I sat back with a high chest from my desk to the chair, there i swagg from a wheels to the unfolder.
My immediate dream was to down my great bottle of this Royal Circle
There i pondered about our country sorry "our beloved Pearl of Africa" then i saw it run from its citizens claiming they are not fair. It said; who looketh for peace among the starving with guns and powder of injur, who massageth my thirsty throat with aclub of salt.
I nay in dislussion, my heart went hopping and skipping while my country narrated, i have lived before them and so shall i when they are gone, i fed their ancestors though worried to feed the future.
Then i interrupted in dismay, why cant you do something in laughter my country chuckled with hiccups, you are learnt but naive i offer you nature you offer me plastic and plant landminds as i carry guilt to murdering than my ability in shelter and food providence, the more you love the paper i count my days to live stronger in the name of investment you slaughter me especially you who knows but delights to do nothing.....
Then my eyes went pale and eemembered "people in my country make history by destruction"
It said to me; your thoughts are right as i gazed to a thirc party when i discussed with Mr Uganda.
You are all lazy carrying crosses but heading the wrong way. You are treated as bustards in your own homes by scavengers that get plenty of paper from you and reward you peanuts.
One minute i felt i could cry,for i knew the victims and thought would share but Mr Ug sang...#Bagala alina - genda okole. When your there you will learn more third party spoke through but we are in irony; worry not for selves he said for you live but how about those to come- i possed after asking a bunch of questions then he answered me well. Just like you i got more questions than answers.....do you owe your country or it owes you

#Watch out for what my country answered next

I went to bed last night crying my eyes out. I kept telling my mother that this meant that people were going to die. This was the first election I got to vote in and I was so fearful that would be the last if this is what the outcome was.

My dad has lived in the USA since 1984, when he came here for college. He speaks English with a thick accent but still more thoughtfully than many native speakers I know. He pays his taxes. He lives here legally. He may not be a citizen, but this is his country too. This is his home. And now I am afraid. I am afraid of what will happen in the coming months, now that the hatred of immigrants has been more than justified. I am afraid that he’ll face outright violence for being passionate and opinionated and unapologetically himself.

Yesterday, I was nervous, yes, and I didn’t expect a landslide. I expected the margin that was much of close for comfort but I still expected Hillary to win. We all did. The truth of it is, we all underestimated how utterly racist and sexist the country we live in is. A candidate in America ran on a platform steeped in racism and sexism, and we elected him over the most qualified woman to ever run. As CNN’s Danielle Moodie-Mills said: “This is white supremacy’s last stand.”

I recognize my privilege as someone who's Latino yet still very much white passing, but now I have to wake up everyday in a country who hates people like me because our culture is different, because we're not "from here", because we represent the other. I am the daughter of a Latino immigrant and to know that much of this country so afraid of us and so hateful for towards us, towards people like me and with families like mine, that this could happen is so unbelievably painful.

The fact that we could ever elect someone accused of ****** assault by dozens of women, someone who’s running-mate advocates conversion therapy for LGBTQ youth and overturn of Roe V Wade in 2016, someone who is so woefully unqualified and unfit because our nation couldn’t stand the idea of female president is unbelievably painful.

I’ve spent the six months working with local Democratic campaigns to reverse the absolutely irresponsible and disastrous direction that my home state of Kansas has been sprinting in for the last few years and now it feels like the whole country is following us on our way down. I’ve mades thousands and thousands of phone calls, knocked on doors every corner of my district, and spoken to countless numbers of other people who are fed up as I am. I woke yesterday at 4:15AM so I could be getting out the vote by 5 AM and I stayed up until they called the results last night and then a few hours after that unable to sleep.

There’s no way around how much it ***** when you get involved, when you canvass and you speak out, when you attempt to educate people, when you go out and vote, when you fight the good fight and you still lose to a faction of fearful people overwhelmed by hate.

It feels like my future and our country’s future has been stolen away by an older generation who will not even be there to see it, who are blinded by hatred and misogyny and racism.

In the last few weeks, I’ve sent off a number of college applications. In my essay I wrote about perhaps the most topical issue of this election and one that will always feel deeply personal to me: immigration and racism that bolsters those who are so staunchly against it, those who want to build a wall or start a registry for Muslims or bar Syrian refugees because they are so afraid of the changing face of America not being the same complexion as them. In my essay I wrote this:

“And yet as the Republican presidential nominee stands on a platform that is so staunchly anti-immigration and, frankly, racist that it might feel more at home in 1916 than 2016, I have hope. President Obama’s family tree, his American born mother and foreign born father, resembles mine in a way that no one’s before him has. Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton bursts onto the Broadway stage, reminding us that America was, in its very best version of itself, born as country where even “orphan immigrants” could rise up and make a difference. An Olympic team comprised of refugees gets a standing ovation in the Opening Ceremonies in Rio. I am reminded of why my family, year after year, continues to run our booth. We don’t do it because it’s fun. We do it because we’re proud of where we’re from, we do it because we don’t ever want to forget that. We share our cultural in a fierce refusal to leave it behind. And that's important. Now more than ever.”

Yes, I feel completely disheartened by this election. As a woman and a Latina and queer kid, I feel completely failed by the American promise today. I feel failed by a political system where a candidate can win a large number of the vote but not the White House. I feel failed by the fact a major party in our country let racism and xenophobia swell in its base for years then had the audacity to act surprised when a man endorsed by the KKK became their nominee and president-elect. I feel like we’ve failed everyone I know who cannot vote and terrified over what this victory will means for them and those they love.

So yes, today is undeniably a dark day in our history. On the surface, my father is the one in my family who has the most to fear, but right now he is the most optimistic person in our house. So I cannot abide by being hopeless. And I know this is just another post, article, tweet, opinion, essay right now among a thousands of others. A drop in the bucket. But I remain committed to the belief that writing is powerful and important.

I know that it feels so incredibly hopeless right now, but it’ll only be more so if we let ourselves become apathetic. Stay committed to change and love and inclusiveness. Be loud, be angry, and fight a Trump presidency tooth and nail. Please, please do not become complacent. We cannot afford it.

We’ve taken a turn for the worse,
with problems we can’t reverse,
like our disgusting behavior.

We’re slowly losing our minds,
and at just the wrong time.
Now where is your savior?

I don’t think they care,
but they're killing our country.
I don't think you care,
but we're killing our country.

While other countries unite,
we continue our wars and fight,
when we need to stay together.

The government says they have a plan,
but they don’t understand,
we can’t wait forever.

I don’t think they care,
but they're killing our country.
I don't think you care,
but we're killing our country.

We’re doing the crime,
and we’ll soon do the time.

I don’t think they care,
but they're killing our country.
I don't think you care,
but we're killing our country.

Terror from the sky,
we’re all gonna die.

Please don’t cry.

A man, who never believed in Gods,
Refused to acknowledge the supremacy of the imperialist British Lords,
Challenged imperialist world empire with stubbornness,
Wished to build a peaceful superpower country, with farsightedness.

Through his reading, kept himself on evolution,
Sowed in the hearts of Indian youth, the seeds of revolution,
Raising and threatening administrative tones,
Stood fearful and could only break his bones.

From, soviet World misunderstood,
Revolution a product of blood & bullet,
He approached and transformed revolution,
A product of inspiring pen and booklet.

Never limited himself to fight for boundaries of administrative right,
Expanded himself in the jail to throw away human plight,
Fought a death-nearing battle to regain the human right,
To finally set all things for his jail mates completely right.

Pen is mightier than sword,
His life bore testimony to prove that record,
When others attempted for freedom movement to nurture,
He dreamt and worked for building his country a beautiful future.

Born an ordinary Sikh man,
Misinterpreted a lunatic gunman,

Lived a life of comrades,
Hated in every step, caste, religious and gender retrogrades,
Wanted to save his country from blood-******* renegades,
Decided to break all the youth-distorting barricades,
And put his life to a mortgaging death trade.

Lived a life of an unselfish tree,
Decided to give his life to witness the country free,
Evolved his life, a chapter of sacrifice,
Offered overprice to fight the imposed injustice & cowardice.


His physical life remained short-lived and temporary,
Lived for the country to set an example for ideal revolutionary,
Beaten by humanimal imperialists, black and blue,
Opened the youths towards fight for freedom, on a new avenue.

Imperialist empire remained pathetically cruel,
His thoughts & phenomenon inspired a never ending fuel,
For the youths, to sacrifice themselves for liberation of the soil,
Through revolutionary paths, filled with constant sufferings and toil.

The world personified, revolution is,
Red, blood, blood and blood,
He defied and responded, revolution is,
Think, evolve, unite, and change, by the act of read, read, read and read.

He proclaimed a desperate need,
To get ourselves away from disturbing ****,
Sowed the fire of revolutionary seed,
Thus stated to read, read and read.

Imperialist empires killed people like blood-******* vampires,
He fought and responded, with the shot of a demonstrative gunfire,
When ordinary humans aimed to save their family,
Every millisecond, lived a life, personifying whole country his family.

Like a wood that offers light, and burns itself in fire,
Gave freedom a ray of light, submitted himself happily into the death wire,
For revolution, turned the court his Centre of propaganda,
Responded the ruthless imperialist, a warning memoranda.

On the imperialist death rope, he was killed
The batons he passed for the youths of next generations,
His final dream for India, still unfulfilled,
On the presence of present blood-******* politicians,

A baby that never cries on starvation,
A child that never starves for education,
A youth who never roams around to get dignified occupation,
Let’s at least work and fight towards, fulfilling this mission.

Somewhere in the darkest corners
Of a speck of land
Shadowed on a world map,
There is a girl who still believes in wonder.

She is childlike faith vacuum sealed
In pint-sized hope
A revolution craving to be lit up,
A breath of fresh air to anyone who has lived through dirt and pollution,
A livewire of well-kept new ideas.

She is a book.
A good one but a closed one.
A book that sits on the front shelves at bookstores
But nobody dared to read between her lines.

But other than the galaxies of impossibilities she has sketched up in her head,
She is nothing more than short of perfection,
Small
Flawed
Misunderstood
But
Her hopeful whispers needed a microphone.

She believes in the hustle and bustle of success in her little speck of land
Impossible, it may seem
as she IS a speck
in a sliver of land
in a country that is almost always forgotten by anyone who has browsed through a map,
Disregarded by other countries
Abandoned by its own people
But forget the size on a scale of the earth.
Little as she is,
to her, her speck of land is big enough
Big enough to fill with all the love a person is capable of.
Big enough to fill with hands that held each other tight enough to be called unity
Big enough to be filled with more confidence in the country
than pride in personality.
In fact, the word "big" is too little
To describe the way she sees things.

She believes in herself
But she also believes that she is small.
And insanely enough, she believes she can be both
That her individuality for a stand out country
Could not be limited by
A weak immune system
Or the amount of inches she grows in a year
Or the color of her hair.

Yes, when the world gets tough,
And when everything larger
Turns against her
Pressing her into a cage of painful pressure,
She helps herself
By sticking her hand out for the very people who make her weak.
Because courage turns into cowardice
If it is not used to stand up for others.

And though she is small,
That only means she could make her way through
The narrow roads
In a tricky path called life.
Bending when branches of trouble swept above her,
Crouching when the rain poured,
And slipping into deep spaces.

But more importantly,
Overpowering all her beliefs,
She believes in something higher,
In something much stronger than the strength of her imagination,
In something that could turn her plans into a reality,
And the best part of it all is that this "higher force"
Is a He
And He believes in her
Much more than she believes in Him.
She holds her plans for this country in a teapot,
But He is the One who pours it over us
Until this cup, this country, overflows.

She believes this country is ready.
And as for Him, well,
So does He.

But no matter how wondrous she makes the future of this country seem,
We are still everything she didn't say we would be.
So, scavenge your heart for the truth,
Dig around for treasure and hope,
Seek high and low for even the little shards of faith,
Because one day,
We might just find her
In you and in me.

A folktale
There is a small country sharing part of its border
to a giant country, both have been friends for
over 300 years during world war two they came
helped the small country to get rid of the enemy.
Then propaganda articles appeared in many papers
how bad the government in the big country was,
(Let us make it easy the small country we can call
Norway and big the country Russia) the Norwegian
took no notice, they visited Russia often to buy
*****, cigarettes and other items that are expensive
in their little country; and some travelled to Moskva
which has a rich cultural heritage.
Then the Americans/NATO held a proxy war and
the American soldiers and tanks got in the way
of tour buses, needless to say, the soldiers were
confused that the people from the tiny country
we’re not afraid of the big bear this because of the
US combatants were victims of lying propaganda.
Well, the military nonsense ended their proxy war
the Norwegian continued to travel to Russia to do
their shopping and as always they were welcomed
and no one mentioned the silly manoeuvres by
the misguided military personnel were playing in the snow.

