ NANDY OF NEW DELHI
Friends, those who have read part one will find the concluding portion in this narration of mine, which I tried my best to simplify! Mentioned the two basic views of History, the Linear & the Cyclic views in my narrated Story! Hope you liked the poem quoted at the end by me ! Thanks, -Raj
Kelly Bitangcol Sep 2016
I have always been fascinated by mythology. I remember seeing my older sisters with a greek mythology book, and wishing I could be in high school so I can know it already. I was interested in the mythical creatures, in the gods and goddesses, in the battles, and just like everyone, I was interested in the love stories. I wanted to learn it with passion for I heard it was the inspiration of almost all the modern literature that I love. I could still remember feeling excited to be in class and discuss it. And now that I have reached high school, and I also reached my dream of studying greek mythology and not only that, because I reached it with you. We learned about the titans, the gods and goddesses, the olympians, the monsters, the stories. We were both engrossed and captivated by it, that mythology was the only thing we ever talked about. We even related it to real life, we related people to the characters. Whenever we see a person we know, we would think of the character that best resembles them, and we will start calling them their characters that we decided them to be. We called our friend Athena, we called your cousin Apollo, we even called someone the Minotaur. And that’s what our teacher told us, that not because it’s fantasy that immediately means it cannot happen in real life. The stories there, are reality, the only difference is, they added magic into them. We loved greek mythology so much that we related it to everything. However I realised something, we related it to everything except to ourselves. So I asked you, “Who are we?”. You told me, “Baby, we’re no one there, for we will make our own mythology. We will make the greatest one, so beautiful that it would surpass the best literature of all time.” Your favourite one was Plato’s quote, you would never shut up telling me the story that “humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.” And you would always tell me, that you wished to tell Zeus you found yours already. I expected myself to love the romance most, for myself to have the love stories as my favourite. But instead, I loved the opposite,  I loved the tragedies.


I don’t know why, but I found myself loving the tragic stories. I found myself loving the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The ultimate tragic love story, in which Orpheus would have brought Eurydice back to life if only he had done what Hades said. Orpheus went to the underworld to ask Hades to bring back Eurydice, but Hades had one condition, he should not look back while his wife was still in the dark, for that would undo everything he hoped for. He should wait for Eurydice to get into the light before he looked at her. But then, Orpheus couldn’t control himself, he looked at Eurydice and hugged her, then suddenly Eurydice was drawn back to the underworld.


And who would ever forget Pyramus and Thisbe? The star crossed lovers who had families who hated each other and whispered sweet nothings through a crack in the wall that separates their houses. And they decided to run away, but when Thisbe showed up under the mulberry tree, a ****** jawed lioness was there. So Thisbe ran, and just when Pyramus arrived, he saw the lioness ripping apart Thisbe’s shawl. Thinking that Thisbe died, Pyramus stabbed himself. And when Thisbe returned and figured out what happened, she stabbed herself too. To this day, the formerly white berries of the mulberry tree are stained red with the blood of these tragic lovers.


Here comes my favourite story of all, the myth of Icarus. Icarus and his father attempted to escape from Crete by means of wings that his father constructed from feathers and wax. Daedalus cautioned him that flying too near the sun would cause the wax to melt. And because of hubris, Icarus ignored his father’s instructions and flew too close to the sun. Then the wax in his wings melted and he fell into the sea.


When I was reading the stories, epiphany suddenly hit me. Perhaps the reason why I loved tragedies so much because we’re turning into one. I finally got the answer to my question when I asked you who we are. Maybe we are Orpheus and Eurydice, we loved each other too much that we would do everything just to be together. But we ignored all the warnings, we thought love was the only thing that really mattered. We never got to control our feelings and we forgot everything, because of that, we were separated from each other. Or we could also be Pyramus and Thisbe, we are the perfect definition of lovers who almost made it, who almost achieved happiness, who almost became the greatest lovers of all time but then we never became one, we became tragic ones. And darling, perhaps Icarus resembles us the most. We are both Icarus, our wings, are ourselves,  and love, is the sun. Everybody told us not to get too near the sun, for the wax in our wings will melt, we will lose our wings because we are too close to the thing that could save and destroy us both. And just like Icarus, we disobeyed the rules.  We flew too close to the sun, look at us now.

As we were walking out of each other’s lives, I realised something. We were not meant to create the greatest story of all time that it would top the best literature. We were never making our own mythology, because we were just bound to become another tragedy. Another tragedy that people will love, and I still don’t know why, but people tend to see something beautiful in it. And maybe, just maybe, people will also see something beautiful in our tragic story. But just like Orpheus and Eurydice, Pyramus and Thisbe, Icarus; one thing is for sure, my love. We will achieve a thing we both wanted,  **we will never be forgotten.
Jamie L Cantore Jan 2017
Words Studied For This Writing:
------------------------------------
English: Zoup, please.
What it sounds like in German: Die Zoup bitte "Or" The Zoup? Bitter.
English: Uh, the night tea is great!
Pronounced in German sounds like: Eww. Is nachte. It's Gros "Or" Eww! Is nasty! It's gross!
English: Here.
Pronounced in German: Here.
English: Ha! I see an icky Sir's downin' Zoup.
German: Huh? - Ick- Taste. -Sie - An Icky herran down en Zoup
English:Yes.
German: Ja "Or" yeah
English: Skinny rides here. Skinny? Hmm.. horseback.
German: Dunne fahrten hier, Dunne. Hmm?  Holtzit back! Or.. Do not **** in here; do not! Hmm?  Holds it back!
English: Oh! I beg!
German: Oh! Ich bitte "Or" Oh! It's better!
English: Come back, Father.....
German: Comeback, Vatter "Or" Come back, Fatter
English: Nexxinline
German: Next in line.


Let's make a story with this .

First Act

-Enter Customer 2 in an American diner. She orders a
unique zebra-flavored soup called Zoup, created on American soil, but it's claimed to have had its origins in a restaurant located in Worms, Germany; as per usual proud fashion.

Customer 2 to Rude Waitress: "Zoup, please."

She sipped the complimentary drink placed before her as she awaited her order. Iced tea, ***** glass. It was reportedly their best tea, brewed by the Barista on the night-shift, whom did only speak in broken English and Spanish. Therefore, when the customer enjoyed her tea, she was glad it was nightfall and privy to the better drink and expressed her approval.

Customer 2 to Night-Shift Barista in simplified language:

"Uh, the night tea is great!"

The Barista nods politely.

Rude Waitress, apparently jealous because she makes the Day-shift tea, is curt to Customer 2:


"Here." she growled, slamming the Zoup on the table.

Things get quiet.

Just then, Customer 2 recognizes a crusty man who claims to have been knighted in a former life before joining a Native American tribe. She addresses him sardonically.

Customer 2 to Crusty Man

:
"Ha!" " I see an icky Sir's downin' Zoup!"

Crusty Man responds, unmoved:

"Yes."

Customer 2 cautioned him that he was being tracked by the infamous international assassin, Skinny.

Customer 2 to Crusty Man in mock Native American tongue:


"Skinny rides here ...

Crusty Man: "Skinny?"


Customer 2 (deepening voice)

"Mmm, horseback."

She makes gestures with her hands of a man riding a horse.
And follows it up with mimicking a successful hit on Crusty Mans life, complete with tongue hanging out of mouth.

The rude waitress then pleads to a deceased priest aloud to return to save them whilst making holy gestures frantically.

Rude Waitress to a deceased Holy Man:

"Oh!" "I beg." "Come back, Father...
Father Nexxinline?"

End First Act


This Final Act was created using the same exact words used in the English language, those in  quotations that is, as were in the First Act: but then translating them into German, the conversation then became a bit more humorous. The Background was filled in to fit the context of the meaning of the words sonic qualities, as certain German words sound similar to English words, though they generally have different meanings. The German word sounds brought a whole new meaning to the English words spoken, and with this contrast I finished the Final Act. Since most do not know how to pronounce certain words and dialects of German language, I took the sounds created within the language and converted them to English words of phonetic similarity. These words were not translated back to English, as that would put the conversation exactly where it began -I rather made them easier to perceive.

Background Final Act/. Skinny from First Act is now in a diner in Worms, Germany, (pronounced like Vorms with  a V.)

We begin with Skinny's response to being asked how is the Zoup by the German Waiter.

Skinny dryly to German Waiter: "The Zoup?" "Bitter."

He takes another spoonful into his mouth.

Skinny: "Ewww!"  "Is nasty!" "It's gross!"

Skinny to German Waiter in disgust: "Here!"

And he pushes the bowl of Zoup into the waiters face.


German Waiter to Skinny expressing consternation

: "Huh?"

Skinny commands him: "Taste!"

The waiter does so reluctantly and winces in clear disgust.

Skinny:

"See?" " Icky heron down in Zoup!"

German Waiter to Skinny knowing German Zoup  is flavored with heron, not zebra, and failing to see the point retorts

: "Yeah?"

Skinny then crude and vengeful 'expresses' a good one from his basest dwelling silently; but deadly with a grin. It was a most foul smell.

The waiter is exasperated with this crudeness and makes commands of his own.

German Waiter to Skinny

:
"Do not **** in here!" 'Do not!"" Hmm?"  "Holds it back!"

The odor horrid reached culmination with another waft of steam from Skinny and  resulted in the excommunication of Skinny.
Skinny yet found himself vindicated and agreed to leave the establishment as was demanded. As he exits in self satisfaction, our waiter tells him not to forget his Zoup and the prideful waiter Stolz mocks him in jest by spooning a mouthful into his jabbering jowls, as he does, he turns pale and ill and silenced, reassuring Skinny he had a reason to be disappointed.

