"census" poems
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
"Time," they had briefed him in London, "is short. It's too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we've arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you."
Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day
Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away,
He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate
Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date
And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect,
But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect
Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot,
And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot,
But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided,
A continent for better or worse divided.
The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget
The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not,
Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
31.5k
You asked me my name in your first remark
We sat on opposite ends of a question mark
You were dashing - made me pause,
me, this independent clause
standing alone,
I made sense on my own
But I answered you anyway.
Ellipses.
Now you are the verb in my heart’s contraction
I am the subject and you are the action
An Interrogative with a Declarative reaction
An Exclamatory and then an Imperative attraction
Ellipses.
Your lips ease
Me, the direct object of your affection,
but never sentenced to an apostrophe’s possession
perhaps more true- a plural “s” suggestion
and the excitement behind an exclamation point’s inflection
The semi-colon understands
We can be on our own, but we want to stand
together
where our letters
aren’t fetters,
but the typesetter’s
better measure
of linguistic pleasure.
We communicate through metaphors and similes
Like the birds and the bees
We speak across homophone lines
to keep a census of our senses at all times
Because words said aloud have allowed
us to find meaning behind the utterance of sound-
mere words and phrases
jumping off of pages
into brain and heart and soul
when the parts become a whole
And with the syntax, punctuation, grammar, and usage
I’m a hopeless semantic always trying to ****** it
Language- yours I understand through the myriad.
Words can’t capture you. Period.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
If you had the opportunity to live a high-risk lifestyle, would you?
I'm not asking this to be derogatory, nor to be accusatory
I simply want you to think on
what it is
to live a high-risk lifestyle.
As a mass, we seem to think of it as an undesirable thing.
Now, isn't that just ******* quaint?
Probability favors a percentile:
That which is unique enough
to leave it's mark
on our realm.
That includes us.
Risk, unless done in ignorance, is the acceptance of probability
More specifically, the pursuit of the more improbable chance.
Perhaps when you think of high-risk, you think of constant parties
perhaps of ***** needles, and/or STIs
unprotected *** or doing psychedelics
but I ask you to ponder
just how high risk Life is to begin with:
Some wish to claim that Life is a granted gift
by some benevolent Father figure who has our back, (but not theirs)
but I say that's just selfish, arrogant and, frankly, quite foolish to claim.
This Universe was not made for us and us alone
as if we were some sort of Sims for a bipolar teenage boy on *******
We were not molded after anything intelligent
with the exception of the Universe and her Nature itself.
The probability of the Universe existing is not %100.
The probability of the particular combinations of atoms within the strands of DNA in your body
are not "guaranteed" to occur. Ever.
But they did.
They. Did.
They.
*******
Did.
As if the Universe were the soil to the roots of our existence
and Her Energy is as the water to the roots
and her Chemistry allows it all to happen.
And her physical laws, for lack of a better term, allow that to happen.
On top of that, you ******* exist! You! In particular!
With your experiences, thoughts and feelings, insights and interests, passions and even DNA!
You! Wonderful, temporary you!
Mortal you. Ethereal you. Spiritual you. Intrinsic you. Extrinsic you.
You exist, if nothing else, in a relative way.
There is no way to be certain.
What are the friggin' odds on anything existing at all, let alone you?
There is no way to be certain.
If you could bet on your existence, would you?
There is no way to be certain.
Nothing is granted; everything is permitted by the brain.
There is no way to be certain.
Perhaps it is deeper than that. I hope and think so,
yet, there is no way
to be
certain.
~Addendum!~
Statistically, about 93% of people accounted for by census information who have lived-
have died.
Statistically, that gives you a 7%ish chance of surviving this life!
That seems like a high-risk Life, to me.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
House party no contact
No glasses no lenses
Isolation got no facts
Rich in hope like them benz's
Old as **** like a bold fax
Reminiscin past tenses
Action done by the fences
Have I come I to my senses?
Need to know, ask for a census
Need my own vote call for elections
Lowkey mind-broke, I need a pension
Need to think about all this affection
****
World cold stone cold
Was told It would be like this
Aint listened to them so I fold
Now I see myself down this own road.