(They)
(dejaron)

We know exactly how / Sabemos exactamente cómo
They know what they have done / Saben lo que han hecho
They are the white mother coddling her murderous child / Son la madre blanca que mima a su hijo asesino
Arming him to make him feel worthwhile in his usefulness / Armándolo para que valga la pena en su utilidad
Enabled this for centuries / Habilitación de esto durante siglos
This country has never been anything to be proud of / Este país nunca ha sido nada de lo que estar orgulloso
There has never been a reason to love this country / Nunca ha habido una razón para amar este país
People who look like me have never been seen as people by this country / La gente que se parece a mí nunca ha sido vista como gente por este país
A country founded on ******* and fear / Un país fundado en el poder blanco y el miedo
A rebellious child of a country seeking to find its identity / Un hijo rebelde de un país que busca encontrar su identidad
All while killing those who try to change the status quo / Todo mientras matan a aquellos que intentan cambiar el status quo
This country has never been great / Este país nunca ha sido grande
This country has no qualms about killing people it holds as non-essential / Este país no tiene reparos en matar gente que tiene como no esencial
A country that values money over lives / Un país que valora el dinero sobre vidas
And a certain race of lives over others / Y una cierta raza de vidas sobre los demás
Has never been a country to be admired / Nunca ha sido un país para ser admirado

I wake to the news of another lynching
As our boys scream Bleed Blue
And over the border, the Green Girls rejoice
And somewhere in Jharkhand
Two families mourn the death of their men
Cattle traders? Terrorists? Muslim?
With cloth stuffed in their throats
And arms tied behind
Hatred showing in the mob mentality
Another dark blot on our secular fabric

And I watch a short film, India, India
Of a young boy on Tuesday selling ganeshas at a temple
Another image of the same boy on a Friday
Selling taweez and chanting Ya Ali
Outside Mumbai’s Haji Ali
And on Sunday, the same boy singing the praises
of the Lord outside a church, selling amulets
And I smile
This is the India I love, the different faiths
The acceptance, the co-existence

As the morning drones on, I watch and participate
In the endless debates on Facebook and Twitter
Of people posing, taking sides, sounding pedantic
While they sit comfortably in their homes
Sipping ginger tea made by an underage maid
While their Labrador retriever is taken for a walk
By their Nepali driver and the Muslim cook smokes a bidi
In the garden with the Bihari maali where their son plays

But what will happen to the sons of the lynched cattle traders?
What will happen to the brothers of the women *****?
What will happen to the mothers of the sons killed?
What will happen to the fathers of the unborn children
Killed for their mistake of being a girl child?
Is this the India we want to grow up in?
Is this the India we want to have children in?
Is this the India we want to grow old in?

Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
The road is long and far and we have miles to walk
Towards peace and freedom and love
Towards acceptance and equality and oneness
Get off that sofa and make a difference
Participate, vote, empower, create, enable
It’s up to you whether our country goes this way or that
So, wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn

Pride: The elected commander of the sins.

Cruelty: The daughter of Envy and Hatred.  Cruelty is the sister of Anger.

Wisdom: The elected leader of the virtues.

Harmony: The name of the country where the virtues live.

Tranquility: The capital city in the country Harmony.

Glory: A city in the country Harmony.

Humility: A city in the country Harmony.

Love: The wife of Loyalty, the mother of Kindness and Justice, and the older sister of Truth.  Love is a humanitarian and a healer.  She is ***** by Hatred.

Loyalty:  The husband of Love and father of Kindness and Justice.
Loyalty is a soldier and a warrior.    Loyalty gets justice for Love after she is ***** by Hatred.

Kindness: The daughter of Love and Loyalty, the sister of Justice, and the niece of Truth.

Justice: The son of Love and Loyalty, the brother of Kindness, and the nephew of Truth.

Lust: The wife of Greed.  Lust is a **** and *******.  Her husband Greed is her ****.  Lust has an affair with Hatred.

Greed: The husband of Lust.  Greed is a ****, gangster, and corrupt politician.  Greed is Lust's ****.

Faith: The wife of Truth and the mother of Hope.

Darkness: The name of the country where the sins live.

Chaos:  The capital city in the country Darkness.

Hope: The daughter of Truth and Faith.  Hope is the niece of Love.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum.

Happy Republic Day ....
On This Auspicious day, Today we are celebrating
67th Republic Day of India, as a citizen & child of this motherland i promise to make this country more beautiful by the contribution in the right direction & to protect this country with a humanity, so writing a short letter by expressing my love for my country & I proud to be an Indian...
Good time to examine who we are and how we got here..
Still the flames & a myth of scents tricolour my heart with the name to remind always the Country India...
To express my beautiful India dedicating a letter to and for real life humans and real life hero of country
who shelter us Everyday, every second, every time and they are the real pride of the nation.....
                                        Soldiers
Never born to die or also called Shelter Shadow of country.
I m young and my thoughts towards country is huge for the contribution I believe in work after thinking..

DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY-

Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that reads-
“DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY?”-

While I have and I am asking you-
Dude where is my country?
I think it was stolen my corporate monkeys-
Making us consumer junkies-
Its kind of funny-How corporations with all the money-
Make us feel like we are bumming-In search of materialistically something-
Its almost numbing how they deep drumming products in our face-
Make us feel like we have to buy-Or we will lose the race-
It’s a disgrace-Not the American way to make us feel like we smell bad without that Axe Man’s Body spray-
Or I wont feel cool unless I’m holding a latte-
And my eye glasses read dolce-
Slide a credit card man its okay-
Dig a deeper hole to your grave-
Consumer America I am your slave-
Product buying all day-
Broke as a joke-my money goes away-
My credit cards get their pay-
In minimal monthly payments anyway-
Its like a rat race-Or a never ending case-

You stay in the chase to collect what you make and the credit cards get their cake-
Its great-
Buy things you don’t need with credit cards you can’t afford-
Its all for the money-That’s why commercials go to war-

AND I LOVE IT-

I mean how can you not-A badass commercial where a dude kills a cop-gets the cold-grabs the chick-and doing it all while wearing Gillet Sport Speed Stick-
Its sick that I buy into this ****-A consumer ****** who needs another hit-
Its unfortunate-
But it’s the way it is-

Thank you Hollywood Biz-Thank you Corporate big wigs-and thank you Uncle Sam-
Without you I wouldn’t be the product buying-credit card sliding man that I am-
And before I go-
I ask you again-

DUDE WHERE IS MY COUNTRY???

Richard A. Itskovich

I love my country: India , but
I hate many of its rulers, as
they speak for the poor and
act for  tycoons bellicose, and-
Diversity sighs  in armed Unity;
The selfish corrupted in unity
March ahead on graves crafty.
       I love my country: India , but
August fifteenth :  with freedom,
opened  all devilish forces
out of  Hell to fell all virtues.
Grim faced Buddha smiles
Like a  nuclear Phantom ,his
tears  drip on tomb  of Peace.
No white dove sits on dome
It bleeds in the lap of Buddha.
If birth is the cause of gloom.
who  stops one from bloom?
Dearth of berth clamour for
Death  of birth at the womb.
        I love my country: India , but
Souls are free on lovely Earth
Lay  bodies strain  to survive.
A nominal word equanimity
Gushes in landslide infirmity.
Service becomes self –service,
In black ink sleeps  Socialism.
Fear Neurosis like King Kamsa
Keeps Liberty  behind the bars.
Healthy, wealthy Bharat Matha
Groans in labour room for Santi.
Note: 1). August fifteenth= 15 August 1947 when India  became free from  Briton. 2).Buddha=Gutham Buddha(Prince Sidhardha) who established Buddhism.3).Kamsa= The mythological character , uncle of Lord Krishna who chained even his sister Devaki out of the fear  psychosis. 4),Bharat Matha= Indians consider Bharat/India as their Mother(Matha)-so it is Mother land not Fatherland for them .Santi/Shanti=a Sanskrit word used in Vedas and Upanishads  of India which means Peace or Islam.

Introduction before the curtain is opened.
-->The  introducer addresses the audience.


Instead of none-stop
Condemning the past
Let us do our part
To lift our country
From economic morass fast.
Better than licking a wound,
Taking corrective measures
On former leaders’ mistakes
We could
Capitalizing, on what
They did good.

(Open Curtain)

--> Enters Emperor Tewodros II

I had tried
Citizens to unite
So that
They will not
Stop short of might
When invaders they fight!

I had also exemplified
Portraying a spectacular
Self dignity and pride
Whatever sacrifices
Trying times demand,
A coward,
An Ethiopian must not
Yield a hand.


To convey
I had also tried,
Though possible
As a tourist,explorer and
Even a covert spy
To enjoy oneself in
Ethiopia, famed for
A hospitable land
The impossibility
To carry away with
A shoe
Ethiopia’s golden
Silt or a sand.


--> Enters Emperor Yohannes IV



In the battle of Gundat
And Gura
I had shuttered
Egyptians' and Khedivi’s
And their Europian advisers'
And North Americans' aura.

Revolted by
A scramble for domestic power
Or salivating for wealth
And abhorring
Stooping to things glittering,
Defending my country
And faith
Valorous, on the forefront
Of a battle
I did shake hands
With the angel of death.


Successors,
There are lessons
You should learn
Adoring your country
Rent seeking
You have to shun,
Putting my country first
A notable self sacrifice
As I had done!


--> Enters Emperor Menelik II


Simply with
A sword and a spear
Carrying a shield
And riding a horse,
I did chase out
To its teeth
With modern weapon
Armed invading force.

When citizens
Join force and unite
With a golden pen
History they can write
History that flickers light
The oppressed,worldwide,
Could win if they fight
For their
God-bestowed right.

Also to modernization
According focal attention
Must be the task of
A given nation
If ignorance and disease
Their tight grip
Must cease.


--> Enters Emperor Haile selassie I

When many warned me
“You will live to regret
Your good gesture!”
To the development of
My country giving
Focal attention
I allowed students pursue
Further education.

I  also allowed many  here
And   abroad a broad-array of
Subjects learn
And their poor country
Serve in their turn.

A prophet
I exposed League of Nation's
Double standard
So that
The world understand
“Though today
Ethiopia’s turn
The flame of fascism
And ******
Tomorrow
Supper powers too will burn!”
It was my wont
In the diplomatic mission
To bring
My country to the front!

Along with fellow leaders,
It was my dream object,
To de-colonize
And unite the continent.

That is why many
Saw for a continental seat
—OAU later AU—
Ethiopia fit.

--> President Mengistu Haile Mariam

As revolution
Was the day’s talk
With the progressive
I broke
On peasants and
The proletariat
Imposed yoke.

Sied Barre’s
Unexpected attack
And intrusion
I had managed
To reverse back,

Also fighting
Mass illiteracy
Was my
Outstanding task.

In fact,
I did try to keep
My country intact.

-->Prime Minister Meles Zenawi

My long-cherished bent
Was ensuring
Political pluralism
And democracy’s advent
For which cause
My youth and adulthood
I spent.

I and combatants
After tyranny
To a grave sent,
I invited
Soon,
Marginalized states
To come aboard and
Equally enjoy
Development’s boon.

In an astounding
Developmental feat
I was out
The unconquerable

—Blue Nile—

To defeat.
Also against poverty
A similar victory repeat.
What is more
On the road
Of Renaissance
I did inspire
Over 80 ethnic group
Forward to run
Actualizing a leap in
Their life span.

A win-win
Environment smart growth
Was what,charismatic,
On the global arena
I brought forth
Making super powers believe
Giving attention to Africa
Is worth.

--> Prime Minister Hailemariam Desalegn

In trying times
Not to allow
Started mega projects
Suffer a set back
I saw to
Things are on the right track.

More than one cabinet reshuffle
In  the leading party
Deep renewal and reform,
Together with  members,
I did perform!

To a peaceful power transition
I have set a glaring example
A move
In Africa many took unthinkable!
Averse to rent seeking
I am patted on the back
“You have done a nice thing!”