The German Waiter refusing to admit defeat tells him:


"Oh, it's better!" Referring to his bias to the Zoup from Worms, which should be renamed Houp, but the words don't translate that way.

THEN Stolz realized his best customer, Skinny's hefty brother, Fatter, was running out the door in an attempt to escape the stench which lingered and but grew in force, and the waiter pleaded with him to return.

German Waiter to Skinny's brother:

"Come back, Fatter!" but Fatter kept running and giggling sophomorically.

The German Waiter to a diner full of people gasping for fresh air and no desire for Zoup at this moment said in defeatist sheepishness, gulping before asking wishfully... pouting, whispering:


"Next in line?"
     I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

The syllogism is not applied to the first principles of sciences, and is applied in vain to intermediate axioms; being no match for the subtlety of nature. It commands assent therefore to the proposition, but does not take hold of the thing.

XIV.

The syllogism consists of propositions, propositions consist of words, words are symbols of notions. Therefore if the notions themselves (which is the root of the matter) are confused and over-hastily abstracted from the facts, there can be no firmness in the superstructure. Our only hope therefore lies in a true induction.

XV.

There is no soundness in our notions whether logical or physical. Substance, Quality, Action, Passion, Essence itself, are not sound notions: much less are Heavy, Light, Dense, Rare, Moist, Dry, Generation, Corruption, Attraction, Repulsion, Element, Matter, Form, and the like; but all are fantastical and ill defined.

XVI.

Our notions of less general species, as Man, Dog, Dove, and of the immediate perceptions of the sense, as Hot, Cold, Black, White, do not materially mislead us; yet even these are sometimes confused by the flux and alteration of matter and the mixing of one thing with another. All the others which men have hitherto adopted are but wanderings, not being abstracted and formed from things by proper methods.

XVII.

Nor is there less of wilfulness and wandering in the construction of axioms than in the formations of notions; not excepting even those very principles which are obtained by common induction; but much more in the axioms and lower propositions educed by the syllogism.

XVIII.

The discoveries which have hitherto been made in the sciences are such as lie close to ****** notions, scarcely beneath the surface. In order to penetrate into the inner and further recesses of nature, it is necessary that both notions and axioms be derived from things by a more sure and guarded way; and that a method of intellectual operation be introduced altogether better and more certain.

XIX.

There are and can be only two ways of searching into and discovering truth. The one flies from the senses and particulars to the most general axioms, and from these principles, the truth of which it takes for settled and immovable, proceeds to judgment and to the discovery of middle axioms. And this way is now in fashion. The other derives axioms from the senses and particulars, rising by a gradual and unbroken ascent, so that it arrives at the most general axioms last of all. This is the true way, but as yet untried.

**.

The understanding left to itself takes the same course (namely, the former) which it takes in accordance with logical order. For the mind longs to spring up to positions of higher generality, that it may find rest there; and so after a little while wearies of experiment. But this evil is increased by logic, because of the order and solemnity of its disputations.

XXI.

The understanding left to itself, in a sober, patient, and grave mind, especially if it be not hindered by received doctrines, tries a little that other way, which is the right one, but with little progress; since the understanding, unless directed and assisted, is a thing unequal, and quite unfit to contend with the obscurity of things.

XXII.

Both ways set out from the senses and particulars, and rest in the highest generalities; but the difference between them is infinite. For the one just glances at experiment and particulars in passing, the other dwells duly and orderly among them. The one, again, begins at once by establishing certain abstract and useless generalities, the other rises by gradual steps to that which is prior and better known in the order of nature.

XXIII.

There is a great difference between the Idols of the human mind and the Ideas of the divine. That is to say, between certain empty dogmas, and the true signatures and marks set upon the works of creation as they are found in nature.

XXIV.

It cannot be that axioms established by argumentation should avail for the discovery of new works; since the subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of argument. But axioms duly and orderly formed from particulars easily discover the way to new particulars, and thus render sciences active.

XXV.

The axioms now in use, having been suggested by a scanty and manipular experience and a few particulars of most general occurrence, are made for the most part just large enough to fit and take these in: and therefore it is no wonder if they do not lead to new particulars. And if some opposite instance, not observed or not known before, chance to come in the way, the axiom is rescued and preserved by some frivolous distinction; whereas the truer course would be to correct the axiom itself.

XXVI.

The conclusions of human reason as ordinarily applied in matter of nature, I call for the sake of distinction Anticipations of Nature (as a thing rash or premature). That reason which is elicited from facts by a just and methodical process, I call Interpretation of Nature.

XXVII.

Anticipations are a ground sufficiently firm for consent; for even if men went mad all after the same fashion, they might agree one with another well enough.

XXVIII.

For the winning of assent, indeed, anticipations are far more powerful than interpretations; because being collected from a few instances, and those for the most part of familiar occurrence, they straightway touch the understanding and fill the imagination; whereas interpretations on the other hand, being gathered here and there from very various and widely dispersed facts, cannot suddenly strike the understanding; and therefore they must needs, in respect of the opinions of the time, seem harsh and out of tune; much as the mysteries of faith do.

XXIX.

In sciences founded on opinions and dogmas, the use of anticipations and logic is good; for in them the object is to command assent to the proposition, not to master the thing.

***.

Though all the wits of all the ages should meet together and combine and transmit their labours, yet will no great progress ever be made in science by means of anticipations; because radical errors in the first concoction of the mind are not to be cured by the excellence of functions and remedies subsequent.

XXXI.

It is idle to expect any great advancement in science from the superinducing and engrafting of new things upon old. We must begin anew from the very foundations, unless we would revolve for ever in a circle with mean and contemptible progress.

XXXII.

The honour of the ancient authors, and indeed of all, remains untouched; since the comparison I challenge is not of wits or faculties, but of ways and methods, and the part I take upon myself is not that of a judge, but of a guide.

XXXIII.

This must be plainly avowed: no judgment can be rightly formed either of my method or of the discoveries to which it leads, by means of anticipations (that is to say, of the reasoning which is now in use); since I cannot be called on to abide by the sentence of a tribunal which is itself on its trial.

XXXIV.

Even to deliver and explain what I bring forward is no easy matter; for things in themselves new will yet be apprehended with reference to what is old.

XXXV.

It was said by Borgia of the expedition of the French into Italy, that they came with chalk in their hands to mark out their lodgings, not with arms to force their way in. I in like manner would have my doctrine enter quietly into the minds that are fit and capable of receiving it; for confutations cannot be employed, when the difference is upon first principles and very notions and even upon forms of demonstration.

XXXVI.

One method of delivery alone remains to us; which is simply this: we must lead men to the particulars themselves, and their series and order; while men on their side must force themselves for awhile to lay their notions by and begin to familiarise themselves with facts.

XXXVII.

The doctrine of those who have denied that certainty could be attained at all, has some agreement with my way of proceeding at the first setting out; but they end in being infinitely separated and opposed. For the holders of that doctrine assert simply that nothing can be known; I also assert that not much can be known in nature by the way which is now in use. But then they go on to destroy the authority of the senses and understanding; whereas I proceed to devise and supply helps for the same.

XXXVIII.

The idols and false notions which are now in possession of the human understanding, and have taken deep root therein, not only so beset men's minds that truth can hardly find entrance, but even after entrance obtained, they will again in the very instauration of the sciences meet and trouble us, unless men being forewarned of the danger fortify themselves as far as may be against their assaults.

XXXIX.

There are four classes of Idols which beset men's minds. To these for distinction's sake I have assigned names, -- calling the first class Idols of the Tribe; the second, Idols of the Cave; the third, Idols of the Market-place; the fourth, Idols of the Theatre.

XL.

The formation of ideas and axioms by true induction is no doubt the proper remedy to be applied for the keeping off and clearing away of idols. To point them out, however, is of great use; for the doctrine of Idols is to the Interpretation of Nature what the doctrine of the refutation of Sophisms is to common Logic.

XLI.

The Idols of the Tribe have their foundation in human nature itself, and in the tribe or race of men. For it is a false assertion that the sense of man is the measure of things. On the contrary, all perceptions as well of the sense as of the mind are according to the measure of the individual and not according to the measure of the universe. And the human understanding is like a false mirror, which, receiving rays irregularly, distorts and discolours the nature of things by mingling its own nature with it.

XLII.

The Idols of the Cave are the idols of the individual man. For every one (besides the errors common to human nature in general) has a cave or den of his own, which refracts and discolours the light of nature; owing either to his own proper and peculiar nature; or to his education and conversation with others; or to the reading of books, and the authority of those whom he esteems and admires; or to the differences of impressions, accordingly as they take place in a mind preoccupied and predisposed or in a mind indifferent and settled; or the like. So that the spirit of man (according as it is meted out to different individuals) is in fact a thing variable and full of perturbation, and governed as it were by chance. Whence it was well observed by Heraclitus that men look for sciences in their own lesser worlds, and not in the greater or common world.

XLIII.

There are also Idols formed by the ******* and association of men with each other, which I call Idols of the Market-place, on account of the commerce and consort of men there. For it is by discourse that men associate; and words are imposed according to the apprehension of the ******. And therefore the ill and unfit choice of words wonderfully obstructs the understanding. Nor do the definitions or explanations wherewith in some things learned men are wont to guard and defend themselves, by any means set the matter right. But words plainly force and overrule the understanding, and throw all into confusion, and lead men away into numberless empty controversies and idle fancies.