The me everybody used to see, erode
The me anybody could be, be sold
Sadness pull up to my corners, be shown
The one who blew y'all away be blown
Everybody leavin faster than I can say hello
People in this world so shaky like a tremolo.
People don't come and go no more.
You just save up and they go forth.
At least that's my reality
Maybe I am insanity
No sleep till 2 am
You see it visually
Can't rest till these thoughts are at ease.
Life fallin faster than dominos
This time aint as good as pizza
Not even close rate negative 10 toes
No feelings like terminator hasta la vista.
Seen a lot like a barista
More people snakes than cheetah's
Venomous like cobras.
Sad **** I got into.
Me, myself and my sorry ***
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
On a bleak and frosty night
Vexed and weary two travelers rode
Along the pathways-craggy and ragged
From Nazareth, trudging miles on end
Full pregnant, was she with child
Mary -the ****** suffused with Spirit Holy
Divinely ordained to bear the Godly Prince
Conceived before, she had known her spouse.
Abiding in Heaven’s Providence n’ care
They had rode past miles behind
Far too fatigued by the trip
Mary, now badly needed a place to rest.
Heading towards the blinking lights
Not far from the city’s guarded gate
Joseph sighted a tavern-small
Perched high on a tiny hill
A sense of relief beamed past
They have come at last to the journey’s end
Finally found a place to rest!
An interim home away from home
Tethering the donkey outside the gate
Joseph helped Mary alight the brute
In eager search, he hurried inside
With Mary, following with faltering steps.
But the couple, to their dismay found
Within the tavern, room, there was none
For many a man had gathered round
To halt there on that freezing night
Sundry folk from surrounding lands
Had reached Bethlehem for the yearly census
Tradesmen selling clothes and cheese
Nomads of varying clans and clime
Petulant camels, braying donkeys
The place was littered with man and beast.
The tavern small, so packed to full
Had no more space to harbor the crowd
Mary and Joseph, though dejected,
Were encamped within a manger- warm
With tender concern, Joseph joked,
To ease the strain on Mary’s face
“Gaze upon this palace of gold
Where a son shall soon be born to us”!
Mary smiled a gentle smile,
Humored by her husband’s jest
Under the gaze of tethered hosts
In veiled privacy of the midnight gloom
She gave birth to a radiant child,
The great Redeemer to all Mankind
The star studded sky suddenly glowed
With a rare brilliance never beheld
And a celestial voice trailed along
Delivering ‘tidings of joy’ to the globe around
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 7:11 AM UTC
We don’t know whether every angel carries out the same tasks, or whether some of them specialize in certain areas. The Bible does speak about classes of angelic beings like cherubim (Ezekiel 1) and seraphim (Isaiah 6). We also know the names of two notable angels: Michael (Daniel 10:13; Jude 9) and Gabriel (Daniel 9:21; Luke 1:19,26).
The unnamed angels who appear most often in Scripture carry out a variety of tasks - all designed to serve God…
Worship and praise - This is the main activity portrayed in heaven (Isaiah 6:1-3; Revelation 4-5).
Messengers - They serve as messengers to communicate God’s will to men. They helped reveal the law to Moses (Acts 7:52-53), and served as the carriers of much of the material in Daniel, and Revelation.
Guiding - Angels gave instructions to Joseph about the birth of Jesus (Matthew 1-2), to the women at the tomb, to Philip (Acts 8:26), and to Cornelius (Acts 10:1-8).
Providing - God has used angels to provide physical needs such as food for Hagar (Genesis 21:17-20), Elijah (1 Kings 19:6), and Christ after His temptation (Matthew 4:11).
Protecting - Keeping God’s people out of physical danger, as in the cases of Daniel and the lions, and his three friends in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3 and 6).
Delivering - Getting God’s people out of danger once they’re in it. Angels released the apostles from prison in Acts 5, and repeated the process for Peter in Acts 12.
Strengthening and encouraging - Angels strengthened Jesus after His temptation (Matt 4:11), encouraged the apostles to keep preaching after releasing them from prison (Acts 5:19-20), and told Paul that everyone on his ship would survive the impending shipwreck (Acts 27:23-25).