(Close Curtain)

--> Introducer

Conspiracy
To grab the rein
Of power
At the cost of harm
Allowing one ethnic group
On others to tower
Sluggishness in resource
Utilization, not allowing
Development to equally
And fast flower,
Harbouring fright
When citizens exercise
Their allowed democratic right
Are follies
The coming generations
Have to fight
So that
Ensues peace
And days bright,
Off springs of Lucy
We have to always unite!///

The story of the year 235
The year of Kris Kringle the
Right wing Santa Claus


You see in the old town of Dublin
Back in the 200s there lived the Kringle family who were the crankiest family of all, with father
Donald and mother trish and
Two boys Lionel and kris
And Kris Kringle was the one who really wanted his father to respect his views and Donald told kris
That he had bogus views that only
Rich people would like, like at the age of 4 Kris Kringle was trying to plant money in the garden hoping
A money tree would grow and Donald trish and Lionel all laughed
At him saying you are a total loser
And you will never get what you want and years and years went by
And at the ripe age of 16, Kris Kringle wanted to leave his left leaning family and decided to squat
On the lawns of the country club
Saying this is where I will end up
Saying that I can get away from those poor bank robbers and
Enjoy country club life, and this country club has big Christmas concerts and chess tournaments
Boxing bouts and Kris Kringle
Was the winner of 56 tournaments
In that country club, they also
Brought bands from all walks if life
Kris Kringle was on cloud 9, thinking
That people who don't want to go to this country club are idiots
And Kris Kringle after several roles
Of playing Santa at Christmas concerts, he had these visions of
Throwing lollies and chocolate bars
Into the audience and the country
Club crowd were very happy and
Kris Kringle had other ways of making fun at Christmas like
Giving a big cake and have pretty women come out of it and kris
Kringle was on cloud 9 but at the age of 26 when Kris Kringle was moving into the villas in the country
Club a gang of train robbers were on their way to rob one of Ireland's famous old time trains and abducted Kris Kringle and made him a hand in
Robbing this train and Kris Kringle was in no right mind to tell these robbers off, so he just kept his big mouth flaming shut and when they arrived at the old 200 century train
Station Kris Kringle was forced to look as he is the ring leader and
Thru robbed the train and then
5 days later Kris Kringle was a arrested and sentenced for 35 years
In Australia which used to be a convict colony and Kris Kringle
Decided to spread Christmas cheer
For everyone on the island and
He parked himself a home in
What we now know as Adelaide
And his house is where Rundle mall
Is currently sitting and Kris Kringle
Got a stage coach every Christmas
And with 3 brumbies puliing on the reign delivering presents to everyone
On the island and it took 7& hours
To deliver these presents and when
Kris Kringle returned he dropped off at the beach we now know as glenelg beach and was there for the official opening of the glenelg surf club and Kris Kringle did this each year for his 35 year sentence and
The people on the terra Australis island didn't want Kris Kringle to go back to Ireland so they killed him
By hiring a truck and running kris
Kringle down saying we are keeping your spirit with us kris and
Every Christmas that Kris Kringle
Was delivering presents ya know
34 years he delivered presents to
People on this island, Kris Kringle's body was buried where Rundle mall
Is today and his spirit really makes
Adelaide come alive in the credit union Christmas pageant
Kris Kringle lives forever
I was Kris Kringle


Sent from my iPhone

And now, as Dawn rose from her couch beside Tithonus—harbinger of
light alike to mortals and immortals—the gods met in council and with
them, Jove the lord of thunder, who is their king. Thereon Minerva
began to tell them of the many sufferings of Ulysses, for she pitied
him away there in the house of the nymph Calypso.
  “Father Jove,” said she, “and all you other gods that live in
everlasting bliss, I hope there may never be such a thing as a kind
and well-disposed ruler any more, nor one who will govern equitably. I
hope they will be all henceforth cruel and unjust, for there is not
one of his subjects but has forgotten Ulysses, who ruled them as
though he were their father. There he is, lying in great pain in an
island where dwells the nymph Calypso, who will not let him go; and he
cannot get back to his own country, for he can find neither ships
nor sailors to take him over the sea. Furthermore, wicked people are
now trying to ****** his only son Telemachus, who is coming home
from Pylos and Lacedaemon, where he has been to see if he can get news
of his father.”
  “What, my dear, are you talking about?” replied her father, “did you
not send him there yourself, because you thought it would help Ulysses
to get home and punish the suitors? Besides, you are perfectly able to
protect Telemachus, and to see him safely home again, while the
suitors have to come hurry-skurrying back without having killed him.”
  When he had thus spoken, he said to his son Mercury, “Mercury, you
are our messenger, go therefore and tell Calypso we have decreed
that poor Ulysses is to return home. He is to be convoyed neither by
gods nor men, but after a perilous voyage of twenty days upon a raft
he is to reach fertile Scheria, the land of the Phaeacians, who are
near of kin to the gods, and will honour him as though he were one
of ourselves. They will send him in a ship to his own country, and
will give him more bronze and gold and raiment than he would have
brought back from Troy, if he had had had all his prize money and
had got home without disaster. This is how we have settled that he
shall return to his country and his friends.”
  Thus he spoke, and Mercury, guide and guardian, slayer of Argus, did
as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals
with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea. He took the
wand with which he seals men’s eyes in sleep or wakes them just as
he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand over Pieria; then he
swooped down through the firmament till he reached the level of the
sea, whose waves he skimmed like a cormorant that flies fishing
every hole and corner of the ocean, and drenching its thick plumage in
the spray. He flew and flew over many a weary wave, but when at last
he got to the island which was his journey’s end, he left the sea
and went on by land till he came to the cave where the nymph Calypso
lived.
  He found her at home. There was a large fire burning on the
hearth, and one could smell from far the fragrant reek of burning
cedar and sandal wood. As for herself, she was busy at her loom,
shooting her golden shuttle through the warp and singing
beautifully. Round her cave there was a thick wood of alder, poplar,
and sweet smelling cypress trees, wherein all kinds of great birds had
built their nests—owls, hawks, and chattering sea-crows that occupy
their business in the waters. A vine loaded with grapes was trained
and grew luxuriantly about the mouth of the cave; there were also four
running rills of water in channels cut pretty close together, and
turned hither and thither so as to irrigate the beds of violets and
luscious herbage over which they flowed. Even a god could not help
being charmed with such a lovely spot, so Mercury stood still and
looked at it; but when he had admired it sufficiently he went inside
the cave.
  Calypso knew him at once—for the gods all know each other, no
matter how far they live from one another—but Ulysses was not within;
he was on the sea-shore as usual, looking out upon the barren ocean
with tears in his eyes, groaning and breaking his heart for sorrow.
Calypso gave Mercury a seat and said: “Why have you come to see me,
Mercury—honoured, and ever welcome—for you do not visit me often?
Say what you want; I will do it for be you at once if I can, and if it
can be done at all; but come inside, and let me set refreshment before
you.
  As she spoke she drew a table loaded with ambrosia beside him and
mixed him some red nectar, so Mercury ate and drank till he had had
enough, and then said:
  “We are speaking god and goddess to one another, one another, and
you ask me why I have come here, and I will tell you truly as you
would have me do. Jove sent me; it was no doing of mine; who could
possibly want to come all this way over the sea where there are no
cities full of people to offer me sacrifices or choice hecatombs?
Nevertheless I had to come, for none of us other gods can cross
Jove, nor transgress his orders. He says that you have here the most
ill-starred of alf those who fought nine years before the city of King
Priam and sailed home in the tenth year after having sacked it. On
their way home they sinned against Minerva, who raised both wind and
waves against them, so that all his brave companions perished, and
he alone was carried hither by wind and tide. Jove says that you are
to let this by man go at once, for it is decreed that he shall not
perish here, far from his own people, but shall return to his house
and country and see his friends again.”
  Calypso trembled with rage when she heard this, “You gods,” she
exclaimed, to be ashamed of yourselves. You are always jealous and
hate seeing a goddess take a fancy to a mortal man, and live with
him in open matrimony. So when rosy-fingered Dawn made love to
Orion, you precious gods were all of you furious till Diana went and
killed him in Ortygia. So again when Ceres fell in love with Iasion,
and yielded to him in a thrice ploughed fallow field, Jove came to
hear of it before so long and killed Iasion with his thunder-bolts.
And now you are angry with me too because I have a man here. I found
the poor creature sitting all alone astride of a keel, for Jove had
struck his ship with lightning and sunk it in mid ocean, so that all
his crew were drowned, while he himself was driven by wind and waves
on to my island. I got fond of him and cherished him, and had set my
heart on making him immortal, so that he should never grow old all his
days; still I cannot cross Jove, nor bring his counsels to nothing;
therefore, if he insists upon it, let the man go beyond the seas
again; but I cannot send him anywhere myself for I have neither
ships nor men who can take him. Nevertheless I will readily give him
such advice, in all good faith, as will be likely to bring him
safely to his own country.”
  “Then send him away,” said Mercury, “or Jove will be angry with
you and punish you”‘
  On this he took his leave, and Calypso went out to look for Ulysses,
for she had heard Jove’s message. She found him sitting upon the beach
with his eyes ever filled with tears, and dying of sheer
home-sickness; for he had got tired of Calypso, and though he was
forced to sleep with her in the cave by night, it was she, not he,
that would have it so. As for the day time, he spent it on the rocks
and on the sea-shore, weeping, crying aloud for his despair, and
always looking out upon the sea. Calypso then went close up to him
said:
  “My poor fellow, you shall not stay here grieving and fretting
your life out any longer. I am going to send you away of my own free
will; so go, cut some beams of wood, and make yourself a large raft
with an upper deck that it may carry you safely over the sea. I will
put bread, wine, and water on board to save you from starving. I
will also give you clothes, and will send you a fair wind to take
you home, if the gods in heaven so will it—for they know more about
these things, and can settle them better than I can.”
  Ulysses shuddered as he heard her. “Now goddess,” he answered,
“there is something behind all this; you cannot be really meaning to
help me home when you bid me do such a dreadful thing as put to sea on
a raft. Not even a well-found ship with a fair wind could venture on
such a distant voyage: nothing that you can say or do shall mage me go
on board a raft unless you first solemnly swear that you mean me no
mischief.”
  Calypso smiled at this and caressed him with her hand: “You know a
great deal,” said she, “but you are quite wrong here. May heaven above
and earth below be my witnesses, with the waters of the river Styx-
and this is the most solemn oath which a blessed god can take—that
I mean you no sort of harm, and am only advising you to do exactly
what I should do myself in your place. I am dealing with you quite
straightforwardly; my heart is not made of iron, and I am very sorry
for you.”
  When she had thus spoken she led the way rapidly before him, and
Ulysses followed in her steps; so the pair, goddess and man, went on
and on till they came to Calypso’s cave, where Ulysses took the seat
that Mercury had just left. Calypso set meat and drink before him of
the food that mortals eat; but her maids brought ambrosia and nectar
for herself, and they laid their hands on the good things that were
before them. When they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink,
Calypso spoke, saying:
  “Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, so you would start home to your
own land at once? Good luck go with you, but if you could only know
how much suffering is in store for you before you get back to your own
country, you would stay where you are, keep house along with me, and
let me make you immortal, no matter how anxious you may be to see this
wife of yours, of whom you are thinking all the time day after day;
yet I flatter myself that at am no whit less tall or well-looking than
she is, for it is not to be expected that a mortal woman should
compare in beauty with an immortal.”
  “Goddess,” replied Ulysses, “do not be angry with me about this. I
am quite aware that my wife Penelope is nothing like so tall or so
beautiful as yourself. She is only a woman, whereas you are an
immortal. Nevertheless, I want to get home, and can think of nothing
else. If some god wrecks me when I am on the sea, I will bear it and
make the best of it. I have had infinite trouble both by land and
sea already, so let this go with the rest.”
  Presently the sun set and it became dark, whereon the pair retired
into the inner part of the cave and went to bed.
  When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Ulysses put
on his shirt and cloak, while the goddess wore a dress of a light
gossamer fabric, very fine and graceful, with a beautiful golden
girdle about her waist and a veil to cover her head. She at once set
herself to think how she could speed Ulysses on his way. So she gave
him a great bronze axe that suited his hands; it was sharpened on both
sides, and had a beautiful olive-wood handle fitted firmly on to it.
She also gave him a sharp adze, and then led the way to the far end of
the island where the largest trees grew—alder, poplar and pine,
that reached the sky—very dry and well seasoned, so as to sail
light for him in the water. Then, when she had shown him where the
best trees grew, Calypso went home, leaving him to cut them, which
he soon finished doing. He cut down twenty trees in all and adzed them
smooth, squaring them by rule in good workmanlike fashion. Meanwhile
Calypso came back with some augers, so he bored holes with them and
fitted the timbers together with bolts and rivets. He made the raft as
broad as a skilled shipwright makes the beam of a large vessel, and he
filed a deck on top of the ribs, and ran a gunwale all round it. He
also made a mast with a yard arm, and a rudder to steer with. He
fenced the raft all round with wicker hurdles as a protection
against the waves, and then he threw on a quantity of wood. By and
by Calypso brought him some linen to make the sails, and he made these
too, excellently, making them fast with braces and sheets. Last of
all, with the help of levers, he drew the raft down into the water.
  In four days he had completed the whole work, and on the fifth
Calypso sent him from the island after washing him and giving him some
clean clothes. She gave him a goat skin full of black wine, and
another larger one of water; she also gave him a wallet full of
provisions, and found him in much good meat. Moreover, she made the
wind fair and warm for him, and gladly did Ulysses spread his sail
before it, while he sat and guided the raft skilfully by means of
the rudder. He never closed his eyes, but kept them fixed on the
Pleiads, on late-setting Bootes, and on the Bear—which men also
call the wain, and which turns round and round where it is, facing
Orion, and alone never dipping into the stream of Oceanus—for Calypso
had told him to keep this to his left. Days seven and ten did he
sail over the sea, and on the eighteenth the dim outlines of the
mountains on the nearest part of the Phaeacian coast appeared,
rising like a shield on the horizon.
  But King Neptune, who was returning from the Ethiopians, caught
sight of Ulysses a long way off, from the mountains of the Solymi.
He could see him sailing upon the sea, and it made him very angry,
so he wagged his head and muttered to himself, saying, heavens, so the
gods have been changing their minds about Ulysses while I was away
in Ethiopia, and now he is close to the land of the Phaeacians,
where it is decreed that he shall escape from the calamities that have
befallen him. Still, he shall have plenty of hardship yet before he
has done with it.”
  Thereon he gathered his clouds together, grasped his trident,
stirred it round in the sea, and roused the rage of every wind that
blows till earth, sea, and sky were hidden in cloud, and night
sprang forth out of the heavens. Winds from East, South, North, and
West fell upon him all at the same time, and a tremendous sea got
up, so that Ulysses’ heart began to fail him. “Alas,” he said to
himself in his dismay, “what ever will become of me? I am afraid
Calypso was right when she said I should have trouble by sea before
I got back home. It is all coming true. How black is Jove making
heaven with his clouds, and what a sea the winds are raising from
every quarter at once. I am now safe to perish. Blest and thrice blest
were those Danaans who fell before Troy in the cause of the sons of
Atreus. Would that had been killed on the day when the Trojans were
pressing me so sorely about the dead body of Achilles, for then I
should have had due burial and the Achaeans would have honoured my
name; but now it seems that I shall come to a most pitiable end.”
  As he spoke a sea broke over him with such terrific fury that the
raft reeled again, and he was carried overboard a long way off. He let
go the helm, and the force of the hurricane was so great that it broke
the mast half way up, and both sail and yard went over into the sea.
For a long time Ulysses was under water, and it was all he could do to
rise to the surface again, for the clothes Calypso had given him
weighed him down; but at last he got his head above water and spat out
the bitter brine that was running down his face in streams. In spite
of all this, however, he did not lose sight of his raft, but swam as
fast as he could towards it, got hold of it, and climbed on board
again so as to escape drowning. The sea took the raft and tossed it
about as Autumn winds whirl thistledown round and round upon a road.
It was as though the South, North, East, and West winds were all
playing battledore and shuttlecock with it at once.
  When he was in this plight, Ino daughter of Cadmus, also called
Leucothea, saw him. She had formerly been a mere mortal, but had
been since raised to the rank of a marine goddess. Seeing in what
great distress Ulysses now was, she had compassion upon him, and,
rising like a sea-gull from the waves, took her seat upon the raft.
  “My poor good man,” said she, “why is Neptune so furiously angry
with you? He