XLIV.

Lastly, there are Idols which have immigrated into men's minds from the various dogmas of philosophies, and also from wrong laws of demonstration. These I call Idols of the Theatre; because in my judgment all the received systems are but so many stage-plays, representing worlds of their own creation after an unreal and scenic fashion. Nor is it only of the systems now in vogue, or only of the ancient sects and philosophies, that I speak; for many more plays of the same kind may yet be composed and in like artificial manner set forth; seeing that errors the most widely different have nevertheless causes for the most part alike. Neither again do I mean this only of entire systems, but also of many principles and axioms in science, which by tradition, credulity, and negligence have come to be received.
But of these several kinds of Idols I must speak more largely and exactly, that the understanding may be duly cautioned.

XLV.

The human understanding is of its own nature prone to suppose the existence of more order and regularity in the world than it finds. And though there be many things in nature which are singular and unmatched, yet it devises for them parallels and conjugates and relatives which do not exist. Hence the fiction that all celestial bodies move in perfect circles; spirals and dragons being (except in name) utterly rejected. Hence too the element of Fire with its orb is brought in, to make up the square with the other three which the sense perceives. Hence also the ratio of density of the so-called elements is arbitrarily fixed at ten to one. And so on of other dreams. And these fancies affect not dogmas only, but simple notions also.

XLVI.

The human understanding when it has once adopted an opinion (either as being the received opinion or as being agreeable to itself) draws all things else to support and agree with it. And though there be a greater number and weight of instances to be found on the other side, yet these it either neglects and despises, or else by some distinction sets aside and rejects; in order that by this great and pernicious predetermination the authority of its for
In Kitale
A town in Kenya,
Lived an English man
His name was Lord Hitchcock
He owned over a thousand acres of land
He took for himself
During colonial times
He had hundredfold of workers
Hitchcock had very beautiful wife
She was called Queen Victoria,
They had two sons;
Hitchcock junior and William,
He had a passion for work
He always woke up at ****-crow
Only to retire back at chick roost
Natives of Kitale had respect for him,
They secretly envied huge udders
That his five thousand fresian cows had,
They also loved him,
For he killed the flying snake,
That had terrorized natives for years,
Hitchcock just pointed a long stick
At the flying snake,
The stick which looked like cooking wood,
Then smoke and thunder came out
Only to see the snake coming down
Tangling like a rope
And fell down in a thud!
It is when the natives gave him a new name
Mango wa nandemu; meaning the snake killer
Natives also had an issue with him;
He likes putting  mucus in his kerchief
And then put it back into his pockets
Instead of throwing it a way
Direct from the nose,
His nose were slender and long
They wonder why he could not used it
In proper thrusting away of the mucus,
Men folk on his farm were always day dreaming
Of any chance to have *** with Queen Victoria
As the women folk too fancied of William
Marrying their daughters,
His favourite worker was Onyango,
The Luo man from shores of the lake
He liked Onyango most
Even  he promoted him
To be a tractor driver
Other than cleaning the cowsheds,
The gossip was that maybe Hitchcock was full,
Or not circumcised like Onyango
Hence is passionate preference Onyango,
But no, they don’t knew,
The germ was in Onyango’s workmanship
Onyango worked like a donkey,
Onyango also had a beautiful daughter
Her name was Ilingling Atineo Nyarpondo,
But workers on the farm called her Atieno,
It is Hitchcock who broke her virginity
A secret which queen Victoria knows not,
Hitchcock just popped in at Onyango’s shack
One after noon, after Lunch
He found Onyango, Atieno and the mother,
He didn’t talk a lot,
He only ordered Onyango and his wife
To go out and hang around
For him to have Word with Atieno
Onyango walked out minus haste,
The wife followed suit, after cautioning Atieno
Not to disappoint the Lord; Hitchcock,
A minute never passed,
Before the Lord took Atieno into his arms
He carried her to Onyango’s bed
And effectively penetrated her,
Sweetness gripped both of them
Hitchcock on his ******
Began to  moan like an aphrodisiac animal;
Atienoo! Atienoo! Atienoo!
In turn Atieno also screamed
Like a caged monkey;
Lord! Lord! Lord!
We are on my father’s bed,
Onyango and His wife
Were out keeping sentry
Lest Victoria finds Hitchcock
In the act of deflowering the ******,
When he finished,
He called Onyango and the wife in
Then he warned them
To keep the mouths shut,
Or else he ejects them from the farm,
And indeed they kept mum,
Hence the friendship
Between Onyango and Hitchcock,


Hitchcock never like two of his workers,
Josef Sasita and Wavukho Masafu
He didn’t like Sasita because of one reason;
Sasita brought along his brother to work
His brother was called Kalenda
When Hitchcock was taking the master roll
He asked Kalenda to say his names
Of which Kalenda said his two names;
Kalenda Sasita,
Of which Hitchcock never understood
As these two names are a Kiswahili sentence
Meaning it is lunch time at end moth,
Hitchcock understood Kiswahili very well,
He thought Kalenda was implying for a pay
And Lunch Allowance
When he had only worked for three hours
It was not lunch time neither was it end month,
Hitchcock was overtaken by anger
He slapped Kalenda with all energy in his arms
Kalenda fainted and collapsed like a dead bird,
Sasita thought the lord had killed his brother
He began wailing, he boxed Hitchcock
More than five hundred jabs
in a couple of minutes,
Then Sasita got off on his heels,
Running away at a speed of a kite,
But unfortunately he was arrested
By a white police and brought back to Hitchcock,
Hitchcock flogged Sasita two hundred strokes,
And ordered Sasita to resume his work,

Hitchcock’s detest for Wavukho
is due to nothing else
Other ceaseless malingering,
Wavukho always takes
a minimum of an hour
Every time he visits the toilet,

So Onyango is the only guy on the firm,
A boon to which Ndiema, farm worker,
Is very jealousy of ,
Ndiema believed Onyango is using charms
Or love potions or Voodoo to lure the Whiteman,
Otherwise how can Whiteman love a black worker?
With such passion in the way Hitchcock loved Onyango,

One day Ndiema approached Onyango
He asked him the secrete behind his fortune
Onyango became sly and lied,
He told Ndiema that it was only magical charms
He was given by his late mother,
That made Hitchcock’s heart to swell with love
For him and his family,
Ndiema believed on the first hearing,
He became selfish and begged Onyango,
To give him the charms also,
So that he can also enjoy the Whiteman’s love
Onyango accepted to assist but at a fee,
A fee which took Ndiema salary of two months,
Then Onyango brought Ndiema a ***** of an Alligator,
He told Ndiema to put it in his underpants,
Every time he goes to work,
Ndiema complied,
That morning Ndiema woke very early,
He walked to his work station
Very happy and confident
Sure of enjoying the Whiteman’s love
Given the voodoo under his pants,

At ten in the morning Hitchcock called Ndiema
To join him in repairing the maize miller,
Ndiema was a hand boy, a toto,
Ndiema was to hold the engine
As Hitchcock tightened the nuts
But the engine was oily with grease,
Ndiema’s hands slipped every time
Hitchcock tried to tighten the nuts
Hitchcock got irritated,
Especially by the papyrus cowboy hat
Ndiema was wearing,
Hitchcock cautioned Ndiema to be serious
By tightly holding the engine,
But when Hitchcock began tightening
The engine again,
Ndiema’s hands slipped
And the engine moved away,
Hitchcock punctuated this with a nemesis;
He jabbed Ndiema with an art of Olympiad boxer,
It was one tremendous fist
The fist of the century,
When Ndiema wanted to cry
His five teeth jumped out
And when he said I am sorry my lord
He woffled; iywi mwu sovwi lodwi
Hitchcock clicked and walked away,
Ndiema walked home
With a humongous gap in his bucal cavity,
Ndiema reached home and went to bed
His wife, Chepsuwet was already aware
She only prepared porridge for him
As he had no teeth to munch solid food,

When Hitchcock reached home
He found his two sons in a strong fever,
They were panting like desert dogs,
He asked them what was wrong,
Both boys began shedding tears
In torrents like river Euphrates and Tigris
Flowing across the Garden of Eden,
What is the problem?
Hitchcock roared,
The big boy then featfully responded;
We were given sugar cane to chew,
We were given by Ndiema the farm worker,
It was yesterday in the evening,
That is why we are sick,
Ok,
Hitchcock nodded his head,
He took his whip, made of wires and rods
With a sting at the end,
He jumped on his horse
And shot off to Ndiema’s place
At the speed of forty five kilometers per hour,
He found Ndiema trying to swallow some porridge,
Come on Ndiema! Roared Hitchcock in full voltage
Of ire, anger, fury and mad petulance,
When Ndiema came out
Hitchcock pulled out his whip
He flogged Ndiema terribly
They were strokes and strokes
Strokes fell on Ndiema’s back
With a sharp sound like a thunderclap
Ndiema cried like a baby,
Begging for lord’s mercy
Chepsuwet looked on in fear,

When Hitchcock jumped on his horse
And went away clicking, frothing in anger
Like the waters of river Nile
Departing Lake Victoria to Egypt,
Ndiema was on the ground
Writhing in pains from the flogging,
He sobbed and sobbed,
And finally he mumbled;
Witchcraft don’t work against an Englishman,
His wife Chepsuwet did not understand.
“Keep on the Watch”​—The Hour of Judgment Has Arrived!

The information in this study article is based on the brochure Keep on the Watch! released at the district conventions that were held around the world during 2004/05.