Answering prayer - God often uses angels as His means of answering the prayers of His people (Daniel 9:20-24; 10:10-12; Acts 12:1-17).
Caring for believers at the moment of death. In the story of Lazarus and the rich man, we read that angels carried the spirit of Lazarus to “Abraham’s ***** when he died (Luke 16:22).
Executioners - Angels are sometimes used by God to punish sin. An angel of the Lord went forth and smote an Assyrian camp (2 Kings 19:20-34) “behold, they were all dead corpses.” The Assyrian army was annihilated. A destroying angel was sent, but later withheld, to punish David for his vanity in taking a census of the great number of his people. At the time of Moses and the Exodus, the Egyptian firstborn where killed by an angel of death.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
What foes or friends do we perceive when we connect by chance conceived?
Would you care to explain how this is my fault?
Pray tell tis Joseph come to his census.
Come nigh so late to what truth evinces.
Four heed own Lay won knot thin kit sis...
Prays got a buff!
Fine uh Lee…
Coarse sit duhs pour ten dove baa doe mens.
Naughty ville purse say! Oar eve in dud ark Om end...
Shell Ira Bjorn ease? Orb headers till yore effete?
Ike ant aft tub Abe eave oar yew yen owe...
Wall oh win knit.
Gore Ida head.
Yuck use amoeba *** is hint umm eye fall tis zit?
Yuck cues amoeba ditz nada tall mite urn toot ache tub lame.
Bub I...
Hope Joe Ill step pup two wit all
Irie lay trill lee dew
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
I live in a world so departed from yours
that the fragility of identity seems like a punchline.
Identity in itself is a luxury.
A world ruled by The Painter
He takes from the compass of nature your existence
And recreates your reality
I was summoned once
And as he painted he said
"Let the hands of Satan himself fashion into being an oval skull
Let the force of his hands pierce two holes in it
that ghastly eyes may find shelter
Let hardened magma
form infinite strands and coax themselves into hair
Fifty shades of black her skin
Let her facade reveal the unsightliness of the world’s injustice
Let mirrors, in great anguish and with great speed, grind themselves into dust upon her gaze
She is nothing and shall remain as such
Void of life, love and happiness
This is her calling”
Welcome to a world of dying dreams
Population: Census no longer taken due to sentimental reasons
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:30 PM UTC
Surrounded by obscurity without gloom:
the depths of calignosity suffocate every speck in ebony ink.
Yet, every molecule breathes with ease.
It is the crushing, bewitching hour of eternity in nightfall.
A sigh exhaled is impassively terminated by the midnight dusk;
sound is silent here.
Emptiness gapes as the leviathan's gob
thick with gelatinous mucus,
vast, however jailing:
closed and unknown to the living universe.
The saliva sparks in a moment, as a release of static charge,
even though no solid is sensed, never-mind two touching
loaded with electric friction.
And then again, as a sparkler of summer's independence
now holding for just more than a whim.
An explosion.
Flecks of bright stains scattered within the physical aura breeze past;
they ripple like wave crests under a kaleidoscope moon.
Colors arc in the resistant free current: endless lightning.
The vacuum is an overpopulated city
of which the blind could never take census
and the ignorant believe to be mute.
Visual speech fills the void of sound.
It is the starlight of a body.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
The census is a gun
and every ten years for a bit of fun
someone
pulls the trigger.
The body count gets bigger all the time because once a decade's far from fine,we all know that we want a little more
but just who is keeping tabs on us and what's the score?