PARODY OF "OCTOPUS'S GARDEN" BY RINGO STARR.

I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden in the shade
They'd let us skid, and smoke a lid
In a marijuana garden in the shade

I'd ask my friends to come and smoke
A bowl of good until they all choke
I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden in the shade

We would find digs, and ditch the pigs
In our little hideaway inside a van
Resting our head on a truck bed
In a marijuana garden on a ranch.

We would laugh at stupid ****.
We'd forget why and take a hit.
I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden in the shade

We would smoke and talk about
The police that put us all away
(put your stoner *** away)
Oh I'm high! I'm high as the blue sky
Forgot to go to work today.
(Unemployed today)

We would be so toasted you and me
No one there to call the boys in blue
I'd like to be in the country
In a marijuana garden with you
In a marijuana garden with you
In a marijuana garden with you

In Chibok,
An IED finds it way
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness therein.

In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound;
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget
Their mothers’ voices.

On the tube,
There is a very loud lady
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood
In Borno.

When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’

As if it is a joke
To ****** young Nigerian girls
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons;
Weird lessons.

In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings;
Internally displaced persons;



Slaughtering of citizens
And the role of government in all of these
And the security of our country
And I pulled at the hairs
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.

The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me
Like some foreigner
And I feel the fire
All through the trip
And I burn and burn and burn
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast
It feels good though to know
What it takes to
Be burned into countless degrees.

But after three weeks
I am back to normal again
I can feel again
My senses are back again
Working optimally
And I can hear again
As the presidential pit-bull
And the black parrot
The one that used to be
In the fourth estate of the realm
Begin to mete and dole out
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold
That comes upon our ears
To push out every substance
From our heads


Everything except this load of hopelessness

This bitter bile in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim

And then the hash tags;
The media craze;
The count down
The women in red
And the men that joined
The bring back our girls
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood
The ****** thighs of those girls
Their torn underwear
Their wails, their sobs, their pains
To say the least
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside
And look the other way.
Like it did not happen at all
Like it was just a movie
Directed by a director
That must be a sadist  
We sweep it under the carpet
Like our other numerous
National issues

But I won’t write another story on betrayal
I won’t write another poem
On how a nation
Could forsake her innocent children
Instead I would write of a country

Steeling, steeling, growing
Growing resilient to emotion;
Becoming many times dead

To any feeling
Tearing its tissues to pieces
And building new ones
That will be senseless
Lifeless
Bloodless.

And the noise
And the noise
And the noise.






















In Chibok,
An IED finds it way
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness therein.

In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound;
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget
Their mothers’ voices.

On the tube,
There is a very loud lady
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood
In Borno.

When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’

As if it is a joke
To ****** young Nigerian girls
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons;
Weird lessons.

In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings;
Internally displaced persons;



Slaughtering of citizens
And the role of government in all of these
And the security of our country
And I pulled at the hairs
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.

The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me
Like some foreigner
And I feel the fire
All through the trip
And I burn and burn and burn
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast
It feels good though to know
What it takes to
Be burned into countless degrees.

But after three weeks
I am back to normal again
I can feel again
My senses are back again
Working optimally
And I can hear again
As the presidential pit-bull
And the black parrot
The one that used to be
In the fourth estate of the realm
Begin to mete and dole out
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold
That comes upon our ears
To push out every substance
From our heads


Everything except this load of hopelessness

This bitter bile in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim

And then the hash tags;
The media craze;
The count down
The women in red
And the men that joined
The bring back our girls
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood
The ****** thighs of those girls
Their torn underwear
Their wails, their sobs, their pains
To say the least
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside
And look the other way.
Like it did not happen at all
Like it was just a movie
Directed by a director
That must be a sadist  
We sweep it under the carpet
Like our other numerous
National issues

But I won’t write another story on betrayal
I won’t write another poem
On how a nation
Could forsake her innocent children
Instead I would write of a country

Steeling, steeling, growing
Growing resilient to emotion;
Becoming many times dead

To any feeling
Tearing its tissues to pieces
And building new ones
That will be senseless
Lifeless
Bloodless.

And the noise
And the noise
And the noise.


In Chibok,
An IED finds it way
Into the mind of a savage sect
And made good use of the emptiness therein.

In helplessness,
Some school girls are bundled up
From their school compound;
Taken for a noisy ride into Sambisa;
From where they will forget
Their mothers’ voices.

On the tube,
There is a very loud lady
Anathematising the “sharing” of blood
In Borno.

When she is done,
The media is awash with the sound of
‘Na only you waka come?’

As if it is a joke
To ****** young Nigerian girls
From the four walls of their classroom
Into the coldness of the wilderness
To dwell amongst wild beasts.
To learn new lessons;
Weird lessons.

In bed at night,
My wife talks of
Church bombings;
Internally displaced persons;

Slaughtering of citizens
And the role of government in all of these
And the security of our country
And I pulled at the hairs
From around her second mouth
To make her change the topic
And she falls for it and changes the topic.

The white bearded Mallam
On the rickety bus to Yola
Fixes his eyes on me
Like some foreigner
And I feel the fire
All through the trip
And I burn and burn and burn
Like the victims of Nyanya motor park blast
It feels good though to know
What it takes to
Be burned into countless degrees.

But after three weeks
I am back to normal again
I can feel again
My senses are back again
Working optimally
And I can hear again
As the presidential pit-bull
And the black parrot
The one that used to be
In the fourth estate of the realm
Begin to mete and dole out
Slippery speeches, speeches you can’t hold
That comes upon our ears
To push out every substance
From our heads

Everything except this load of hopelessness

This bitter bile in our mouth
This unwanted fetus
That no one would claim

And then the hash tags;
The media craze;
The count down
The women in red
And the men that joined
The bring back our girls
The Michelle Obama
The celebrities from across
The noise, the sweat, the blood
The ****** thighs of those girls
Their torn underwear
Their wails, their sobs, their pains
To say the least
The echo, the deafening echo
And how we wave them all aside
And look the other way.
Like it did not happen at all
Like it was just a movie
Directed by a director
That must be a sadist  
We sweep it under the carpet
Like our other numerous
National issues

But I won’t write another story on betrayal
I won’t write another poem
On how a nation
Could forsake her innocent children
Instead I would write of a country

Steeling, steeling, growing
Growing resilient to emotion;
Becoming many times dead

To any feeling
Tearing its tissues to pieces
And building new ones
That will be senseless
Lifeless
Bloodless.

And the noise
And the noise
And the noise.

Tonights the night to party
Not just because I say
Tonights the night to party
Because it ' s the ending of the day
Throw up your hands
and yell yee haw
Grab a drink and hit the floor
Dancing without caring
That's what this party's for

The band is slightly out of tune
But, hey who gives a ****
They sound better later on
When you are really lit
By two a.m you'd think that they
Were Alabama and  George Jones
While you're trying to record them on
Your prissy little phones

This place don't karaoke
You're singing with the band
You're singing country music
It's the best in all the land
No running shoes, just cowboy boots
Will get you in the door
If you come in with a cowboy hat
Make sure it faces to the front
All the dude's they wear them backwards
And they look like a dumb c*

Tonights the night to party
Not just because I say
Tonights the night to party
Because it ' s the ending of the day
Throw up your hands
and yell yee haw
Grab a drink and hit the floor
Dancing without caring
That's what this party's for


You can listen for the steel guitar
It's there in every song
Hey man, this here's a country bar
And steel guitar , it just belongs
There's always background fiddle
Drums like Levon from The Band
Piano played like Jerry Lee
The floor's all blood and sand

You've come on out to party
Now show them how a redneck does
Knock back a few and get up here
And when you dance, you cuss
The music here will rock you
It's American through and through
It's a good old country party
It's all red white and blue

Education Gives Luster to Motherland

Wise education, vital breath
Inspires an enchanting virtue;
She puts the Country in the lofty seat
Of endless glory, of dazzling glow,
And just as the gentle aura's puff
Do brighten the perfumed flower's hue:
So education with a wise, guiding hand,
A benefactress, exalts the human band.

Man's placid repose and earthly life
To education he dedicates
Because of her, art and science are born
Man; and as from the high mount above
The pure rivulet flows, undulates,
So education beyond measure
Gives the Country tranquility secure.

Where wise education raises a throne
Sprightly youth are invigorated,
Who with firm stand error they subdue
And with noble ideas are exalted;
It breaks immortality's neck,
Contemptible crime before it is halted:
It humbles barbarous nations
And it makes of savages champions.
And like the spring that nourishes
The plants, the bushes of the meads,
She goes on spilling her placid wealth,
And with kind eagerness she constantly feeds,
The river banks through which she slips,
And to beautiful nature all she concedes,
So whoever procures education wise
Until the height of honor may rise.