“Keep on the watch . . . because you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.”​—MATTHEW 24:42.

1, 2. To what did Jesus fittingly liken his coming?

WHAT would you do if you knew that a thief was on the prowl, burglarizing homes in your neighborhood? To protect your loved ones and your valuables, you would keep alert, watchful. After all, a thief does not send a letter announcing when he is coming. On the contrary, he comes stealthily and unexpectedly.

2 On more than one occasion, Jesus used the ways of a thief as an illustration. (Luke 10:30; John 10:10) Regarding events that would occur during the time of the end and that would lead up to his coming to execute judgment, Jesus gave this warning: “Keep on the watch, therefore, because you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But know one thing, that if the householder had known in what watch the thief was coming, he would have kept awake and not allowed his house to be broken into.” (Matthew 24:42, 43) So Jesus likened his coming to the arrival of a thief​—unexpected.

3, 4. (a) What is involved in heeding Jesus’ warning about his coming? (b) What questions arise?

3 The illustration was fitting, for the precise date of Jesus’ coming would not be known. Earlier, in the same prophecy, Jesus said: “Concerning that day and hour nobody knows, neither the angels of the heavens nor the Son, but only the Father.” (Matthew 24:36) Jesus, therefore, urged his listeners: “Prove yourselves ready.” (Matthew 24:44) Those heeding Jesus’ warning would be ready, conducting themselves properly, whenever he would come as Jehovah’s Executional Agent.

4 Some important questions arise: Is Jesus’ warning only for people of the world, or do true Christians also need to “keep on the watch”? Why is it urgent to “keep on the watch,” and what does this involve?

A Warning for Whom?

5. How do we know that the warning to “keep on the watch” applies to true Christians?

5 It is certainly true that the Lord’s coming will be thieflike to people of the world, who shut their ears to the warning of impending calamity. (2 Peter 3:3-7) However, what about true Christians? The apostle Paul wrote to fellow believers: “You yourselves know quite well that Jehovah’s day is coming exactly as a thief in the night.” (1 Thessalonians 5:2) There is no doubt in our minds that “Jehovah’s day is coming.” But does that minimize the need for us to keep on the watch? Notice that it was to his disciples that Jesus said: “At an hour that you do not think to be it, the Son of man is coming.” (Matthew 24:44) Earlier, when urging his disciples to seek continually the Kingdom, Jesus cautioned: “Keep ready, because at an hour that you do not think likely the Son of man is coming.” (Luke 12:31, 40) Is it not clear that Jesus had his followers in mind when he warned: “Keep on the watch”?

6. Why do we need to “keep on the watch”?

6 Why do we need to “keep on the watch” and “keep ready”? Jesus explained: “Two men will be in the field: one will be taken along and the other be abandoned; two women will be grinding at the hand mill: one will be taken along and the other be abandoned.” (Matthew 24:40, 41) Those who prove themselves ready will be “taken along,” or saved, when the ungodly world is destroyed. Others will be “abandoned” to destruction because they have been selfishly pursuing their own way of life. These may well include individuals who were once enlightened but who did not keep on the watch.

7. What does not knowing when the end will come allow us to do?

7 Not knowing the exact day of the end of this old system gives us the opportunity to demonstrate that we serve God out of a pure motive. How so? It may be that the end seems to be a long time in arriving. Sad to say, some Christians who feel this way have allowed their zeal for Jehovah’s service to cool off. Yet, by our dedication, we have without reservation presented ourselves to Jehovah to serve him. Those who know Jehovah realize that a last-minute display of zeal will not impress him. He sees what is in the heart.​—1 Samuel 16:7.

8. How does love for Jehovah move us to keep on the watch?

8 Because we truly love Jehovah, we find the greatest delight in doing his will. (Psalm 40:8; Matthew 26:39) And we want to serve Jehovah forever. That prospect is not less precious just because we must wait a little longer than we may have expected. Above all, we keep on the watch because we eagerly anticipate what Jehovah’s day will mean for the accomplishment of his purpose. Our earnest desire to please God moves us to apply the counsel of his Word and give his Kingdom first place in our life. (Matthew 6:33; 1 John 5:3) Let us consider how keeping on the watch should influence the decisions we make and the way we live our life each day.

Where Is Your Life Heading?

9. Why is there an urgent need for people of the world to wake up to the significance of our times?

9 Many people today recognize that serious problems and shocking events have become everyday occurrences, and they may not be pleased with the direction that their own life is taking. However, do they know the real meaning of world conditions? Do they realize that we are living in “the conclusion of the system of things”? (Matthew 24:3) Do they recognize that the prevalence of selfish, violent, even ungodly attitudes marks these times as “the last days”? (2 Timothy 3:1-5) There is an urgent need for them to wake up to the significance of all of this and to consider the way their life is heading.

10. What must we do to be sure that we are keeping on the watch?

10 What about us? Every day we face decisions that involve our employment, our health, our family, and our worship. We know what the Bible says, and we endeavor to apply it. Therefore, we do well to ask ourselves: ‘Have I allowed the anxieties of life to push me off course? Am I letting the world’s philosophies, its thinking, determine the choices I make?’ (Luke 21:34-36; Colossians 2:8) We need to continue to demonstrate that we trust in Jehovah with all our heart and not lean upon our own understanding. (Proverbs 3:5) In that way, we will keep “a firm hold on the real life”​—eternal life in God’s new world.​—1 Timothy 6:12, 19.

11-13. What can we learn from the examples of what happened (a) in the days of Noah? (b) in the days of Lot?

11 The Bible contains many warning examples that can help us to keep on the watch. Consider what happened in Noah’s day. Well in advance, God saw to it that warning was given. But apart from Noah and his household, people took no note. (2 Peter 2:5) Regarding this, Jesus said: “Just as the days of Noah were, so the presence of the Son of man will be. For as they were in those days before the flood, eating and drinking, men marrying and women being given in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark; and they took no note until the flood came and swept them all away, so the presence of the Son of man will be.” (Matthew 24:37-39) What can we learn from that? If any of us are allowing mundane concerns​—even the normal activities of life—​to crowd out the spiritual activities that God urges us to keep in first place, we need to think seriously about our situation.​—Romans 14:17.

12 Think, too, about the days of Lot. The city of *****, where Lot and his family lived, was materially prosperous but morally bankrupt. Jehovah sent his angels to bring the place to ruin. The angels urged Lot and his family to flee from ***** and not to look back. Encouraged by the angels, they did leave the city. Lot’s wife, however, evidently could not let go of her feelings for her home in *****. Disobediently, she looked back, and for this she paid with her life. (Genesis 19:15-26) Prophetically, Jesus warned: “Remember the wife of Lot.” Are we acting on that warning?​—Luke 17:32.

13 Those who heeded divine warnings were spared. That was true of Noah and his family and of Lot and his daughters. (2 Peter 2:9) As we take to heart the warning in these examples, we are also encouraged by the message of deliverance contained therein for lovers of righteousness. That fills our heart with confident expectation of the fulfillment of God’s promise of “new heavens and a new earth” in which “righteousness is to dwell.”​—2 Peter 3:13.

‘The Hour of the Judgment Has Arrived’!

14, 15. (a) What does “the hour” of judgment include? (b) What is involved in ‘fearing God and giving him glory’?

14 As we keep on the watch, what can we expect? The book of Revelation outlines progressive steps in the fulfillment of God’s purpose. Acting on what it says is vital if we are to prove ourselves ready. The prophecy vividly describes events that would occur in “the Lord’s day,” which began when Christ was enthroned in heaven in 1914. (Revelation 1:10) Revelation alerts us to an angel who has been entrusted with “everlasting good news to declare.” He proclaims in a loud voice: “Fear God and give him glory, because the hour of the judgment by him has arrived.” (Revelation 14:6, 7) That “hour” of judgment is a brief period; it includes both the pronouncement and the execution of the judgments that are depicted in that prophecy. We are now living in that period.

15 Now, before the hour of judgment concludes, we are urged: “Fear God and give him glory.” What does this involve? Proper fear of God should cause us to turn away from badness. (Proverbs 8:13) If we honor God, we will listen to him with deep respect. We will not be too busy to read his Word, the Bible, regularly. We will not minimize his counsel to attend Christian meetings. (Hebrews 10:24, 25) We will cherish the privilege of proclaiming the good news of God’s Messianic Kingdom and will do so zealously. We will trust in Jehovah at all times and with our whole heart. (Psalm 62:8) Recognizing that Jehovah is the Universal Sovereign, we honor him by willingly submitting to him as the Sovereign of our life. Do you truly fear God and give him glory in all such ways?

16. Why can we say that the judgment against Babylon the Great stated at Revelation 14:8 has already been fulfilled?

16 Revelation chapter 14 goes on to describe further events that are to take place in the hour of judgment. Babylon the Great, the world empire of false religion, is mentioned first: “Another, a second angel, followed, saying: ‘She has fallen! Babylon the Great has fallen!’” (Revelation 14:8) Yes, from God’s viewpoint, Babylon the Great has already fallen. In 1919, Jehovah’s anointed servants were set free from the ******* of Babylonish doctrines and practices, which have dominated peoples and nations for millenniums. (Revelation 17:1, 15) They could henceforth devote themselves to promoting true worship. Global preaching of the good news of God’s Kingdom has taken place since then.​—Matthew 24:14.