If you're more than willing to fill in and tick the boxes one by one
we'll carry on the same and be just a figure getting bigger
reviewed by counters
mounted in the book
and taken down
looked and read
underlining, numbered in red ink and thumbed,fed into ,computerised until algorithms
drip from and dot the eyes with postscripts slipped upon the page which mention dates of birth and gender
this is the age of the want to know
and we're being counted
like sheep we go through turnstiles,smiling,clicking,sickening in the need to feed the ever growing need for information,technology will be the death of me and in a census yet to come
or when my numbers up
I will be done
shot full of holes the census gun is indiscriminate but there's no fun or sense in that,they'll tamper with the workings,lay them flat and reassemble parts until we're part of some vast assembly
in a Wembley stadium,the gun's the game
we'll be numbered until the final whistle blows and someone goes to tally up the score
and in the counting they'll count more and more
as if in some final lunacy
the lunatic accountants see there's numbers coming out of their ears
and say,
'thank God it's only once every ten years'
Data will as data does and do
and who would count the countless where the few are many and any mistake means you have to start again.
Censuses
another pain and millions more
and someone will come knocking on your door to give you forms and envelopes
all hope's lost
so be counted and don't count the cost
let the ones who get paid for this
kiss their sanity
goodbye.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
I've got the rhythm, but don't look anythang like a Nashvillian soul
Been living on the streets, so I ain't been on any **** census role
I'm not my mother's natural birth child, without any apology
But I’m god’s chosen and gifted, finger picking, guitar prodigy
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
My Mama once said, just do your music or do something else
So, I'm legally insane and uncomfortable to be with, I guess
I don't actually see myself living anywhere forever
But, how'd ya know, that you've actually arrived, wherever
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
If they don't ever remember the month or day, since leaving
Families gettin' together, telling lies, now police intervening
I sometimes have to forget that I wrote it, to be able to like it
As long as fans think dope of it, why bother to disable the ****
Hoed fresh corn all day, everyday, been up since the crack of dawn
Pretty plenty of backyard swamp talkin' catfish, have since been born
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
He'd hit a rabbit a sittin' and killed it with the barrel of his gun
While the dang hammer was a peckin' a wild hog to death
Like gettin' outta control and hardly takin' a shot of breath
Or being a drunken redneck, on a 7 day weekend hillbilly whiskey run.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
two hundred years ago
or so
this title might have read
"America", etc.,
according to the myth
that then was strong
and still exotic
and promising to aliens
with no experience
today, after Wounded Knee, the Trail of Tears,
the Civil War, the Restoration, all the lynchings,
after Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, Nicaragua,
the Gulf, Iraq, Afghanistan,Lybia, Syria & cetera,
Ferguson, Baltimore, & cetera,
"America" has disappeared
it has, in fact, become quite evident
that to subsume the continent
on the far side
of the Atlantic or Pacific
with this name
will do no more
in truth, it rarely ever did
the mythic notion
of a just and free society
was definitely buried at My Lai,
Panama City, on the desert plains
of Kurdistan, the Baghdad prisons,
and Guantanamo
by racist violence & arrogance
and pitiful ideas of white supremacy
the usa today lies bare
of the old promise of 'America'
street people, rampant fundamentalists,
drugs, and low employment rates,
in a society that longs
despite its cherished myth
of tough but honest competition
for holy war in order to rebuild with profit
what it has destroyed with arms
that, to all evidence, cares not
a penny's worth for
the unbuildable
which never shows in the domestic census
or for the lives of others but their own brave boys
preferably white
who have in recent years
though with increasing discomfort
upon appointment by their country's presidents
achieved the dreary fame
of bombing back into the stone age
distant lands that had
just barely begun
to make it out from there
* * *
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
jesus i hate
christmas readings --
low intonings,
bursts of song,
prayers -- so many
******* prayers ...
all in name of th'
"wonder & mystery"
of christmas,
the birth of
quote-on-quote
holy babe.
nativity story spoken
as
true granite fact
,
heads all nodding..
Caesar Augustus, yes,
the census -- oh good!
... some lady doing a
Mary monologue ...
my own father playing Joseph!
father!
(lumbering Boris Karloff father of Christ)
-- grandmother!!
quit jabbing my shoulder
as i
put pen
to page!
these hands
are not
the hands
of a devotion blinded
christian!
(blasphemous thoughts do i write!) (poems on *******
here is
a woman in white!
(angel?)
very performance art
with that lighting
but
i'm not convinced ...
.
/
advent candles on
the altar ......
when the last is lit will a
heavn'ly chorus
ring out?,
blue flame batonning round
the sanctuary? orderly little halos.