From her lips the waters crystalline
Gush forth without end, of divine virtue,
And prudent doctrines of her faith
The forces weak of evil subdue,
That break apart like the whitish waves
That lash upon the motionless shoreline:
And to climb the heavenly ways the people
Do learn with her noble example.

In the wretched human beings' breast
The living flame of good she lights
The hands of criminal fierce she ties,
And fill the faithful hearts with delights,
Which seeks her secrets beneficent
And in the love for the good her breast she incites,
And it's th' education noble and pure
Of human life the balsam sure.

And like a rock that rises with pride
In the middle of the turbulent waves
When hurricane and fierce Notus roar
She disregards their fury and raves,
That weary of the horror great
So frightened calmly off they stave;
Such is one by wise education steered
He holds the Country's reins unconquered.
His achievements on sapphires are engraved;
The Country pays him a thousand honors;
For in the noble ******* of her sons
Virtue transplanted luxuriant flow'rs;
And in the love of good e'er disposed
Will see the lords and governors
The noble people with loyal venture
Christian education always procure.

And like the golden sun of the morn
Whose rays resplendent shedding gold,
And like fair aurora of gold and red
She overspreads her colors bold;
Such true education proudly gives
The pleasure of virtue to young and old
And she enlightens out Motherland dear
As she offers endless glow and luster.

Just sittin' back.
And listenin' to good country music.
Not this rock country they singin' today.

I'm just relaxin' listenin' to George Jones.
Singin' about the race is on to get some white lightin'.

And by my side.
Is my one true woman.

We're just sittin' back.
And listenin' to good country music.

Listenin' to Mel Tillis singin' about that Coke Cola Cowboy.
He must be a true live fella.

And soon.
We're listenin' to Loretta Lynn singin' about she's not tough to take her man.
Which is followed by Tammy Wynette proclaim to Stand by her man.
And me and my love just sittin' back.
Listenin' to good country music.

Nothin' like the country rock they sing today.
Where many artists grew up on rock and roll in their youth?

Just sittin' here listenin' to Waylon Jenning.
Or maybe Merle Haggard.
Or that Bakerfield's fella singin' about just act naturally.

Which I feel he's talkin' about me.

While I'm just sittin' back listenin' to some Willie Nelson.
Another one of those outlaw fella.

This is music to my soul.
That I could hear all day long.

I want to drive him to the country and sit in the silence like dew.
And listen to the grass stained hills take little sips of air.
And listen to the roosters gasp for the light of the rising sun.
I want him to feel this – this Texas.
Where the crickets croak eternal  
and the cayotes call confused to country dogs like the wild.
I want to drive him to the country and weep excess tears
down our cold, city scathed cheeks
in rhythm with the birds as they sing their morning songs –
and swoon each other awake.
Who will swallow the worm as prey?
And you’ll hear them say:
maybe it isn’t so much about all you do and do and do?
and the sun’s lips share the same message,
but only to the few who know a Texas country morning
like a well-kept secret:
whose cups catch the cows stretching when they wake.

I want to drive him to the country and cry
and decide what life is like in synchronous solitude
with her timelessness
Singing of Dawn’s baby yawn -
the sound of her silence a sweet surprise.
Her fingertips linger
on each blade, on each bend, on each bug and tree.
I want him to understand the longing in each whistle and tune –
for country cravings aren’t satisfied with one lover’s hand,
but imbued with the light touch of a million–
all abundant in each drop of river and pond.
And when he sees the shadow of fences lining pasture walls
and reflecting on the wet ground,
we’ll turn on the engine and drive away.
The day will forget, with its ever-searching eyes,
what it saw in that morning sky.
But the body will remember – as it does
with each kiss, with each touch and scent,
sweet, sweet Texas will whisper her fingertips full of song –
and the birds will sing, and the worms will whine,
and the dew will drip as your senses will rise.

Policies defined by the police, homosexuality, corruption by employees. Abuse of the pharmacy - Mom comes from ****** and demons of Azaz. This is the city that the dogs of Moab **** and the land; The accessories are security tools for terrorism. Homosexuality, to the doctor's particular conviction. After the outbreak of the Alhambra. The symptoms of the disease are established and paralysis begins. There are also changes in the city. Female mafia and other ******. Backup copies are protected. Such homosexuality, security device. Emergency options, algebra licenses, favorite editions, Moab city records. Local configurations to protect these devices. The dangers of homosexuality are important. Military circles won: after the wars. In the environment, cancel it. Other Country Country Country Morcha ***** and countries Country Suspicious patterns. Police, employees, prostitutes, merchants, depression, night, the devil says that wine is a city; Average gay, prostitution, prostitution and country. More security improvements. The police of this device protected the fear of homosexuality, the weakness of the faith; hospitals; The post-traumatic problems of the destruction of the devil by the Algerians. Positive changes in the cities ****** and visitors. Young mafia couple. ******* and country The police stopped to ask questions about the police. The danger of decadence, homosexuality, depends on the disease; Common drugs Post-traumatic and air-conditioned problems. Algebra, the evolution of the *******. friends and repairs; Mafia area. Country of prostitution and ******; Additional benefits for the police, homosexuality, veterans protection. Impact drugs after the alsemeera. Satanism after the event. Change of disabled and rebuilt city. Fornicadoresputo and adulterers; The police killed the police, more security. these drugs, corruption, psychology; Alzeihmer is a problem of post-traumatic Satanism. Gypsy Depression The intriguing private attraction that attracts gypsies is like two blind gypsy guards who seek the best possible entertainment in the future. The foundations of the mafia, other police and security forces. Applications, terrorism, homosexuality, faith. Hospitals after his death,
The Alhambra had withdrawn from the brothers.
Prostitution and violence have changed.
Who and the changes in the city. queen
of the Mafia, health and the land; Next device.
Police wish these catastrophic, catastrophic
protections, Homosexuality, security. *******:
Emergency situations, algebra, change.
Pants and communication of municipal
books. Tips - The spaces of prostitution.
****** and Moabitas in the front coverage
For diseases and the guards of prostitutes.
So Danger the dangers of homosexuality.
they are motivated by corruption; The illness
Hospital, parasites, other directed products.
Employment Women and the gods.
of Mordecai. For the moment, we propose.
The next source. Of services, homosexuality,
Due to corruption to the harmful effects
of Come. Of the ****** of Azaz and the
demons. This is the city where Moab
is located. Love with the ground and other
policemen are lost. Improvements, security
tools for homosexuality. Of the terrorists,
a condemnation especially to the doctor.
After the beginning of the Alhambra the
relationship between the rooster ***** and
paralysis. Start With changes in the city.
Mafia female and other copy. The security zones
are protected Such A device of the security
of homosexuality. Emergency license options,
algebraic acceptance. The change that is changing
in the city - Moab. It is cut for the protection
of these devices. The dangers of homosexuality
They are important. The victories won:
after the effects Environmental drinks, revoke.
Another city of Morcha and his suspicious
Country Blood, ******, Cars, and more.

The country road like  poet’s fancies unravels
Through the   giant hanky- sized paddy fields
And  the dream  sized ponds
Dotting  the landscape
in perfect  squires and riots of skewed and regular shapes
The green spread and the muddy beds, spell the village beauty.

Parrot green fields
And  stark blue skies  look at each other
In perfect silence, like mother and babe
And a   great , grey house  exposing its ragged bricks,
Bared like  the buck tooth of the old
Provokes a  village memory

Past picking itself slowy and ambling into the future
Its wooden columns
stand like mute  exclamation marks!
or so it may  look to me.
Flies  the  skidding scaly tarred  snake  
Fast and spreading like the traveler travelling on it.

Patchy it looks, now;  
And  full like the  misery  of the scorned lover
Eager like  the  maiden speech of a parlimentarian  
The country road, runs  fluid like a stream after the rains.
As the rustle of the engine   trips and   falls
into the  divine  air.

A  roaming peacock calling adds  charm to the great whole  fare
A winged beauty, struts across
Nudged by the sputtering , speeding me.
The exotic avian   attains the hedges galore
With its   metal blue  feathery strangeness blurred in my glancing eye
A species rare, found only in ornithologists diary.

A  clamour in the  air
And the   school boys emerge in buddy pairs
Beneath the  village banyan
That  let loose its tresses to dry like a country maid.
I see, a promising glint in their eyes
The  will make themselves of  king and ministers of the modern days


The  sonority of ringing bell  
clubs the cacophony of school boys  in into two dead parts.
They return to their classes, sanctified by the silence,
And open their minds to the feminine vocie.
A Glorious moment ,
As the  morn of wisdom is born

Rich are the sightings of poor country side
And many are the mappings on the way,
My sensibilities recouped,
I drove back
not spent
But profound.


sound.

Regret. The act of doing something and feeling remorse later on; the act of wanting to take something back; the act of wishing something didn’t happen. I regret ever making the joke that when my sister and I fought; it was like World War 3. I regret not telling my brother how much he meant to me and how proud I was that he was serving our country. I regret falling in love with a man that would be forced to go into the military.

Ayden received the letter in the mail two weeks ago, informing him that he would be expected to be at the airport, to involuntarily serve our country. Something bad was going to happen. Something no one was prepared for. We were only eighteen, just seniors in high school since our birthdays took place in the summer. We had been dating one year. The thought of him going half way around the world to fight in a war that came out of nowhere, scared me half to death. It wasn’t just the fact that I was losing my boyfriend who I was incredibly in love with; It was the fact that all in one day, I would be losing my boyfriend, and my best friend. No one to share my secrets with, no one to wrap me in his arms and tell me that everything was going to be okay. Just like he had done the night before when he had finally worked up the courage to tell me what had happened. My jaw hit the floor, my eyes watered up, and I may or may not have started trembling. We had been sitting on the couch when he squeezed my hand a little tighter.

“I have to tell you something.” He said.

I turned toward him with a smile on my face, which quickly faded when I saw that his own eyes had started to tear up.

“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.

“In a week, I won’t see you. I don’t know for how long, I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He started to explain.

“Where are you going?” I asked impatiently.

“I don’t know.”

“You have to know.”

“There’s going to be a war.” He said. “A big one.” He whispered.

“There was a draft?”

He nodded his head slightly.

“When did you find out?” I asked.

“About a week ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” I whispered.

“Ava. This hurts more than if I was breaking up with you.” He said. “I’ve wanted to tell you. I have. But I didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you’re completely in love with, that you’re going off to fight in a war? That you don’t know if you’ll be coming back?”

“You certainly don’t hide it from that person.” I whispered.

“I might not be coming back.”

“Don’t say that.” I interrupted. “Don’t ever say that again.”

I let a few tears slip down the side of my cheek. He raised his hand to my face and slowly swiped them away with his thumb. He pulled me closer into his arms and kissed my forehead.

“I love you.” He whispered into my ear.

“I love you too.” I said.

Those were the last words we said to each other a week later while standing in the airport. His parents were there too .He had already hugged them and his dad had ushered his mom out to the parking lot in order to keep her from having a panic attack. Ayden and I had stood there awkwardly for a few minutes. After all, what do you say to someone when there’s a possibility you might not ever see them again? That had been when he out of nowhere grabbed me and pulled me against his chest. Wrapping me tightly in his arms, I buried my nose into the sleeve of his jacket and savored the sweet scent of his cologne.

I stood in the window of the airport, watching planes take off after he had given me a final hug and had left to board the plane. Already, I felt like I had something missing from me. Like there was a big hole in my heart. I felt empty. After some time, I decided I should probably go home.

I didn’t cry myself to sleep last night like I thought I would’ve. Instead, I just lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling, not knowing what to think. Tomorrow would be so much different than all my other days at school. No one to hold my hand while walking down the hallway, no one to go out to lunch with, and no one to look forward to so bright and early in the morning. After what seemed like forever, I drifted off to sleep, images of Ayden appearing in my dreams.

The sound of my alarm clock woke me in the morning. And all at once, it hit me, everything that I had been thinking of before drifting off to sleep the night before. Everything that had happened yesterday hadn’t been just a dream. It had been reality and it was finally starting to set in. I threw the covers off of me and started my day like any other, minus the ‘good morning beautiful’ text that I had been so used to receiving.