17. What is involved in getting out of Babylon the Great?

17 That is not all there is to God’s judgment against Babylon the Great. Her final destruction is soon to come. (Revelation 18:21) With good reason, the Bible urges people everywhere: “Get out of her [Babylon the Great] . . . if you do not want to share with her in her sins.” (Revelation 18:4, 5) How do we get out of Babylon the Great? This involves more than just severing any ties with false religion. Babylonish influence is present in many popular celebrations and customs, in the world’s permissive attitude toward ***, in the promoting of entertainment involving spiritism, and much more. To keep on the watch, it is vital that both in our actions and in the desires of our heart, we give evidence that we are truly separate from Babylon the Great in every way.

18. In view of what is described at Revelation 14:9, 10, what are alert Christians careful to avoid?

18 At Revelation 14:9, 10, a further aspect of ‘the hour of judgment’ is described. Another angel says: “If anyone worships the wild beast and its image, and receives a mark on his forehead or upon his hand, he will also drink of the wine of the anger of God.” Why? “The wild beast and its image” are symbols of human rulership, which does not acknowledge Jehovah’s sovereignty. Alert Christians are careful not to allow themselves to be influenced or to be marked, in either attitude or action, as being in servitude to those who refuse to acknowledge the supreme sovereignty of the true God, Jehovah. Christians know that God’s Kingdom has already been set up in heaven, that it will put an end to all human rulerships, and that it will stand forever.​—Daniel 2:44.

Do Not Lose Your Sense of Urgency!

19, 20. (a) As we get deeper into the last days, what can we be certain that Satan will try to do? (b) What should we be determined to do?

19 As we get deeper into the last days, pressures and temptations will only intensify. As long as we are living in this old system and are plagued by our own imperfection, we are affected by such things as poor health, old age, the loss of loved ones, hurt feelings, disappointment in the face of apathy toward our efforts to preach God’s Word, and much more. Never forget that Satan would like nothing better than to exploit the pressures we face to induce us to give up​—to stop preaching the good news or to quit living by God’s standards. (Ephesians 6:11-13) This is not the time to lose our sense of urgency regarding the times in which we live!

20 Jesus knew that we would be under much pressure to give up, so he counseled us: “Keep on the watch . . . because you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” (Matthew 24:42) Let us, then, keep ever alert to where we are in the stream of time. Let us be on guard against Satan’s ploys that could cause us to slow down or quit. Let us be resolved to preach the good news of God’s Kingdom with ever greater zeal and determination. By all means, let us keep our sense of urgency as we heed Jesus’ warning: “Keep on the watch.” Doing so, we will bring honor to Jehovah and will be among those in line for his eternal blessings.

GO TO JW.ORG AND LEARN
Alexander  K  Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

songs of freedom in Kenya are paradoxical of themselves
they have become the songs of oppressive tyranny
they are not songs that were sang by freedom fighters
in the tropical forests of aberdares and Mabanga
they are blissful carols of powers that be
mouthed by the state poets in the deadly feats
of political  sycophancy fuelled by cult of betrayal
and espionage, a real substructure of state dictatorship
they are not the true songs of mau mau
that were sang by Kimathi wa miciuri
they are the songs of the top crust of the tribal
and political powers that be in oblivion of
the cultural revolutionaries that countermanded
cultural Darwinism of European imperial gamesters
they are not the songs sang by Elijah Masinde
of Dini Msambwa that spirited up cultural aura
of cultural dignity;which cautioned certainly
an African against the cultural call of the white culturalizer
the African to balk and turn his back
and **** and spit scornfully  at cultural trickster in the colonial ploy
to dance for Dini ya Msambwa in the spirit of war and fires of war
that is to be fought in preservation of democracy and cultural freedom.
And the cyclist said to the seafaring man that it was the best **** poison he had ever drank.
The seafaring man was uneasy, wishing that the cyclist would put the bottle down.
He had cautioned his friend in the past--
"Poison will **** you, you know. That's the very purpose of the stuff."
-- And the cyclist's reply had always been the same:
"Well, I've had two swigs, and it hasn't killed me yet."
Then three swigs, four, five....
"Yes," the seafaring man would press,
"But it makes you horribly sick every time. You've told me so."
The cyclist would give a peculiar look and say in a peculiar voice,
"I know what I'm getting in to. And it hasn't killed me yet."
Months later, the seafaring man left the cyclist's funeral either sad or disappointed.
He wondered if the death went down as an accident or a suicide.
Hank Helman Dec 2015
It was her father’s fault of course,
He had cared for her too much.

He’d tendered love as a comfort
A cure,
His affection an antidote,
And she believed him and came to  
Depend on its sway.

He, her father, was a generous man with no money.
Well-educated and unwilling,
He refused to convert
And enlist as a worshiper of things.

How can you spend your life alone in a car, he asked.
Days, weeks, months trapped in solitary confinement,
Commute used to mean benefiting from a lesser sentence, he told her,

A judge would give you credit for picking up litter,
Or apologizing to your primary school teachers
For all the terrible things you'd done,
Then a month off your jail time, he explained,
His palms up, his shoulders in a shrug.

Now look at our roads, he said,
Everyone round shouldered and condemned,
In a cage, stones for eyes, barely breathing.

On the tram I meet people, I love the public square,
We are meant to mingle he said,
We need each other to make a life.

And so when her mother died,
Unexpected and sudden, what death isn’t really,
He took on simple work close to home.
He wanted her to know he was near, that’s all.

He understood the comfort young children find in
The literal sense of things and so,
He sat with her through every lunch hour and,
They ate soup and sandwiches together each day.

This saved her mind.
She knew that  now.

He, her father, was a chronic enabler of love.
In the fall they would laze on a park bench,
Yellow birch leaves like fashion stickers all over her rain boots,
And chat quietly as they tossed unfrozen frozen peas on to the pigeons.

On these afternoons he retold her stories about her mother,
His childhood, her grandparents and
The hard times,
When even a nickel could ignite the most outlandish of dreams.
Can you imagine, he would say,
Only five cents and we all thought our luck had finally changed.

He was an explainer and a tolerant,
He told her the sun rose up each day
Only to search for one new idea and that
She had a magnificent brain and
One day it would be her idea the sun would shine bright on.

He told her the purpose of her life,
Everyone’s life,
Was to think pure thoughts,
Small decisions that would help save the world, he said,
Contributions often so small no one might notice,
But each one would make a difference.

He said science called this the butterfly effect,
She loved the name.

He was thoughtful and fair
And so everything he stood for was impossible to duplicate.

He never forgot her birthday,

The dolls came in battered boxes
With crumpled corners and broken plastic windows.
Weathered cardboard coffins,
With magic marker scribbled on the back,
Gruff autographs like ‘return to vendor’ or ‘write-off,’
Words she paid no attention to,
Even when she began to understand what words can mean.

Her birthday cake- always a single slice never a round,
She had never seen her name in icing,
But why would that matter,
When she could wake up early in late November
And see all three of her names in elaborate calligraphy,
Etched into the frost of the front room windows
For every passerby to see

His all saint’s grin,
He told her every day of her life
That he saved the first smile of each day for her,
A smile he hid in his pocket, or under her pillow, behind her ear.

Her kingdom for a year was two card board castles in the living room,
Where, with official pageantry, (her father had a scroll),
She was crowned the Grand Duchess of Washer and Dryer,
Her word was law for the day.

He surrounded her palace,
With brightly coloured bowls and
Casserole dishes filled with water,
A protective moat into which he placed plastic animals,
Whereby he proclaimed in a court room voice,
All would become flying horses and loyal dragons
If danger ever dared to mock and threaten.

So when he died she was ready.
She wasn’t,
But as an adult she told everyone she was.

After the funeral she dressed the same,
She ate, she worked,
She offered her ****** Mary smile generously to small children,
She said please and thank-you in a clear voice,
And gave a dollar to every street person she could find.

She was near him when he passed.
She understood the comfort old men find
In the literal sense of things,
And for weeks she slept shotgun
In the chair by his bed.
She wanted to be near, that's all, and
She fed him soup, no sandwich, every day.

We all die he told her only moments before his turn.
Our only calm is our end, he said in a whisper as weak as
Mormon tea.
Do not regret, he cautioned her,
My life was mad and complete, he promised,
You were my good idea and the sun rewarded me,
He said in a voice so soft
She wanted to lay her head on it and drift away.
Then he smiled his first smile of the day,
Pressed a plastic dragon into her hand,
And withdrew.
Ekhafu ya kamevele niyo ekamayanka elurende!
It goes a Bukusu saying, from Kenya,
It has it English equivalence as;
The most productive Milch- cow
is the one that often dies at the creek,
And truly Proffessor Ali A.  Mazrui
Africa’s global intellectual Milch-cow
Has died today from his drinking creek,
At Birmingham hospital in New-York,
His death is a deep wound
To the world of knowledge,
An impeachment to the voices
Subscribing to classical reasons,
An old wine skin to the new wine
Of nothing but global democracy,
I mourn you Mazrui in this solemn dirge,
I grieve for you deeply from my heart
I grieve for you as you grieved Okigbo,
When the bullet took his youthful life
at Nzuka battle front during the Biafra,
My mind’s eye is seeing you,
Like my Mr. Giraffe the driver
In your political epic
That tried Christopher Okigbo,
Mazrui the global son
Sired in the neoclassical times
We shall miss you,
As there is no whence
That cometh another Mazrui
From all the four corners of the earth
Rarely will he come one more Mazrui,

You failed your O’level exams at Mombasa Sec School
As you humbly basked in Muslim poverty, in 1943
Not because you were a stooge
But a genius of cultural radicalism,
Refusing to answer a history question;
Who is the Archduke of Canterbury?
Dismissing it as academic sham,
For what value has Archduke of Canterbury
to an African, Asian or Mexican boy?