-- grandmother get your
uplifted hands out of my face!
am i doing my part by
holding this candle
& singing hymns? ...
(my arm is being twisted) (i call this penance/comes once a year)
where is my eggnog & ***
a friend / hiding behind some poinsettias ****** good idea)
supplies a fitting finish. garnish for my thoughts:
*"man ...
i want
some
christmas h
anky-
panky. "*
(then:)
**** that
doesn'
t
fit under a
tree..."*
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 8:59 PM UTC
It began outside a stable
Town of Bethlehem 2000 years ago
Shepherds left their fileds in awe
To find Jesus in wooden manger
Two lines to choose back then
One compulsory, one was not
Caesar's census; revenue and crowd control
Other line was quiet; sanctified, seeking Christ Child
Wise men far away, figured, joined the queue
Followed the star, joined the queue
On sand and snow or bitumen black
Trekking fields, forests thick or cities tall
Across the earth, people know
Where to find the queue
Not online; Get up and go
Christmas Eve or Christmas Day
Local churches, chapels small
Country barns, church cafes
Line up outside the doors
Worship Jesus
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 7:10 AM UTC
This disconnected census
is masterfully oblivious
there is no comfort in listlessness
while drowning in indifference
Chemically imbalanced
any chance at repentance
in any single instance
is subtly dismissed
as I crush my heart inside my fist
while feigning interest.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
Listen up barflies, tricksters and drunks,
People’s lives wasted with heads down the dunk;
What if there really is a land for you and me,
Where the bar is eternal, refills are free.
You may have heard the jokes
Escaping creased lips,
Cheeks scattered with scars
Lives rallied around bars.
But I implore you;
What if the beer runs in a river
And contains something sweet to help along your liver
Bags of peanuts grow on trees
No alley-way dogs crawling with fleas,
No aging ****** the price a humiliating tease.
We of the wasted, the broken; the done
Heaven doesn’t really sound like much fun.
Tennis greens and elegant scenes
Don’t meet our tastes
For ***** ashtrays
Engine oil and grease;
Gangs of bikers and hordes of police.
When I find that sign creaking in the wind
I’ll indulge in one final binge;
With an ex-wife in Hawaii
A boy out in Leicester (or New Mexico)
A veteran-frazzled brother
And a daughter who doesn’t want to know;
A bank sends love letters requesting my stuff.
The bible urges me clean
I look up to heaven
Doesn’t sound like my scene.
So hear me you wasted, you hardened,
Capillaries burst staining noses red;
Let’s comply to the census
And drink ‘til we’re dead,
Because the eternal bar, the river of beer,
Is all in your drunken head.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
pencil
slithering along paper
projecting a negative
spilling with meaning
enduring
the human condition
coiled abstracted
killing
the beekeepers daughter
dimming
with every other mistake
just another
scrumpled piece of paper
census taker
wet
with excitement
cabinets, pills, waste
a false flag
fundamental
our angels of materialism
cue commercials
peasants whim
never finding
the key to expression
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
I wasn't bred from good stock
Or birthed with any hope of a shot
Can't imagine that coming as a big shock
Couldn't possibly hide the rot
A thick scar dug into both wrists visually express what verbally I could not
Flesh color replaced the black rorschach ink blot
To clarify, a stark reminder was all I got
KO'd after a turned cheek an awful lot
Like knock knock
Who's there?
Just a nobody,
A lowly placeholder of a single census spot
©2024
May 17, 2024
May 17, 2024 at 12:58 PM UTC
Past of dread, to you I cry.
Please duly note, I plead.
Life of yearning, that of grief,
A pliant concept, need.
A path of stone, of certain way
Now broken, loss of canter.
I stumble through unmarked loam
Lonely thoughts seek banter.
Odd, true, that one might wish for this,
As sadness, I begrudge.
Important, here, regard from now.
To first address; you'll judge.
In the greeting, first of words
Do give way to what's sought.
History, then, is what is found.
That late mind's state: distraught.
Define this current mode I must.
It's clarity you shall know.