When I was finally ready for school, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. The weather fit my mood perfectly. Cloudy, dark, damp, awful weather. Unlike most days that usually occurred here in California. I was used to the sun, the nice warm breeze, not this ‘Seattle like’ weather. Driving to school, I wasn’t sure if the raindrops falling on my windshield made it blurry to see, or if it was my own tears welling up in my eyes. I pretended for it to be the first option, all the while knowing it was the second. Staying strong had been one of my traits. When things got tough, I wasn’t one to run from my problems. No, I faced those dead on. Mom always said I got that from Dad.

It’d been a long time since I’d last thought about him. He was tall, strong, and stubborn. He died serving our country. Maybe that’s what scared me most about Ayden having to go fight. I’d experience death through the military too many times in my book. My grandpa had served our country and had also died in military combat, then Dad. Maybe, it was just my family. Luck just didn’t play on our side. When my brother was finally old enough to join, he surprised us all at dinner one night.

“Have you thought anymore about that business degree you want to get?” Mom had asked.

“Well, yeah. Actually, no. I’ve decided against the business degree.” Ethan had said.

“Honey, you’re almost ready to graduate. You’re changing your mind in the blink of an eye and at possibly, the last minute?”

I had sat silently, not saying a word. Ethan had told me a few months before what he’d been thinking. He knew my opinion, but didn’t know Mom’s. I wasn’t happy with what he was deciding, but I was almost willing to support him. We were close, and I didn’t want to lose him like I had lost Dad, who I’d also been so close to.

“I want to join the military.” He said quietly, and calmly.

I remember Mom’s reaction almost perfectly. She didn’t say a word at first, just looked down at her plate. When she lifted her head a minute later, tears had begun to form in her eyes, ones she blinked away quickly, not letting them spill over onto her cheeks.

“When did you, decide this?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve thought about it for a long time. My choices were either, business, or military.” He explained. “And Mom, the business thing just isn’t working out.”

“Of all things to choose.” She whispered.

She shook her head slightly and I saw a tear fall onto the table by her plate.

“Mom, things are different these days. It’s not like when Dad fought.” He explained. “Ava supports me.” He slipped.

Mom’s head snapped up and looked at me. My head bent down, looking at the spaghetti on my plate.

“You knew?” she asked quietly.

I said nothing. Absolutely nothing. Telling Mom that I had known his decision all along wasn’t part of the plan when the three of us sat down for dinner that night.

“I thought there were no secrets in this house?” she asked.

“There isn’t.” Ethan chimed in. “Anymore.” He whispered.

Mom breathed in a deep breath and let it escape.

“Ethan, I love you. And I support whatever you choose to do. You know that. But I am telling you right now, I will be ****** if I lose another important man in my life.” She said, sternly, while looking deep into his eyes.

“Dad would’ve wanted this.” Ethan said, plainly.

“I know.”

And with that, she had excused herself and left the table. Walking down the hallway, I heard her sniffle a couple times.

The fact of those two simple words stung but as the saying goes, “the truth hurts.” Mom was a runner. She was the one who would always run from her problems instead of confronting them. The one thing that she had always said and will continue to always say, she didn’t want Ethan going into the military. Ever since Dad had died, she’d stuck to her word. Even though, we all knew Dad would’ve wanted Ethan to follow in his steps and be a commanding officer, it’d be the one thing Mom would continuously disagree on. I guess you could say I was the same way. After Ayden had told me that he had been signed for the draft, my breath had caught and I had the same reaction as Mom would’ve had. I would’ve wanted him to do anything, anything, besides go into the military. But I guess it was different this time. No one really had a say in who was on the list and who was absent. My bad luck had just started to shine through.

School dragged on. As normal. But it was different now. Ayden wasn’t there to hold my hand. He wasn’t there to greet me after my classes, wasn’t there to walk me to my car, wasn’t there to just be in my presence. It was like he had died. And just the thought of that alone, brought tears to my eyes. I wasn’t the only one whose boyfriend had been called off for the draft. No, there were others, but none of those other couples had been like Ayden and I. We weren’t just a couple. We weren’t just homecoming king and queen. No, we were best friends. I’d known him since first grade when he’d transferred to my elementary school. I had been the one assigned to show him around the school. We became friends, and later on, best friends. Freshman year of high school, Ayden and I had gone to homecoming together. Not as a couple but just as friends because neither of us had a date. Sophomore year, we had gone together again. Not because we didn’t have a date, but because we wanted to go with each other. I’ll never forget that night, because that was the night Ayden had told me he wanted to be more than friends. I had never actually thought about being more than just his friend until he had brought it up. That night, I didn’t just fall in love with a guy; I fell in love with my best friend.

The final bell rang for school to be dismissed. Once again, I felt emptiness inside while walking through the hallway. Blurs of kids rushing past me kept me from allowing my tears to spill over onto my cheeks, but that was the only thing that stopped them. After getting into my car, I put the key into the ignition but didn’t start it; I didn’t even turn the key. I put my head in my hands and took a deep breath. In my head, I thought, “One day down.”

After sitting for a few minutes in my quiet car, and letting other vehicles exit the parking lot, I finally turned the key and started my car. Hearing the soft music come on the radio, I turned it down so I could only hear the engine running. Putting my car into reverse, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going to go. I just wanted to drive. Halfway home, I changed directions and headed to what seemed like my second house, my best friend’s house.

I knew his Mom would be off work by now and would be there to let me in. I found it ironic, as I always have that when you’re in a hurry to get somewhere; you stop at every red light possible. Red lights, stop signs, and slow moving cars in general were the only obstacles in my way that afternoon. Finally, when I was out of the traffic and almost to Ayden’s house, I pushed my foot a little harder on the gas to gain some speed. Driving up over the gravel road, I could see in the distance his Mom’s small car parked in the driveway; along with Ayden’s. Just seeing it there, gave me false hope that maybe this was all a dream and he was actually at his house, waiting for me.

Pulling into the driveway, his Mom came out onto the porch. Ayden lived in a house that you see in the movies. A tall, white one with a wraparound porch, the swing out front. I loved spending time in that house. Putting the car in park, I slowly got out and walked up to the porch.

“How did it go?” his Mom asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, while walking up the stairs. She pulled me into her arms and hugged me. Rubbing my back, she whispered,

“It’ll be okay. He’ll be coming home sooner than you know it.”

“Can I just go up to his room?” I asked.

“Of course.”

She released me from her arms and I opened the screen door to head inside while she remained on the porch. I walked up the stairs and to the right. Ayden’s door was closed. That was unlikely. He never kept his door shut just for the sake of it being shut. It was always opened. I pushed it open and walked inside. All his stuff was where he had left it. His bed was unmade, his closet doors standing open. I walked to his closet and ran my hands over his shirts, His scent filled my nose and I just wanted him home. I grabbed a button down, blue and white, thin striped shirt. He had worn it to school a couple times. I put it up to my nose, taking in faint bit of cologne that you could still smell on it, even after it going through the wash. I walked over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. With his shirt still pressed close to my face, I breathed in a heavy breath and let everything go. The tears started coming and I didn’t stop them. I started sobbing but I didn’t care. It seemed like everything that I’d ever loved, was gone. Because technically, it was, for the time. Ayden leaving to go fight in a war half way across the country scared me more than life itself, and hurt more than if he had broken up with me. I felt alone, even when there were dozens of people around me. I felt as if Ayden was dead when he was actually alive and well, as far as I knew. He’d only been gone one day and it felt like three years. Losing Ayden to the war efforts showed the true meaning in the saying, “you never really know what you have until it’s gone.” But really, the truth was, I knew what I had. I knew exactly what I had. I just took it for granted and didn’t think I’d ever lose it. And now all I wanted was Ayden back in the same country as me, back in the same house as where I was. In his room, watching a movie, playing a game, anything. That’s all I wanted at that exact moment.

I jumped up out of my sleep, my heart beating faster than a race car zooming around a track. I looked at my alarm clock, the red digits glaring, 2:33 back at my face. I swallowed and took a few more deep breaths before kicking the covers off and walking to the bathroom. I turned the light on and splashed some cool water over my face. Looking up into the mirror, I took one final deep breath and walked back to my room. Grabbing my phone from my nightstand next to my bed, I unplugged it and ran my finger over the touch screen. Reaching Ayden’s name, I touched the screen where it said to call. Holding the phone up to my ear, I waited for Ayden’s voice to answer. After about five rings and silence, his voice answered through his voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Ayden. I’m a little busy at the moment, but leave a message, and I’ll make sure to get back to you.”

My tears broke out all over again, my already swollen eyes releasing more sobs. I pulled my covers up to my chest and buried my face in them. My sobs grew a bit louder, and I heard footsteps coming from outside my bedroom door. I tried to stop, and after sniffling a couple times, the white door opened slowly.

“Honey,” Mom said, coming over to the bed.

“I can’t do this, Mom.” I sobbed.

She pulled me into her arms and rested her chin on my head while softly rubbing my back.

“It gets better.” she whispered. “It gets better.” she paused. “I promise.”

“I don’t know.” I said.

“I do.” she replied. “I went through this. You seem to keep forgetting. But I went through this exact same thing.”

I took a deep breath. “How long?” I asked. “How long does this last? This loneliness, this emptiness?”

“Too long.” she whispered.

She pulled me into her arms even more, holding me tighter, until I slowly laid down on my bed, my tears falling to my pillow. She sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my back. It reminded me of all the times when I had been sick and she’d s

Culture is sometimes just a way of showing who the person truly are. A country’s culture shapes everyone’s life that lives the that  area. The ways that trading has affected culture is extraordinary. It changed the way we look at each religion and ideas all over the world. Trading helps a country’s culture because it spreads to grow a culture, makes other people see and understand the other cultures, and opens up new ideas.
    Without trade life would be different. Trading made the whole world be able to expand to new regions and eventually get along with one another. The native americans hating the fact that Europeans moved into their land and took over everything. Eventually, they began to get use to each other. It took time, but eventually they got the hang of it. It made the world be able to expand to new regions while being able to get along and not **** each other. Honestly, without trade the world would be less diverse and not able to be joined into one.
    Trading could help make the countries understand that they are different and that the world is better if they are different from each other. Take religion for an example, without the trading and exploring there would only be one specific religion for an area. That could be good, but it could also be very bad. Country leaders controlled their country by the religion a lot of times. England use to be only Catholic, so when they made colonies in America they ended up to be Catholic as well. The natives had their own beliefs and the English decided to come and try to control them. Well, that didn’t go too well for them. It caused a lot of fights between the groups. Now that the countries have traded, it opens up a whole new thought process to the different religions. It made you understand why the people believe what they do.
    Opening new religions is just a part of trade. Countries over the years have been introduced to religions such as; Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, and Catholicism. Not only that, but look at the way traditions have changed. Christmas is a celebration that is celebrated in America by different religious and non-religious groups. Christianity and Catholicism believe baby Jesus was born on Christmas, but some people celebrate Christmas for the fun of it. Some people don’t even celebrate Christmas. A couple celebrate Hanukkah. So, trade made America more diverse.
    Trading could corrupt a culture, but it helps it a lot more. Spreading of religions helps countries be diverse in new ways. Without religion some people would be lost or stuck in a place where they were forced to think a certain way. Many countries had a lot of arguments because they didn’t understand each other properly. Without understanding someone, it would be bad and end in an argument. It gives knowledge about the traditions that have been spread throughout the whole world. Christmas wouldn’t be here and neither would any of the other holidays. So, trading has helped the culture of every country become better.
    
    Trading is a big part of a country’s culture, without it the world would be different. It helps in so many ways and no one really knows it. Times people don’t even appreciate what is given to them. Trading helps a country’s culture because it spreads culture to make it grow, makes people see different points of view, and opens up ideas. In order for you to prove this, look up information in a history book or look at America today.

Nobody marching toward us
Their guns making us die.
No tanks are come clanking
No bombers in the sky.
But our Congress and generals
When oil or bases seem needed;
We appear armed and threatening
Peace and love talk not heeded.

No country has attacked us
With troops and lethal artillery.
But our leaders expect us to
Go open up their arteries
And **** their women and children
And laugh while they all die
And we are expected to do this
And never think to ask why.

It’s almost like big companies
Were sad when WW2 ended
So they started attacking countries
We really should have befriended.
We let Russia have free reign
To **** and ****** and steal
Almost as if their aggression
Wasn’t really true or even real.

We looked around and made them,
Those evil old warlike excuses,
That some country threatened freedom
And we pretended they weren’t ruses.
We attacked Korea and Vietnam
We were just supposed to observe
That they were yellow people there
And think they got what they deserved.