You were denied a chance to study
At the then colonial Makerere University,
You sublimated to Edinburg and Oxford,
You come back into its deanry of political science
You met Milton Obote face to face,
When he was an African-English song bird of Gulu
You shouted loud when Id Amin plotted to **** Okello Oculli
You were then detained for this noise of humanity
You voice was heard,
And you were exported to southern Tundra
As an exhibit for non-white intellectual
Mazrui let me mourn you for the efforts
That sired intellectual democracy in Uganda,

When I reminisce of you Mazrui,
Pages of African Conditions open
Widely before my mind’s eye,
I see your intellectual pilgrimage
From Rudyard Kipling to Julius Nyerere
As you made your Al Hajji stone
at the graveyard of  Shakespeare the bard,

You met Daniel Moi face to face
Daniel Moi the Kalenjin Cow of Dictatorship
And black Maestro of ethnic terror
You took this despotic Moi cow to the well,
You pleaded for it to drink politics of reason
But Mazrui I pity, you were unlucky;
Kalenjin cows never drink whatsoever
From the democratic wells of political reasons,

Mazrui Maalim the star of Islam,
I envy your for your elonguence
I envy you for the unique power of ideas,
I envy you for unique intellectual bravery,
I envy you for constant intellectual dynamism
For your firm stand against utopian socialism
For your intuition into Nkrumah’s Leninist czarism,
And Senghorean cultural despair in paradoxical negritude,
For your firm stand against Ngugi’s literary tribalism,

Mazrui the stellar saint of Swahili Nation
I remember your glowing tribute
In eulogy of Julius Nyerere the swahilist,
When you held the world stand-still
With your cadence in tribute to Mandela
You have used every English word in your scholarship,
Indeed Mazrui you are the African sky
that cannot be vilified by any  ***** mouth,


Mazrui the angel of good thought
You cautioned Wole Soyinka in 1988,
When he embarked on his racist mission
That made him to call you a white African
Or a non- African African, An African Arab
In his blurred thoughts in dint of bigotry
Emanating from your Jekyll and Hide
Vintageously Serialized at Albert Schweitzer,
You sang to him ballads of the scholar
On the African of the soil and African of the blood,

Rest in peace Mazrui at the Fort Jesus
Let your glorious name and teachings
Remain permanent to the future people
As the stubborn stones of the Fort Jesus,
As your name takes the official knighthood
Of the leopard skin on death of the leopard,
Laiba Jun 2021
I was born in this world without a choice.
if i knew  what my life was going to be no doubt would i have chosen not to exist.
Born into two people who claimed that one was my mother and one was my father
because  being a mother or a father isn't just producing a fetus its about living up to the role
None of mine did.
No choice but to grow up to fast
by age 5 i was hiding knives and tablets preventing my mothers suicide attempts
running around and crashing into that monsters soul
afraid i would  take two steps back
and he would take two steps forward
he would hold my hand and take me to my mother
the rest is a blur
all i know was i would see her naked body and him next to her.

Cold heated shouts blew me away
drowned me in none other then sadness and fear
my siblings become like my children
who i tried to protect
but we would come together to keep each other safe.
the routine of hiding knives become a game we made
social services meant to care or to protect?
watched the monster silence us and left us and deemed it was  safe
safe despite watching the "parents" argue
safe despite  him being cautioned  and kept away for beating my sister when she was 7
who knew these services would later be the reason why innocent  lives were sacrificed for a cycle of abuse that would never seem to end....
a poem i wrote on a very dark day....
reflections
Connor Reid Apr 2014
6 sides
Latent enabler
Counterpoint to truth, amorphic
Dada to life
Callous Birth
Islands dripped in collagen
Mystic, effortless life
Tempests laden iota in tune
Riven
Licked flat, obtuse
Crescent stench
Pagan cells
Hazard the thought
Pick the Atlantic cherry
Reach further than comfort
Pushed & consumed
Spirited paste
Jesuit told in spheres
Lament interest, matted quill
Totem, Saxon tribe
Inflections of hearsay
And Swastikas on parade
Guilt of the blacksmith, undecided
The arms of tablets
Ashtrays & tropospheric light
Another page turned
Capsules filled with perfume
Loose skin lost in relics
Temporal lobe
Cautioned indignant
Pardon the prose
Sonnets dissolved in ethanol
Caricatures of the fleeting
Of our cities last broadcast
Absorbed by times gone
Glittered pestilence
Canceling subordinates, powdered Semtex
Soup of the sewer
Lift the butcher above your head
Nazca lines
Suborbital
Silk screen with *****
Horizontal qualm toward revulsion
Incursion
Calm, cued and cubed
Lab coats coated in pharmaceuticals
Base compound, ionic bond
Covalent CNS
Sympathetic vibration
Default to nature
To theorise movement
Agitate intolerance, turbulence
Beautiful thought
Calculate causality
Passenger of licked lips
Token to latex
Croft in ear, to taste
Unlaced tips, rings of halothane
Bliss
Intrigued with obscurity
Kam Yuks Jan 2013
Sometimes, I want to write so bad - but all I see is evidence to deter this disaster...

Stay on the couch bud. Let those thoughts run around your head, you need to exercise anyways. Your badge is so shiny, like a gleaming night sky clustered by stars and reflected on and off a still pond in isolated beauty.

Polish that which you hold so dear to your heart and take it in because the private hours and emptiness are not too far away on any day.

For clarity, it is issued to those who are [no good] less then, devoid of purpose, defunct of satisfaction.  These individuals often debate the mystery, are self blasphemous, and forgettable.  

Many are identified by narcissistic behavior, self-deprecation, self-perpetuated enslavement to ignorance, and lack of gratitude. Sad isolated entities who surpass other earthly levels of achievement by those who are merely existentially anxious and victim to the propagated melee of marketing, *****, and celebrity.

I have cautioned others in the past to stay away from the badged ones. They feel so low and hopeless that he or she finds identity in what has been most consistent. Pain and misery are worn as a badge of honor. Here the fragile psyche finds something to grab onto for survival and self-preservation.

Read and find the answers that explain how changing the way you think about your situation can create a new reality aside from what you know of the emptiness that cannot be filled and the haunting thoughts that keep you awake at night.

Choose your reality, I truly believe. I have been exceptionally effective at creating my reality, it just isn't the reality I want.

How do I fight what I continuously experience. This may be considered delusional or even psychotic to some extent. You choose the difference between a positive and negative experience.

If the subject of that difference is for me to decide - well nothing that I can do is any different than the rest; I'm confident that others can provide the same experience in a healthier and more honest way.

You see I am literally disgusted by my view of this world; the dry plywood planks for doors, the corner of the concrete path where the leaves and dried up dead grass settles to become a dark black soggy paste with pine needles added after it rains, bad breath, and toenail fungus, hair collected in a brush, the warm toilet seat that was used recently, and the sweat under my fat gut fold set me to retching.
Ignatius Hosiana Jul 2016
"Being an introvert in an extroverted
world can absolutely be difficult."
Came across this on some blog.
Think it's more complex to be a mediocre, an extro-intro or an intro-extro...
you can't go all out... you won't remain all in...
you're doomed to be in the twixt. Yet the middle is dangerous...
The middle of the Ocean is the deepest, the middle
of the jungle is the riskiest... the middle of the garden
of Eden doomed an entire race...
for its existence... no driver would drive freely in the middle lane,
most run to the climbing lane soon as they see it.
Some say the Earth is trapped between Heaven and Hell...
maybe we're a compound of Paradisal elements and
the rumbles of the Hades...
the pawns in the Chess between God and Satan, the Jobs in the bible of now...
I'm a Junk of all trades & I'm afraid being in between trades makes me a master of non...
I know too much and yet I know nothing... I am an extro-intro...
I go out only until the plank starts to swing the other way...
I go out until I sense the cold and quickly run back to the lukewarm
betwixt for the hot is as fatal to my kind as the cold.
Am not an Author and neither am I a poet... Am a "Poether'' or an "Auoet", Am not philosophical neither am I Theological...am "philological" or "Theolophical".
I'm trapped at the equator... I'm neither an Eskimo nor an "Antactico"...
Not Ugandan nor Kenyan... Tanzania can't claim me
but there's yet to be a concrete East African...
maybe I'm African.
My point is some people think the middle is safe...
but I believe different. it's my opinion if you want to be a piglet be one,
if you want to be a puppy be a puppy for its fatal to be a Pipet or puppet...
both are instruments... even their use is similar.
My tragedy is am in between, am a mediocre, a pother,
an opssimist, a philothopher, a ctranger or say "Ukantan".
I'm just there... Don't be caught in my place...
find a place to belong... no matter how dangerous and risky...
always choose where you lie...always strive hard to find a prowess...
Go past the lines for History remembers those who are unique...
whether for the worst or the best.
Be the last if you can't be the first...
*Everyone will remember Mabirizi for he knew how to be the last...
And sadly everyone will remember Museveni for he's good at keeping his place.
Who will remember the one in between.
Who will remember Besigye? Who will remember the servant boy that
cautioned Achilles against fighting the Thessalonian?
Who will remember me?
jerard gartlin Feb 2010
i threw the carcass of your caring
     solemnly down the cellar staircase,
            locked the door & clogged its airways

& cautioned the corpse of the consequences
of burning bridges & building fences
before i slit its lips to ribbons

& dared it to mumble love again
ohh so the feeling bubbled up did it??
no wait here comes hate in its midst
one more final, lifeless twitch
before i collapse your cranium's measurements
John Kuriakose Nov 2013
The Red Sea! It lay like a distressed soul, unsettled, deserted and restless;
On its tile-paved shore, I leant against a lamp post, in the desert land;
Women in burkas busied themselves with their kids and picnic baskets;
While cats searched voraciously, among the rubble, for the left over bones.

On my left lay Sanaa, the once upon a time city of Shem, first-born of Noah,  
Whence Queen Sheba embarked in all majesty with gifts for King Solomon.    
And far, beyond the saltiest swelling Red, lay the darkly exploited continent.
Now, a warm gust of wind slogged its way into my lone distraught self.    

Tides heaved, flickered their wet tongues across the rubble, and licked me,
Then withdrew themselves tired, but again and again returned half-heartedly
With much salty tears and sweats of ******* and sufferings of bygone ages:  
The assorted agonies of the Mediterranean, the Indian and the Pacific deeps.

Through the dull splashes, waded to me, Moses and Aron and the Pharaoh;
They said: “Visitor, listen to the voices of the depths!” And I heard well
The abysmal rattle of chariots, wheels and bones, uncarbontestably ancient.
And in the splash of the Red, I scarily tasted the tears and blood of torments.

Then they cautioned me: “Beware of the pseudo-democrats and pseudo-reds:
The gunpowder brokers!” and quoted: “In this world, you’ll have troubles.”
And now, the Sea sounded: “Sorry my dear son, I’m here to bear all these.”
I sighed in pain, but the Sea, through the burning lamp posts, smiled at me.
John Kuriakose Dec 2013
The Red Sea! It lay like a distressed soul, unsettled, deserted and restless;
On its tile-paved shore, I leant against a lamp post, in the desert land;
Women in burkas busied themselves with their kids and picnic baskets;
While cats searched voraciously, among the rubble, for the left over bones.

On my left lay Sanaa, the once upon a time city of Shem, first-born of Noah,  
Whence Queen Sheba embarked in all majesty with gifts for King Solomon.    
And far, beyond the saltiest swelling Red, lay the darkly exploited continent.
Now, a warm gust of wind slogged its way into my lone distraught self.    

Tides heaved, flickered their wet tongues across the rubble, and licked me,
Then withdrew themselves tired, but again and again returned half-heartedly
With much salty tears and sweats of ******* and sufferings of bygone ages:  
The assorted agonies of the Mediterranean, the Indian and the Pacific deeps.

Through the dull splashes, waded to me, Moses and Aron and the Pharaoh;
They said: “Visitor, listen to the voices of the depths!” And I heard well
The abysmal rattle of chariots, wheels and bones, uncarbontestably ancient.
And in the splash of the Red, I scarily tasted the tears and blood of torments.

Then they cautioned me: “Beware of the pseudo-democrats and pseudo-reds:
The gunpowder brokers!” and quoted: “In this world, you’ll have troubles.”
And now, the Sea sounded: “Sorry my dear son, I’m here to bear all these.”
I sighed in pain, but the Sea, through the burning lamp posts, smiled at me.
THE
Check Please frustrated one man yells in a dinner
he's wound up/

Over there one guy stands in the entrance seems eccentric/

A quick flash of brightness followed by thunder
closes and shakes the umbrella A young fella/

We did it looking for correct change he dismissed it/

I've seen through the fabric when others would have missed it/

Been looking for you all day to review the linguistics/

My dear we've eloped the veil has been lifted/

My apprentice no more when I start you finish my sentence/

My life's work when I begin who knew you would end it/

Tremendous young fellas on the terrace feeling esoteric/

This is life altering he cautioned him/

As they contemplate their next move/

I'm just waiting for everything we know to not be true!
Moris Jun 2012
My mother always told me to not play in the street.
But when I was three, I was invincible.
I could fly.
So I shut my lids and soared-
Until an old man and his Chevy's bumper stopped me.
And ever since then I look both ways.

My grandmother always told me to not touch the stove,
but I still attempted to grasp the macaroni pan
But all I got was a patch on my hand of searing scarlet.
And after that I never learned to cook.

I wonder why no one had cautioned me of love.
Because I have this scar under my arm from pavement
And I have this gray patch on my palm
But I have nothing to show from love.
Where is the lesson?

Maybe I am still a foolish little girl.
He brought us up with dovish love
He cautioned us to be serpent wise,
He took us to schools each of us
In a genuine dream to forestall future misery
He fed us well from his meagre earnings,
He discriminated not love among the siblings
We grew up united in family bond,
He made us all to walk tall and proud
As sons and daughters of credible father,
He taught me in particular to read Mahatma Gandhi,
He inspired me with love for Napoleon Bonaparte,
He named me Alexander as a nomenclatural ritual
To procure spiritualities of charm and intellect,
He did us good and indeed we must all agree
As evinced in the love he gave to our mother,
We saw no fearful stress of threatening estrangement
As our mother always clang to us with superior enthusiasm.

He only began to feel pain on every swallow,
Saliva, other liquids and solid stuffs he painfully swallowed
He lost and lost weight on each day as we could do nothing,
But his wisdom and sense of humane picked,
Phenomenally usual precursor of impending death,
He got emaciated and weakling, his feeding decimated,
I desperately took him to hospital and surrendered him
To a man wearing humongous glasses on his bearded face,
The community of that place called him a doctor,
He checked my father and came out with a stark tiding;
Young man, your father has throat cancer!
The barium swallows has indicated all these,
There is eminent presence of tumors and carcinoma
Known for their foul perpetration of oesophagus cancer,
I received this dooms day news with mild trepidation,
He was discharged back to his village home
He died two days later in his hut, on his marital bed
The wooden bed with wick-work of strappings and strings
Crafted from stone hard animal hides and skins,
And it was Christmas day of December 2000,
At three in the afternoon, when my father died
Succumbing to death caused by throat cancer.
serendipity Oct 2014
Moved by the sonnets of musketeers
I was,
kept in motion with the force of a rose
And adifferent name that smelled as sweet
Set to rest by Ravens
Calmed by stories of his beautiful Anna-bell-lee
She
Comforted me with tales of Caged Birds
and the songs filled with dreams they yearningly  sing
I was taught to love patiently
And that although love hurts it does not envy
I was freed by teachers with words of wisdom
Taught to not look at words but the lessons within them
I heard the tell tale heart and was immediately cautioned
Meeting my own guilty concience
Felt just a bit nautious
I walked a road less traveled
And met phenomonal women like Mrs. angelou
Im ever dream within a dream i walked
I found a dream deferred then born anew
And at the end of my bountiful journey
Somewhere where the diverged road bends
I hope to be touched again by an angel
Layed to rest in a place where the sidewalk ends
Gaffer Aug 2015
Jack and Jill went up the hill
This was never in dispute
It was how Jack fell down
With severe lacerations to his crown
That the jury had to conclude
Jill had a bun in the oven
The news was all over town
The bakers wife was aghast
Her husband and his shady past
He liked a cream ****
Though, when cautioned down the red light district
Cream was never mentioned in the Constables statement
Back to that ill fated day on the hill
Jill says Jack was going down, on her
He was certainly on the edge
A couple walking their dog, state the baker was on the ledge
This was later dismissed when the couple admitted they didn’t have a dog
This was light relief for the jury in this sorry affair
Mrs Black didn’t turn up to church on Sunday
The stand in vicar didn’t know this, being new
All hell broke loose as the witness swore
Jill gave birth on the floor
A black child appeared
There was uproar
The baker shouted to his wife, with a frown
Three women stood up
So he sat down
They all turned to the bench
The Judge was holding his gavel
Somewhat in despair
Dna later found traces of poor Jacks hair
The Judge was taken down, mumbling
She said she was on the pill, Jill
That was the end of this sorry tale
Though, the papers ran amok
Mondays headline read
Jack and Jill went up the hill, with the folks of Trill for an **** and thrill
But things got out of hand
The Judge saw red, and whacked Jack dead
And they all came tumbling after.
Kuzhur Wilson Jan 2016
Yesterday
I fell asleep
Thinking of you.

Mind had cautioned  
That re-remembering
Your bespectacled face
Wouldn’t be easy.

Had felt
Pity too
For its exertions
And exhaustion.

Today when I got up
Couldn’t see you

Where are you now?
What are you doing?

Will we ever
Wake up together
On a grass mat
One morning
Some life?

How many mynas
Would be there
In the courtyard then?


One of them
Is looking for something
In the courtyard now
See?

Let me help it
Find the way to
The next life.


Translator - Shyma P
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2017
Balanced at this point of time,
Fractious as the case may be
Cautioned as to why we men
Most unctiously, cross women flee.

Brought to heel by subtle stare
Insinuation lingering there,
Caught out short by razored phrase
Abruptly severing…outrage,
Castigated without word
Rendering rebuff absurd.

Yet born to kiss and stroke the brow
But ultimately lost, somehow,
That give and take,(with **** smile)
Demolished slow in time’s worn guile,
Angelic then, in evening light
Extinguished now with tension tight.
Standoff in the cold of dawn
Sees all affection now withdrawn.

Balanced at this point in time
An utter need to kick the dog
Retreat to haven’s dark tool shed
To mutter hurt and swallow grog.

M.
Composed, (with tongue in cheek), for a poor weak ****** who quickly saw his Heaven on Earth become Hell.
23 February 2017
HAMILTON NZ
Chris Jul 2015
~

For this of castled velvet throne
A queen does weep a single tear
Bleak shadows of this night have grown
To cast upon her heart this fear

Reflection polished marble floor
Her silhouette of humbled reach
Now shutters via nightmare’s pour
Alone of bridges fought to breach

Beyond the window valleys sleep
Soft candle flame in slumbered night
Flickering her pain felt deep
Burning through in cautioned light

An empty throne aside her heart
Its warmth now chilled of worried feel
That day her love he did depart
Read messages to long conceal

Her single kiss of cherished due
A farewell bid, pled safe return
Lost amidst this sorrowed view
And loneliness again did burn

As if the dawn had been his shield
In misty haze on moor’s harsh breath
Of forest frame it had concealed
A moment quick of arrow’s death

She takes this single tear she’s cried
Into a glass of liquid clear
This droplet of her love applied  
Her broken heart to wish him near

And brings this potion to her lips
Such bitter taste slow going down
A whispered hope in swallowed sips
To then remove her saddened crown

Upon his throne of gold now rests
She breathes one final moment pure
Her eyes now close of wishful quest
*To be with her sweet king once more
Beth Ivy Mar 2015
you live in a crumbling castle:
bricks of musty newspaper
mortared with decades of dust
solidified in grease, cemented in decay.
you constructed an impenetrable fortress.

your storehouse is filled with broken plastic,
moldy photographs, crusty nick-knacks.
here you count worthless tin trophies,
shattered glass and empty bottles.
you're drowning in your treasury.

there was a time i knew that castle well:
palace, gaol, it held me fast.
i could be captive or courtier
but your role never changed:
benevolent or tyrant, king you reigned.

but a castle of refuse cannot stand forever;
an empire built on brutality topples.
subjects eventually revolt
and refugees seek brighter days;
fleeing or fighting, the kingdom falls.

yet you remain, clinging to the rubble:
scraps of paper, broken records.
rusted memories and fossilized mistakes.
wandering towers of unread books,
a broken king repents alone.

and here i am, a knight on a horse
to sweep in and hear you, to dig you out.
but when you cry for help i falter--
cautioned, i yet hold out my hand,
but you can't let go and i'm afraid to go back.

it's gone and we're gone and she's so far away.

you live in a crumbling castle:
bricks of words you can't take back
mortared with decades of mistrust
solidified in guilt, cemented by hurt.
you're trapped in your pitiful fortress,
                                                                *and i cannot get you out.
for my father
M Padin May 2016
He looks hither, thither and then afar
to question the shocked silence of his fear.
Above him reigns a scintillating star,
wrought in the dark sky like an icy tear.

He moves between plots of freshly-dug earth
with the cautioned step of a wounded fox,
and discovers traces of that second birth
which calls pale men to the funerary box.

Dead, interred but yet forgotten so soon
no grave bore the name of him who once was.
Like a stolen kiss beneath a full moon,
these men were disposed of without a pause.

This is what terrified the aging Pushkin so.
Death itself inspired no unusual woe.
But he lamented those names lost in snow.
(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

The idea of for this poem occurred to men when I heard an anecdote about the Russian author Pushkin. Evidently, he had a terrible fear of un-marked graves. This poem, then, is an aesthetic reconstruction of an hypothetical scenario: Pushkin meeting the object of his fear.
LycanTheThrope Jun 2015
{~~~}

I've walked these woods for as long as I can remember
These pines tell tales of their own
It was foolish to go out barefoot
But I did this time anyway

The well-worn path had gotten stale
So I elected to step off the path
The creek-bed lead the way
And gladly followed

It was about 4 miles deep
Maybe more
And the sun was just about to set
That I had stumbled and fell

I heard it before I felt it
Snap
The pain rushed in
Drowning out the sound of my screams
The blood was pounding in my ears just as fast as it was pouring onto the ground

I don't know how long I stayed like that
Just crying and screaming
For anyone
But no one came

After many failed attempt to get up and move
Only to flail helplessly and fall
Causing more screams
I ripped a length off my shirt and tied it tight around my thigh
Just as I had seen in the movies

Night was falling on me
Shadows were creeping in
I was scared beyond grief
Wide-eyed and terrified
I prayed for something

That's when he came looming out of the darkness
I thought I was dying at first
Seeing white flashes
But he made his appearance

Two gold eyes were peering out of the shadows
They glittered with curiosity and wonder
He cautioned closer
Just enough to make out his white body

I was fascinated at first
Awed that a wolf had lived in these parts
Fear dawned on me
There was blood everywhere

I didn't know much about wolves
I thought maybe they were soulless  animals
Looking for a fight
Hungry to ****
Blood-thirsty and ravenous

I thought for sure he'd attack me
Rip into my flesh
Snap more of my bones
End my life sooner than what it would just out here

He edged closer
Watching me carefully
I could hear my ragged breaths above my pounding heart
His ears twitched at the sound

He didn't come closer than fifteen feet
Now I could see he was actually a very light grey color, almost white.
He just stared at me
For a long time
He watched me
Watch him

My breathing began to slow
And my heart rate went down
It was now that I realized he wasn't going to **** me
I just studied his face in the darkness

Suddenly, the wolf got up
He had been laying down for some time
His gold eyes were stunning
Bursting with spirit

His mouth popped open
Dropping down about two inches
His teeth gleamed wickedly in the moonlight
I got scared again

I couldn't hear him breathe in
But his chest expanded beneath his fur
His eyes flashed
And he lifted his nose to the sky

A piercing sound hit me like a tidal wave
It filled the air
Leaving no space for any other noises
It was demanding sound

The crisp sound was breathtakingly beautiful
His voice jumped up and octave
Before making its descent
He broke off
Leaving his howl echoing off the trees
Humming in the ground

He didn't look at me at first
Instead his gaze traveled around us
His head flicking here and there
Before he looked at me

My ears were still ringing by the time he laid down again
He put his head on his paws
Just staring at me
While his ears swiveled back and forth

We sat like that for a long time
More than a half of an hour
That's when he got up again
He filled his lungs again and threw his head to the night

This howl was different
The first was awing
Piercing you with it's notes
This one was different

Its heavy somber tone was striking
It found it's way into my chest
I could feel the vibrations beneath my skin
This one was submissive
Giving in

He broke off suddenly
His ears propping up fast
He swiveled his head around the clearing
This time he didn't sit down
He'd only glance at me time to time

It was like this for about fifteen minutes
That's when he howled again

Just like before
This howl was different
His eyes watched me as he voiced his longing

A cold ragged feeling hit the air
The night seemed to pause as he sang his song
His notes stacked upon themselves
Ringing up higher into his register
Before he dived into his chest
It was a throaty feeling
Dancing in my bones and capering in my blood
His voice edged off into silence

His soulful eyes gazed at me for the last time
Then he turned and walked into the shadows
"Goodbye." I called out to him instinctively
He never turned his head back
I had a feeling I'd never see him again

I began to feel incredibly alone and lost
The only one that was here abandoned me
My thoughts were lost to the dark
As I struggled with my tears
I yelled in frustration
I was going to die here

"Hello!?" Someone yelled not too far off
I was shocked but I quickly regained my ground
"Hello! Please help me!" I called back, holding in tears
"Hold on, I'm coming to you." I could hear the bushed move and twigs snap as whoever came closer
"I'm over here." I could see them now
"Are you hurt?" I could tell now he was a man, early twenties. He leaned over me
"I think I broke my leg."
"Oh Lord. We need to get out of here. I'm going to try to pick you up, it's going to hurt." His arms gentle closed around me, carful to not brush up against my bad leg
I nodded
I bit down on my lip as he lifted me into his arms, holding back a scream. Silent tears ran down my face as he carried me back onto the path.
"I'm sorry." he told me
"What's your name?" I tried to busy myself with thoughts
"Conan. Whats yours?"
"Cinder."
He carried me in silence for awhile. With every step he took pain seared up my body. I began to think maybe I had imagined the grey wolf.
"Why did you come here?" I asked him.
"I hear a wolf howling. I thought maybe I could catch a glimpse. Thankfully he howled three times, I almost turned around after walking for a half hour without hearing anything. But he howled again. You heard him right?"
"Yes I heard him."

He had called for help
He was my savior
That wolf has a soul too

{~~~}
That's why his name is Savion

© Copywrite Lycan
The house seemed to live on its own
In the silence of a monster waiting prey
Skin peeled off mossed abandoned
In a gloom quite untouched by the day!

It was the house standing last in the lane
Hidden in its dark ominous nook
Locked in closed door windowpane
Holding secret of a never opened book!

Not one sign of some life did it show
Bar a glassed shadow in the candlelight
Flickering for a while and then go
Like a passing phantom of the night!

Never go anywhere near that door
Cautioned us the elders in childhood
It was said weren’t seen anymore
Those ventured had disappeared for good!

We found in that lane a peaceful space
For a winter afternoon’s cricket match
Bowling and batting in low pace
When the ball was in air shouting catch!

It happened one day jumped the fence
A bounce took the ball past the wall
The children were worried and tense
Who would go to fetch it make a call!

None was ready to give the door a knock
Having heard about the house its weirdness
What would reveal once the **** was unlocked
Peeped from it the most macabre face!

They left as I stood there alone
With terror creeping to my core
When the wood creaked with a groan
Stood a woman on the opened door!

On her face shone a smile’s beaming star
As she held out the ball for my reach
While I wondered what made them call her
A ***** and child slaying witch!

— The End —