Vital I cast my wish complete,
Lest current hate should grow.
The prints of blame lie with a poll.
Disheveled souls, align.
Debauched deceit has had its say.
Count souls that don't count time.
This moment owning essence,
All alone it does decay.
Crying out to hopelessness,
As it loses will to stay.
Thus, being sole, the toll is one
A total far too great.
For none should bear such shameful fear.
Lasciviousness, abate!
Now cast a line behind your eyes.
Despite this glare, you'll find.
That love controlled the souls in there.
Worst ruthlessness, I'd bind.
The past shall census, finding none!
No vultures there did thrive.
No broken hearts to feed upon.
It's then I felt alive.
The souls did then discern a span.
A fear's place served a point.
Its force directed to all times
Hands couldn't form a joint.
See, souls combine when they align,
And thus, they become one.
In more than what's been stated, then
They counted thus as none.
It's in that line of olden count
The core of her and me
Did stand together, side by side
As proof that grief can't see.
Adjacent then, to these the polled
Stood third of counted spirits.
A woven work of love that drove
All sadness far from near it.
The number past, then being none
Shows no decaying soul.
Just two who's only fears did lie.
In a separated whole.
Sadness, then, was due to love,
As now, it's due to hate.
And this is why I wish for aches
Of bygone days of wait.
A time when hurts were dealt with words.
A simple I love you
Was all it took to calm the nerves
When badly missing you.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
The Third Joyful Mystery:
The Nativity: *The ****** Mary gives birth to the Redeemer of the World*
Mary is betrothed to Joseph when Caesar orders a census to take place. Joseph finds out that Mary is pregnant and he is thinking about quietly divorcing her when he has a dream. In this dream an angel appears to Joseph and tells him that the baby’s name is to be Jesus Emmanuel, meaning God with Us. Joseph, though scared and unsure, like Mary, also chooses to trust God that Mary was not pregnant by another man. Mary and Joseph travel all the way to Bethlehem where Joseph’s family lived. By the time they arrived in the little town, Mary was heavy with child. They could not find a place to stay for Mary to have her baby when finally they found a stable to spend the night at. The baby Jesus was born into poverty and humility. It was smelly and ***** uncomfortable and cold. Jesus was placed in a manger, a trough, where the animals ate and drank. His only guests were the farm animals there, a shepherd boy with his sheep, a poor drummer boy, and three wisemen who came from very far off to pay homage to him. The Christ Child was born into poverty and humility, yet there was also great happiness and peace that cold winter’s night (the first fruits of the church). We pray Thank you God for sending us your Son to be born of the ****** Mary and become a man like us. The Redeemer of the World was born in poverty and humility. Help us to remember that not everything is as it seems. It doesn’t matter how much we give as long as we give all that we can. For this, help us to remember the woman who gave all of what she had which was two copper coins. Savior of the World, help us receive you as the world once received you so long ago. We love you and thank you! Amen
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
Marathi Muslims
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Marathi Muslim
मराठी मुस्लिम
Regions with significant populations
• India • Pakistan • United Kingdom • Canada
Languages
• Marathi • Urdu • Hindi• Varhadi• Khandeshi
Religion
• Allah-green.svg Sunni, Shia, Shia Ismaili
Related ethnic groups
• Marathi people • Muhajirs • Arabs • Persians • Pakistani people• Pashtuns • Jats • Khoja • Lohanas
The term Marathi Muslims is usually used to signify Marathi Muslims from the state of Maharashtra in North-western coast of India, who speak Marathi as a mother-tongue (first language) and follows certain customs different from the rest of Indian Muslims. Marathi Muslims are very prominent in industry and medium-sized businesses. Many members of this community migrated to Pakistan in 1947 and have settled in Karachi and Sindh, contributing greatly to the general welfare and economy of Pakistan.
According to 2001 Indian census,[1] There were 10,270,485 Muslims in Maharashtra and constituted 10.60% of the state.
Marathi Muslims belong mostly to the Sufi tradition. Visiting the tombs of Sufi saints is very important to this community.