We didn’t stop there, as Reagan took
A duly elected leader and put him in jail.
If any country did that to our country
The conservatives would howl and rail.
Then the Bushes tried their best to take
Iraq to steal their oil and punish them
And created an era of stronger hatred
And anti-American outrage and mayhem.

No foreign country has attacked America;
So, the point bears repeating once again.
We need to stop acting like bullies here
And start acting like decent statesmen
And women who have the bigger picture;
The growth of peace in our battered world
So, other countries will not take their guns
And shoot our flag when it’s unfurled.

the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth is just hoarded
and goes rotten, and skeletons of industry rust.
the cities are littered with bodies with suits and ties
stepping over them. dangerous speculation leaves behind another gutted home.
the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth is just hoarded
and goes rotten, and skeletons of industry rust.
in all of history, never has the world been richer, never
have individuals been richer, and communities never so barren.
the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth is just hoarded
and goes rotten.

children cry up from the depth of debt for bread and help and shelter
met either with the ideologue's injunction "AUSTERITY."
or deaf ears and tax-payers money
invested in guns and bombs sent abroad, and rhetoric behind the barbed fences of our shores, and the tools for plundering all the people and every corner and resource of the earth and the as yet still fluid future: the tools to cement our early doom.

all that is wretched is integral to the structure:
it is what the system stands on, everything it crushes,
squeezing out the life and stealing it;
we must come to understand this, and step back.
we'll have to face—or be forced to—collapse.

the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth is just hoarded
and people are forsaken, starved, blown up, drowned, deprived of voice and value;
profits are made. life comes at a price, too much for most.
the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth travelled north - taken - into open arms,
those brave, desperate souls in flight who followed
were handed - abandoned - to the waves or absolute destitution.
the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth is just hoarded—
"SAVE THE BANKS, SAVE THE COMPANIES, THEY'RE TOO BIG
TO SINK"—they're titanic—"THERE'S NO TIME TO BE DEMOCRATIC—IT'S A STATE OF EMERGENCY—THEY CANNOT FAIL."
the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth is just hoarded,
hundreds of thousands of houses are empty
and skeletons of industry rust.
the country isn't poor at all:
the wealth is just hoarded,
and so the world goes rotten.

justice will take more than just good deeds:
open the borders and break down the walls!
set no destinations at which to arrive, but towards horizons strive;
we need not firewood, but the seed:
make union and defiance your call!
open the borders and break down the walls!
produce and allocate according to need
and there shall be enough—for us all!

(and i might add: please,
forgive me my youth and naivety...
but i am no believer in the Fall.)

Farmers farmers
The mighty farmers
The backbone of this country yeah
They need to have rain to run their farms
Or it will be too dry
Each farmer is battling the Aussie sun
Doing what they do
Trying to bring Aussie produce to the tables
Yeah mate ****** yeah
Farmers farmers
The mighty farmers
The backbone of this country yeah
You see they need to help the future of this country get a good education
But they do need rain
And if you can you must give them money
Because it is a hard ****** job
My ****** oathe
It is great to see the worlds famous singers
Putting on a hay mate concert to help them out
And get everyone to sing great songs
Farmers farmers
The mighty farmers
The back bone of this country yeah
Come on Australia
Give three cheers for our farmers
Help them out
Buy them a beer
Give them the shirt off your back
And help them financially
Yes they will appreciate your help
And yes they will feel great
And so will you because you are
Helping the backbone of this country
Farmers farmers
The mighty farmers
Give them your time
Because they are doing it tough

hello, i am manager Skip Hopper, here are your team rules for baseball. follow these rules and then follow the base line home

first you need a home plate
then you measure the space between the base
then we must put the base in the proper place

ok slugger, the players have rules
please stand for the national anthem of your country
after all, it is your country, even more so than corruption's country
look at all your fellow countrymen, who came to see you
that's your photo on a sports card, and your name in lights
those racists and haters are afraid of the lights
you must have a lot of power, please don't choke
only in the country that old stars and stripes flies over
would you even have a right to sit down when a nation stands
don't stand for the flag, stand for your right to choose
after all, is it not a signal from your brain that you follow?
you have more white people on your side than a lot of white people have

even if it is a white man signing your paycheck, it's all the more polar opposite of what is for some.
plus you think the kids want that white to sign a ball?
my team plays ball, and not politics
then my team shares with all races and colors
my team looks to win, on and off the field
welcome to team victory!

you'll bat first until you show me that home run capability

watch the ball and the pitcher
do what you have to do, even if you have to take a pitch to the arm
get to the first base, and lay claim to it
don't get attached to that base
a base is just a rest stop on the way to home
after today, we will no longer call it a base
think of it as a step on your front porch
calling it a base is like calling a baseball bat a baseball glove
now, the team is counting on you to get to first
then you have to count on your team to bring you home
this whole stadium is full of team members too
this whole league is on your team, in ways
the guy who makes the season schedule has a certain amount of teams
he must arrange the schedule according to us, and then do the hard part
math...
you know us dumb jocks can't do math, or much else really
that's why it's all about the numbers guys sometimes, too
why do you think we wear numbers
everything has to have a system to work properly
there may be some rules or players that you don't like

I don't like a 1st step, or 3rd step coach myself
after all, that's kind of undermining the manager
we don't need them looking over anyone's shoulder
that kind of **** even makes me nervous
i'm not the type of manager that looks over my team's shoulder

everyone wants a title...standing there just to tell you to go
that would be a fan
like i'm gonna just split my job three ways?
then hire people to stand on the steps of your porch?
and they're gonna tell you how to get home, when you are home?
i hired two guys who are into that "curling" crap
that is not a man's game
plus, why doesn't the guy with the broom sweep before the guy pushes that thing that is round
a puck maybe? it's not round, but i guess the circumference is a perfect circle
now a baseball, that is round
anyhow, i gave them their titles they wanted

head coach of ball scratching affairs
and head coach of spit buckets
it's so funny to see them be so serious about sweeping and ****
they concentrate so hard that i think they could scratch that spot on a player's *****
that spot that the players can't seem to scratch
who knows, i will tell head (ball boy) coach to look for *****
they're just like all canadians...innocent
i can't figure why a baseball team has a better flag though
a maple leaf? take off aaayyy

call everything by a sensible name

they call a rubber thing a base, and they call home a plate
see, a base is something you spend time on
a plate is something you clean twice during, and after a meal
well, on our team we try to keep the the next guy in line fed'
so, he is on your steps and it's as easy as handing him the plate
knowing you and your family have more than enough
knowing your fellow batters will hand you a plate when you're on their steps

remember, you don't follow the rules...
you step up to the plate, and the rules follow

it's really all about the fans

they are our world, and when our world does good
the cheers turn into waves and vibrations
like a fine machine, the sound becomes a hum
you can literally see the waves travel through the stadium

maybe this will catch on again

those waves travel beyond our world
just maybe some little green men will take notice
maybe they will respect us for how we make a diamond into a circle
or just maybe the world series will be known as the universal series
we could really use some competition

these other managers think they are so great
but one loss and they pinch their hitters and runners
then they try to change the rotation
you can't change a dang rotation without stopping
well, in our world, we have faith in the rotation
i also have faith in each player, and as our whole team
we are whole, keep that in mind always

that's why our team is called the country whole
plus, just naming it that, the whole country got tricked
they used to think we were tobacco spitting country boys
that positive energy really is like a snowball going downhill

our two head coaches love snow and hills
haha...everyone from canada is a comedian without trying
the great white north huh?
let's hear it for cheese curds and hat tricks
this is baseball and apple pie land
and by the way canada...

why aren't there any canadians on your major league baseball teams?
you make it hard to call it the world series
you also made ham and called it bacon

sorry slugger, sore spot...but anyhow

we all have a job to do, and doing it right is always a self win
counting on others, and trusting them to do their job, makes your job easier

there are a lot of rubber arms
they will be throwing all kinds of curves at you
only swing at pitches that are in your strike zone
never swing at breaking ***** and they can't break you

now, get out there and get a hit, walk, or home run
see you around the home slugger...know this

i guess my managing isn't needed here
i'm headed to club to watch in comfort
i don't know why people miss out on so much to be at the game
i'm a fan more than i am a manager
either way, we all know what's going to happen every time
we will extend our undefeated streak another game
like a fine oiled machine
making a perfect circle out of a diamond
while canadians scratch our ***** like fine oiled curlers
haha, scratching so seriously like that kills me

my team is awesome!

remember, this is not america's game
it's not baseball, and we know that
base and ball touch and you're out
then you'll run from a base and be shot by military police for going awol
just kidding slugger, tell the team i say hi and thanks for being on the team
i will tell the rest of the home team at that press conference *******

welcome to the big leagues kid

play ball!

take me out to the bar!

Love: The wife of Loyalty, the mother of Kindness, and the older sister of Truth.  Love is a humanitarian and a healer.  Love is ***** by Hatred.

Loyalty: The husband of Love and the father of Kindness.  Loyalty is a soldier and a warrior.  He gets revenge on Hatred for ****** Love.

Kindness: The daughter of Love and Loyalty.  She is the niece of Truth.

Hatred: The father of Anger and Cruelty.  Hatred has an affair with Lust.  She becomes pregnant and gives birth to Anger.  He also has a fling with Envy.  She becomes pregnant and gives birth to Cruelty.  Hatred rapes Love.  Hatred is a terrorist, an assassin, and a cold calculated killer.

Lust: The wife of Greed and the mother of Anger.  Lust is a **** and a *******.  Her husband Greed is her ****.  Lust has an affair with Hatred and becomes pregnant.  She gives birth to Anger.  Lust and Envy are best friends.

Greed: The husband of Lust, the older brother of Envy, and the stepfather of Anger.  Greed is Lust's ****.  Greed is a ****, corrupt politician, gangster, and a ***** businessman.

Tranquility: The name of the country where the virtues live.

Glory: The name of the capital city in the country Tranquility.

Pride: The elected commander who rules over all the sins.

Darkness: The name of the country where the sins live.

Wisdom: The oldest brother of Knowledge and Understanding.  Wisdom is the elected commander who rules over all the virtues.

Limbo: A country that's in the middle of the two countries Darkness and Tranquility.  Darkness is to the west of Limbo and Tranquility is to the east of Limbo.  The country Limbo has a river of blood running down the middle of it.  There is a civil war taking place in the country Limbo.

Hope: The daughter of Truth and Faith.

Truth: The husband of Faith, the father of Hope, and the younger brother of Love.  Truth is a soldier and a warrior. He gets revenge on Hatred for ****** Love.

Faith: The wife of Truth and the mother of Hope.

Cruelty: The daughter of Envy and Hatred.  She is the half sister of
Anger.

Anger: The son of Lust and Hatred, the stepson of Greed, and the half brother of Cruelty.  Anger is best friends with Ignorance.

Understanding: The brother of Wisdom and Knowledge.  Understanding is a teacher.  He and Mercy have a romantic interest in each other.

Knowledge: The youngest brother of Wisdom and Understanding.

Sloth: The wife of Gluttony and the mother of Ignorance.

Gluttony: The husband of Sloth and the father of Ignorance.  Gluttony is a chef.

Ignorance: The son of Gluttony and Sloth.  Ignorance is best friends with Anger.



written by Keith Edward Baucum

Is to be told all the ways you don't matter
It is to be angry and afraid
It is to watch people walk on the opposite side of the street to avoid you
It is to be told to get over slavery
It is to be told that I'm not racist I have black friends
It is to be told the definition of racism like you don't already know
It is to be told hey what about reverse racism
It is to have a white terrorist group dedicated to your elimination
It is to be more worried about threats in your own country and those abroad
It is to wonder daily if your family will be safe, if they will get to come home
It is to called a **** for speaking out against the hate
It is to be called lazy when you work full time to provide for your family
It is to walk past folks and watch as the clench their purse or pockets
It is to be to have people fear you, when you feel more threatened then they ever could
It is to be told that privilege doesn't exist
It is to be told you are equal, except you know that in the courtroom, in the eyes of the law, the job market, the housing market, in the classroom, it is a ****** lie
It is to be live in a world where 1 in 3 black men are in prison
It is to know that they have sentences longer than white counterparts
It is to know they use prison labor to exploit them, slavery living on
It is to know that the police which are a relief for some, are a nightmare for you
It is to know that you can do everything right and be killed by someone sworn to protect you
It is to know that you will be blamed for your death inspite of this
It is to have the life choked out of you and a man telling you, **** your breathe
It is to hear what about black on black crime, even though every race commuts crime against their own kind the most
It is to remember white flight and the repercussions of it
It is to have family who have seen the bloodiness of the covil rights movement
It is to be taught in school how great this country is while ignoring the evil its done
It is to be taught in school how little you meant
It is to wake up every 2 weeks to another hashtag of some poor black fella to be forgot in a week
It is to want to simply be acknowledged that things arent right, and being ignored to this day
It is to be villianized in the media
It is to see that flag everyone holds dear and remember that pain it caused you
It is to fight and die for a country that still doesn't care about you
It is to be told to go back to Africa as if this wasnt stolen land
It is to be told I dont see you as black, you're just the same to me
It is to be told well you don't count as black, you don't act black
It is to have your culture stolen
It is to have value placed on your mysic and style and not your skin
It is to hear what would MLK think about these protest
It is to remember that people celebrated his assassination
It is to remember the slurs and the hate he recieved
It is to have people know they don't want to be treated the way you are
It is to want whats always been denied, the privilege of walking in your own skin without fear of persecution
It is to see family, friends and peers celebrate and share racist ideas and beleifs
It is being reassured they still value you
It is to know but not enough to matter

Being black in America is a lot of things, and I love the country all the same.

But I hope and pray for the day, that we can be treated the same.

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea’s hills the setting Sun;
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light;
O’er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows;
On old ægina’s rock and Hydra’s isle
The God of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O’er his own regions lingering loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss
Thy glorious Gulf, unconquered Salamis!
Their azure arches through the long expanse,
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.

  On such an eve his palest beam he cast
When, Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last.
How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murdered Sage’s latest day!
Not yet—not yet—Sol pauses on the hill,
The precious hour of parting lingers still;
But sad his light to agonizing eyes,
And dark the mountain’s once delightful dyes;
Gloom o’er the lovely land he seemed to pour,
The land where Phoebus never frowned before;
But ere he sunk below Cithaeron’s head,
The cup of Woe was quaffed—the Spirit fled;
The soul of Him that scorned to fear or fly,
Who lived and died as none can live or die.

  But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain
The Queen of Night asserts her silent reign;
No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form;
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play,
There the white column greets her grateful ray,
And bright around, with quivering beams beset,
Her emblem sparkles o’er the Minaret;
The groves of olive scattered dark and wide,
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,
And sad and sombre ’mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus’ fane, yon solitary palm;
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye;
And dull were his that passed them heedless by.
Again the ægean, heard no more afar,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war:
Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold,
Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle
That frown, where gentler Ocean deigns to smile.

  As thus, within the walls of Pallas’ fane,
I marked the beauties of the land and main,
Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore,
Whose arts and arms but live in poets’ lore;
Oft as the matchless dome I turned to scan,
Sacred to Gods, but not secure from Man,
The Past returned, the Present seemed to cease,
And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece!

  Hour rolled along, and Dian’******on high
Had gained the centre of her softest sky;
And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod
O’er the vain shrine of many a vanished God:
But chiefly, Pallas! thine, when Hecate’s glare
Checked by thy columns, fell more sadly fair
O’er the chill marble, where the startling tread
Thrills the lone heart like echoes from the dead.
Long had I mused, and treasured every trace
The wreck of Greece recorded of her race,
When, lo! a giant-form before me strode,
And Pallas hailed me in her own Abode!

  Yes,’twas Minerva’s self; but, ah! how changed,
Since o’er the Dardan field in arms she ranged!
Not such as erst, by her divine command,
Her form appeared from Phidias’ plastic hand:
Gone were the terrors of her awful brow,
Her idle ægis bore no Gorgon now;
Her helm was dinted, and the broken lance
Seemed weak and shaftless e’en to mortal glance;
The Olive Branch, which still she deigned to clasp,
Shrunk from her touch, and withered in her grasp;
And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky,
Celestial tears bedimmed her large blue eye;
Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow,
And mourned his mistress with a shriek of woe!

  “Mortal!”—’twas thus she spake—”that blush of shame
Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name;
First of the mighty, foremost of the free,
Now honoured ‘less’ by all, and ‘least’ by me:
Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found.
Seek’st thou the cause of loathing!—look around.
Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire,
I saw successive Tyrannies expire;
‘Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth,
Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both.
Survey this vacant, violated fane;
Recount the relics torn that yet remain:
‘These’ Cecrops placed, ‘this’ Pericles adorned,
‘That’ Adrian reared when drooping Science mourned.
What more I owe let Gratitude attest—
Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest.
That all may learn from whence the plunderer came,
The insulted wall sustains his hated name:
For Elgin’s fame thus grateful Pallas pleads,
Below, his name—above, behold his deeds!
Be ever hailed with equal honour here
The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer:
Arms gave the first his right, the last had none,
But basely stole what less barbarians won.
So when the Lion quits his fell repast,
Next prowls the Wolf, the filthy Jackal last:
Flesh, limbs, and blood the former make their own,
The last poor brute securely gnaws the bone.
Yet still the Gods are just, and crimes are crossed:
See here what Elgin won, and what he lost!
Another name with his pollutes my shrine:
Behold where Dian’s beams disdain to shine!
Some retribution still might Pallas claim,
When Venus half avenged Minerva’s shame.”

  She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply,
To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye:
“Daughter of Jove! in Britain’s injured name,
A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim.
Frown not on England; England owns him not:
Athena, no! thy plunderer was a Scot.
Ask’st thou the difference? From fair Phyles’ towers
Survey Boeotia;—Caledonia’s ours.
And well I know within that ******* land
Hath Wisdom’s goddess never held command;
A barren soil, where Nature’s germs, confined
To stern sterility, can stint the mind;
Whose thistle well betrays the niggard earth,
Emblem of all to whom the Land gives birth;
Each genial influence nurtured to resist;
A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist.
Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain
Dilutes with drivel every drizzly brain,
Till, burst at length, each wat’ry head o’erflows,
Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows:
Then thousand schemes of petulance and pride
Despatch her scheming children far and wide;
Some East, some West, some—everywhere but North!
In quest of lawless gain, they issue forth.
And thus—accursed be the day and year!
She sent a Pict to play the felon here.
Yet Caledonia claims some native worth,
As dull Boeotia gave a Pindar birth;
So may her few, the lettered and the brave,
Bound to no clime, and victors of the grave,
Shake off the sordid dust of such a land,
And shine like children of a happier strand;
As once, of yore, in some obnoxious place,
Ten names (if found) had saved a wretched race.”

  “Mortal!” the blue-eyed maid resumed, “once more
Bear back my mandate to thy native shore.
Though fallen, alas! this vengeance yet is mine,
To turn my counsels far from lands like thine.
Hear then in silence Pallas’ stern behest;
Hear and believe, for Time will tell the rest.

  “First on the head of him who did this deed
My curse shall light,—on him and all his seed:
Without one spark of intellectual fire,
Be all the sons as senseless as the sire:
If one with wit the parent brood disgrace,
Believe him ******* of a brighter race:
Still with his hireling artists let him prate,
And Folly’s praise repay for Wisdom’s hate;
Long of their Patron’s gusto let them tell,
Whose noblest, native gusto is—to sell:
To sell, and make—may shame record the day!—
The State—Receiver of his pilfered prey.
Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West,
Europe’s worst dauber, and poor Britain’s best,
With palsied hand shall turn each model o’er,
And own himself an infant of fourscore.
Be all the Bruisers culled from all St. Giles’,
That Art and Nature may compare their styles;
While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare,
And marvel at his Lordship’s ’stone shop’ there.
Round the thronged gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep
To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep;
While many a languid maid, with longing sigh,
On giant statues casts the curious eye;
The room with transient glance appears to skim,
Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb;
Mourns o’er the difference of now and then;
Exclaims, ‘These Greeks indeed were proper men!’
Draws slight comparisons of ‘these’ with ‘those’,
And envies Laïs all her Attic beaux.
When shall a modern maid have swains like these?
Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules!
And last of all, amidst the gaping crew,
Some calm spectator, as he takes his view,
In silent indignation mixed with grief,
Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief.
Oh, loathed in life, nor pardoned in the dust,
May Hate pursue his sacrilegious lust!
Linked with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome,
Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb,
And Eratostratus and Elgin shine
In many a branding page and burning line;
Alike reserved for aye to stand accursed,
Perchance the second blacker than the first.

  “So let him stand, through ages yet unborn,
Fixed statue on the pedestal of Scorn;
Though not for him alone revenge shall wait,
But fits thy country for her coming fate:
Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son
To do what oft Britannia’s self had done.
Look to the Baltic—blazing from afar,
Your old Ally yet mourns perfidious war.
Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid,
Or break the compact which herself had made;
Far from such counsels, from the faithless field
She fled—but left behind her Gorgon shield;
A fatal gift that turned your friends to stone,
And left lost Albion hated and alone.

“Look to the East, where Ganges’ swarthy race
Shall shake your tyrant empire to its base;
Lo! there Rebellion rears her ghastly head,
And glares the Nemesis of native dead;
Till Indus rolls a deep purpureal flood,
And claims his long arrear of northern blood.
So may ye perish!—Pallas, when she gave
Your free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave.

  “Look on your Spain!—she clasps the hand she hates,
But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates.
Bear witness, bright Barossa! thou canst tell
Whose were the sons that bravely fought and fell.
But Lusitania, kind and dear ally,
Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly.
Oh glorious field! by Famine fiercely won,
The Gaul retires for once, and all is done!
But when did Pallas teach, that one retreat
Retrieved three long Olympiads of defeat?

  “Look last at home—ye love not to look there
On the grim smile of comfortless despair:
Your city saddens: loud though Revel howls,
Here Famine faints, and yonder Rapine prowls.
See all alike of more or less bereft;
No misers tremble when there’s nothing left.
‘Blest paper credit;’ who shall dare to sing?
It clogs like lead Corruption’s weary wing.
Yet Pallas pluck’d each Premier by the ear,
Who Gods and men alike disdained to hear;
But one, repentant o’er a bankrupt state,
On Pallas calls,—but calls, alas! too late:
Then raves for’——’; to that Mentor bends,
Though he and Pallas never yet were friends.
Him senates hear, whom never yet they heard,
Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd.
So, once of yore, each reasonable frog,
Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign ‘log.’
Thus hailed your rulers their patrician clod,
As Egypt chose an onion for a God.

  “Now fare ye well! enjoy your little hour;
Go, grasp the shadow of your vanished power;
Gloss o’er the failure of each fondest scheme;
Your strength a name, your bloated wealth a dream.
Gone is that Gold, the marvel of mankind.
And Pirates barter all that’s left behind.
No more the hirelings, purchased near and far,
Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war.
The idle merchant on the useless quay
Droops o’er the bales no bark may bear away;
Or, back returning, sees rejected stores
Rot piecemeal on his own encumbered shores:
The starved mechanic breaks his rusting loom,
And desperate mans him ‘gainst the coming doom.
Then in the Senates of your sinking state
Show me the man whose counsels may have weight.
Vain is each voice where tones could once command;
E’en factions cease to charm a factious land:
Yet jarring sects convulse a sister Isle,
And light with maddening hands the mutual pile.

  “’Tis done, ’tis past—since Pallas warns in vain;
The Furies seize her abdicated reign:
Wide o’er the realm they wave their kindling brands,
And wring her vitals with their fiery hands.
But one convulsive struggle still remains,
And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains,
The bannered pomp of war, the glittering files,
O’er whose gay trappings stern Bellona smiles;
The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum,
That bid the foe defiance ere they come;
The hero bounding at his country’s call,
The glorious death that consecrates his fall,
Swell the young heart with visionary charms.
And bid it antedate the joys of arms.
But know, a lesson you may yet be taught,
With death alone are laurels cheaply bought;
Not in the conflict Havoc seeks delight,
His day of mercy is the day of fight.
But when the field is fought, the battle won,
Though drenched with gore, his woes are but begun:
His deeper deeds as yet ye know by name;
The slaughtered peasant and the ravished dame,
The rifled mansion and the foe-reaped field,
Ill suit with souls at home, untaught to yield.
Say with what eye along the distant down
Would flying burghers mark the blazing town?
How view the column of ascending flames
Shake his red shadow o’er the startled Thames?
Nay, frown not, Albion! for the torch was thine
That lit such pyres from Tagus to the Rhine:
Now should they burst on thy devoted coast,
Go, ask thy ***** who deserves them most?
The law of Heaven and Earth is life for life,
And she who raised, in vain regrets, the strife.”

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