See also[edit]
Islam in India
External links[edit]
Marathi Muslims
60% Muslims in Maharashtra live below poverty line
References[edit]
Jump up ^ Indian Census 2001 – Religion[permanent dead link]
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
my brother does this thing where he siphons the stories from someone. Usually old people because they have the best stories
I drive through the old homestead – the fog of my emotions
Have of my memories
My father does this thing where he holds his little hands at his waist, twisting them inside one another
We are three generations eating dominoes pizza
Defined by death and divorce – not there and not existing yet
My grandfather is 90. He is stories made flesh and my brother pulls at them like a rope from a,
Well,
Because he has discovered the census data for Ham Lake from 1940
My grandfather tells stories of the missing generation
His father – can’t work because he’s a welfare brat
His mother died young
Stepmother an angel – gave him socks when his father was crying because they cut him off
My father – tells underbreath mumbles of lost arguments and lost respect – he gives me socks for Christmas
Father drank a lot. You get to pick who I’m talking about. Maybe alcoholism skips a generation. If so I fear for my children.
Grandpa joined the navy. His father got a job – everyday worked it through sickness and in health – a marriage of money and mind because the paycheck meant freedom and freedom meant everything
He finds his dad at work – navy uniform coated in the expectations of his brothers.
“So you went and did it.”
The story kind of trails off there, the way old people stories do. Kind of like young person poems
I helped my dad set up the TV we got him for Christmas
Because he never used the guitar center gift card from last year.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
we sit; we wait
for one of us to break
this silence in the midst
of our chatter filled fits
this may sound outragious
but our feelings are contagious
and we are stuck going over
every dirt covered bolder
known as an obstacle of travel
we talk; we take
every breath we make
seems to cause tenseness
in our teenage census
words collapsed with desire
like an anaerobic fire
just waiting for some replies
on why our hearts seem to cry-out for a touch
for a feeling we want to clutch
and our minds no longer repent
for free the souls of the innocent
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
The atmosphere with your eyes,
Their dreams, the space, the color,
The picture shows
words. Traffic jam,
Disappearances, smoke and society;
service. Lightweight musical instruments
Diesel and submarine speak
Favorite and small script
Help. Cornelius is the largest
Add the Brazilian Robin's clothes
Build Brazil again. the future
Learn about La Lorra from Galicia
Latest address, Jesse's advantage
It will be the Dominican Republic
was gone. Bernard, in other cases,
She has no connection with her.
Your first page is easy to grow. Who
Germany has been arrested.
It's always like blood.
The first two? The director acts.
Dance. Black Life can be a mistake.
When you see lions like lions,
Lion number is the perfect place,
Appearance, from the opposite side,
Still available. He killed his brother;
His weapons were in the washing machines,
Dress, and dress should be worn.
The groom is listening to our ears
Society and our light.
New Sandy Favorite game
And small screens
Cornelius is the biggest woman
Roberts heart touches Brettina's
City. Few futures -
Jesse in Hollywood Love;
Hollywood census information was lost;
system. If you do, then you speak.
The first page of development is easy.
PRIVATE MARKETING ACTIVITIES
Should he give the cherubim? Lakes, rocks,
Blood to Germany and law
Application. The first two? It contains
Caulkerer that may be wrong.
Dark in the dark;
First I decided (one)
[As Eli was already a polygamist,
if not a bigamist, it wasn't
a problem for him to marry Chuckie;
Becky aware of the arrangement,
he'd lost a second wife somewhere,
never quite sure where she'd been
misplaced. He even asked Leonard,
who nodded & grunted telling Eli
nothing; Leonard knew Chuckie, her
name in fact unpronounceable to
the Western ear. He congratulated Eli
on getting himself a real Russian girl.
Chuckie was born in Siberia & had
made it to St. Petersburg on her back.
The Unknowns gave her good reason
to stay that way, then Eli came along.
Tom had literally thrown her at the
diffident painter, who gladly took the
bony ***** in hand & under his
watchful eye, she never choked on her
own ***** & neither did he; it was a
match made on the floor ...
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC
genealogy
family tree treasure hunt—
come to your census
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC