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"spaniards" poems
i asked my god for rest and in pagan desperation he gave me apolaki god of the sun and war i mistook him for seraphim God struck me down with the force of a thousand spaniards reaching my country's once untouched shores *your land had a god of the sun and war before they pinned you in virginal grace your country wanted you to see the sun and remember war was not for the bloodthirsty for your people it was god's will* i asked my god for love and in carnal frustration he gave me anagolay goddess of lost things i mistook her for a saint archangels unsheathed their swords celestial eyes filled with rage *your land had known loss long before you did your country had known loss long before love had made it known you will find yourself again* i asked my god for light and in familiar search he gave me tala goddess of stars and i stopped seeing them as stained glass figures i no longer saw my banished gods engulfed in the power of rome my land saw the stars before God's first day "let there be light" He said and apolaki bowed in recognition tala greeted Him with a smile and promise anagolay laughed in joy and gratitude my country had gods before wooden crosses before the galleons carrying friars came armed in holy water before my archipelago had become a sprawl of cathedrals now i'd like to think my God and bathala smile down on me saint jude conspiring with lakapati cherubim sleeping in diyan masalanta's arms i'd like to think the gods are at peace i'd like to think they would only want me to remember to never forget every disfigured reflection of the almighty Thy will be done.
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Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
the gods are all at play
i asked my god for rest and in pagan desperation he gave me apolaki god of the sun and war i mistook him for seraphim God struck me down with the force of a thousand spaniards reaching my country's once untouched shores *your land had a god of the sun and war before they pinned you in virginal grace your country wanted you to see the sun and remember war was not for the bloodthirsty for your people it was god's will* i asked my god for love and in carnal frustration he gave me anagolay goddess of lost things i mistook her for a saint archangels unsheathed their swords celestial eyes filled with rage *your land had known loss long before you did your country had known loss long before love had made it known you will find yourself again* i asked my god for light and in familiar search he gave me tala goddess of stars and i stopped seeing them as stained glass figures i no longer saw my banished gods engulfed in the power of rome my land saw the stars before God's first day "let there be light" He said and apolaki bowed in recognition tala greeted Him with a smile and promise anagolay laughed in joy and gratitude my country had gods before wooden crosses before the galleons carrying friars came armed in holy water before my archipelago had become a sprawl of cathedrals now i'd like to think my God and bathala smile down on me saint jude conspiring with lakapati cherubim sleeping in diyan masalanta's arms i'd like to think the gods are at peace i'd like to think they would only want me to remember to never forget every disfigured reflection of the almighty Thy will be done.
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46
Charlie and D sitting in a tree, Henry VIII comes along, chops down the tree. part of me constantly and perversely anticipates what Islam holds dear, the cult of the moon rather than the sun - sleeping nudges of inquiry and reminiscence of Freud rather than this constant pulverisation of scientific safety-nets - the sun and the scam of diet - Narcissus myth all too apparent, too self-conscious to feed the beauty, laboratory type beauty, statistician's paradise - sun and skin cancer collective, i'm not an Arab, and i never will be, but this sort of weather and jet-stream excess isn't exactly helping either - Einstein might have saved you from exacting the thought process (never experiment with it, never) behind Newtonian cause & effect, but this **** isn't going away, and you won't be exactly barnacle jumping mad with Jack & Jill if you voice your concerns; for all that urbanity the village life is having a comeback - hello brick, hello tree, hello tomorrow: the day of never-be - the Spaniards had a second try at an inquisition via Gibraltar - the Scots sailed to Brussels - the village life is having a comeback - the Americans are hoarding guns prior to enacting scenes from Bastille Sq. with the guillotine - they don't know it yet, but they're hoarding guns to topple the government over - elsewhere a bunch of Palestinians were throwing stones at bullseyes for a fluffy toy in a theme park.
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Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
village life comeback
Forgotten memories remain to be a significant part of the rich tapestry of contemporary establishment, just like an Indian summer which dries the drab and weary soul of those who are ****** History reveals that the Spaniards sold Erythroxylum Coca to Bolivian and Peruvian populations, whilst tyranny exerted its illegitimate dominance. So, the quest for power and social control remains to be exploitative in the guise of jovial and seemingly convincing salesmen. Just ask the shamans of traditional cleansing. The pulsating groans of ancient civilisations will never dissipate, despite the lusts of mankind to establish grandiose constructs. Oh great and mighty spirit of the land, we need your residence amidst our conceited political climate, because you have truly won the war even though our realisation is blinded by fierce presumption. I desire to take a bite of historical and gourmet delicacies, and to swallow the diversity of gustatory brilliance, because their remains to be a discrepancy between Spanish and Portuguese validity.
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Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
A Banquet for the Starved
Oh Aztec watching from your Rustic home, for my dignity Do you have any advice? For my poor state of being,any riches? No wisdom for my inexperience? Oh Aztec warrior who lays brick For homes he will never own, Don't you understand by right of Superiority and sweat and blood And tears from tyranny this should Be your dream as well?! Don't you see the Spaniards robbed You once and the Europeans once again Stole what is rightfully yours? Don't you know you are Aztec? Aztec, mighty spear in hand, Or is that a shovel? Your eyes with proud gleam in them, Or is that a tear of despair? What are you here for Aztec? Why have you silenced the dreams? Oh race of my forefathers, Bring about the impenetrable heart, The joy with pleasure, The suffering with grief; Tears of the Aztec sun! Yours is the blood in my veins, By that blood blank stares at the Liquor stores, I swear by that blood that I will Rise once again and once more Into the day of my life and fill My song with a forgotten pride, I will wonder where the Aztec Has gone, though his dream Remains unseen, his people Remain in shards.
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Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
Aztec Dreams
De las Casas records in stark numbers the genocide that took place under Columbus and the Spaniards, writing that when he first came to Hispaniola in 1508, "there were 60,000 people living on this island, including the Indians; so that from 1494 to 1508, over three million people had perished from war, slavery, and the mines. Who in future generations will believe this? I myself writing it as a knowledgeable eyewitness can hardly believe it...."[80] Columbus and his brothers lingered in jail for six weeks before busy King Ferdinand ordered their release. Not long after, the king and queen summoned the Columbus brothers to the Alhambra palace in Granada. There the royal couple heard the brothers' pleas; restored their freedom and wealth; and, after much persuasion, agreed to fund Columbus's fourth voyage. But the door was firmly shut on Columbus's role as governor. Henceforth Nicolás de Ovando y Cáceres was to be the new governor of the West Indies
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Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
The Duping of America- an exerpt from Wikipeida on C. Columbus
i'll let you on a little secret... spaniards are gigolos to the slavs... cheap-shit, chinese rolex beauties, which is why the english are prone to vacate there: oiling up to get a quicker suntan than an essex lass turning orange-brown in the space of a weekend's session at a u.v. parlour. westerners define western slav as cleaner material, if not simply the plumbers and  electricians, got a blocked toilet? get a pole to unblock it. but you see... the thing is... the slavs see the spaniards as euro-trash... cheap-shit-cancerous-suntan... spaniards are cheap **** to the slavs... western european nations (excluding the germans) invokes a sense of self-worth that, like a tapeworm feeds of the slavs migrating without colonising... when the western powers migrated and colonised, never really preparing themselves for jihadis, st. john the decapitating tyrant  spoke to st. george's dragon with a cockney accent: oi bruv bruv up up mate! score us an eight's worth of 20 quid! so while the high tier of europe speaking deutsche anglican rather than deutsche swiss keep time and penny flip: carnal heterosexual or just plain **** the slavs mock the same tier with a choice of holiday resorts exploited... next to the fake suntan... because spaniards are like albanians for the slavs... oiled up cheap-shit material for even cheaper literature of the handsome, blue eyed, dark haired (well oiled) stranger... selling pomegranates... that a fair maiden might succumb to... selling her virginity the fiftieth time.
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Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
the fiftieth time
i'll let you on a little secret... spaniards are gigolos to the slavs... cheap-shit, chinese rolex beauties, which is why the english are prone to vacate there: oiling up to get a quicker suntan than an essex lass turning orange-brown in the space of a weekend's session at a u.v. parlour. westerners define western slav as cleaner material, if not simply the plumbers and  electricians, got a blocked toilet? get a pole to unblock it. but you see... the thing is... the slavs see the spaniards as euro-trash... cheap-shit-cancerous-suntan... spaniards are cheap **** to the slavs... western european nations (excluding the germans) invokes a sense of self-worth that, like a tapeworm feeds of the slavs migrating without colonising... when the western powers migrated and colonised, never really preparing themselves for jihadis, st. john the decapitating tyrant  spoke to st. george's dragon with a cockney accent: oi bruv bruv up up mate! score us an eight's worth of 20 quid! so while the high tier of europe speaking deutsche anglican rather than deutsche swiss keep time and penny flip: carnal heterosexual or just plain **** the slavs mock the same tier with a choice of holiday resorts exploited... next to the fake suntan... because spaniards are like albanians for the slavs... oiled up cheap-shit material for even cheaper literature of the handsome, blue eyed, dark haired (well oiled) stranger... selling pomegranates... that a fair maiden might succumb to... selling her virginity the fiftieth time.
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Tribal paint flickers as illumination passes by packed platforms of private souls spilling into peripheral vision Saturday nights create fresh perspective on unconscious thoughts An unpulled can of tired, bow-tied Spaniards and white-clad partygoers Tinney earphones thrusting Brooklyn's finest 99 Problems aren't on my mind but in my (un)willing ears And I saw you on the street 42nd I'd say I was filling my lungs with the poison, beautiful, you showed me You walked past me just another stranger you in 10 years time They say everyone has a doppelganger in NYC I haven't seen mine but she's seen me and Brooke saw her too, rolled up Levis and a frown you looked as beautiful as you always did but clean of everything you'd ever touched or is yet to touch you because nicky clouds my thoughts lift me higher I wanted to tell you that I pray now But I let you walk by and disappear leaving me with myself coffee spilt from matches got twisted and wouldn't light I'm one handed, crowded city but you're not here.
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Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
One Handed/Doppelganger/Alex's Love Song
She says, "tell me more about you handsome" I tell her I am Johnnie Alvarado, I am soul searching She says, "No, tell me what makes you different from the rest" I tell her I am expressive as the Italians, I am passionate as the French, I speak as **** as the Spaniards, I am artistic like the late Pablo Picasso, I play with words like captain J Cole, I am as adventurous like "Captain Jack Sparrow" I am handsome as the African men, but a rare gem I am like Naruto Uzumaki I never give up I am an African and I pride myself in that I tell her I have a will of fire and that i am a museum full of untold tales waiting to be told. She can't help but but say "You've touched me without touching me"
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Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
First Date
Come on pilgrim, vamos east to Jerusalem and Mecca, ferried from Algeciras to Tangier. King James told me some stories, he'd give me a ride, and we can pull what we want on abortion and abolition, strung on a thorny rope out of H. Christ's tight little ******* Black Francis, Picasso, and S. Dali; chicos guapos, you are good to me. I fight Pablo, a different one, through Robert Jordan (ingles) Pablo, eres un cobarde, go and get gored by your bullheaded stupidity. General, I'll wander the labryinth, slicing up eyeballs (oh ** ** ** unable to leave the room. (they're only cow eyeballs, don't worry) You Spaniards! Yo hablo un poquito, but those men speak to my heart.
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Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Spaniards
Standing in the crowd I was Surrounded by strangers In the dead of night. People from across the globe Connected through this single Experience. Sharing tells And their walks of life. The ball drops And confetti springs People look around in awe As I look to My right, My left, My front and back I'm not surrounded by strangers Anymore. The Portuguese behind us, the Brazilians to my left, The 7. Foot New Yorker in front The spaniards to my right N in my group two new friends From 2 hours away. The crowd disperses As we all say good bye Carrying with us the joy Of new life, friends and An experience that connected Us all.
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Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
Time Square
She’s Luz-Vi-Minda Priestess of Asia When incubus harms She takes out her charms… Behold! Jose Rizal Our hero national Poet, doctor, researcher Farmer, herder, school-builder Fought Spaniards with paper and pen Luzon’s charm – noblest of our men! Behold! Lapu-Lapu! Defender of Cebu First terror of invaders Famed Magellan’s death renders Rammed Spaniards with native bolo Visayas’ charm – quaintest hero! Behold! Purmassuri! Awesome Muslim lady Wise heroine of Sulu Foreigners cannot subdue Disturbed Spaniards so tribesmen won Mindanao’s charm – enemies thrown! -11/27/2011 (Dumarao) *First Incubus Collection
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Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 9:40 PM UTC
Three Charms of Luz-Vi-Minda Against Spain
"Let me be your home" she said it's all she could offer, just peace of mind and comfort of familiarity. "Is the rent high?" he asked joking, in a way, also making her seem like she had a price to be haggled they were in like and liked things so. Spaniards in space- that's what these two were, just a couple of conquistadors navigating relationships and apartment listings ended up in her heart view of the lungs things were good, she made breakfast, he did dishes they visited the brain every now and then see the scenery museum of neurons they love that stuff rightfully so they lived quite happily ever after in her heart until the attack- then things got weird, but their love survived the paplitations and cholesterol they could survive anything.
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Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
Unpaid Parking Tickets
The 3 Crucifixes sit, atop this city like a tombstone, but this grave feels so alive, so vibrant in it’s Post-Colonial glory, the Spaniards came & went, well “came & went” is too courteous a term, but hey either way wherever your beliefs may lay, they left & when they did they left behind their language & La Ermita Church, now what’s left is gift wrapped & embodied in Native Blood & Colonial Skin, ancient wisdom lost in translation all in the name of The Cross, sacred status melted down for the gold they contained, I wonder if Colombians or any South Americans for that matter, think about the past past but the remnants that were left when speaking Spanish, I guess the Spanish never really left, & the Inquisition is finished but still I must confess, Native Blood & Colonial Skin is a pretty good combination, because 200 years after they left look what we get, a vibrant culture a wonderful mix, late night Salsa fiestas at Zaperoco, hot weather hot food hot women hot music, & vibes so alive you’d almost forget about the looming tombstone, watching everything like it’s on replay, like everyone is already gone which they as in we will all be one day, when Nature finally returns to reclaim, what was rightfully Hers in the first place, in the same way Colombians reclaimed Colombia once the Spaniards went away, but until Nature comes back to reclaim it’s arepas salsa & coffee, it’s a beautiful day in Cali let’s have a lively debate over empanadas panela & pollo, partying from sunset & on in to the humid Cali night, making such amazing memories that we temporarily forget about the crucifix tombstones, but all the while there those 3 Crucifixes sit, atop this city like a tombstone, but this grave feels so alive, so vibrant in it’s Post-Colonial glory… ∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
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Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 2:00 AM UTC
Tres Cruces
The 3 Crucifixes sit, atop this city like a tombstone, but this grave feels so alive, so vibrant in it’s Post-Colonial glory, the Spaniards came & went, well “came & went” is too courteous a term, but hey either way wherever your beliefs may lay, they left & when they did they left behind their language & La Ermita Church, now what’s left is gift wrapped & embodied in Native Blood & Colonial Skin, ancient wisdom lost in translation all in the name of The Cross, sacred status melted down for the gold they contained, I wonder if Colombians or any South Americans for that matter, think about the past past but the remnants that were left when speaking Spanish, I guess the Spanish never really left, & the Inquisition is finished but still I must confess, Native Blood & Colonial Skin is a pretty good combination, because 200 years after they left look what we get, a vibrant culture a wonderful mix, late night Salsa fiestas at Zaperoco, hot weather hot food hot women hot music, & vibes so alive you’d almost forget about the looming tombstone, watching everything like it’s on replay, like everyone is already gone which they as in we will all be one day, when Nature finally returns to reclaim, what was rightfully Hers in the first place, in the same way Colombians reclaimed Colombia once the Spaniards went away, but until Nature comes back to reclaim it’s arepas salsa & coffee, it’s a beautiful day in Cali let’s have a lively debate over empanadas panela & pollo, partying from sunset & on in to the humid Cali night, making such amazing memories that we temporarily forget about the crucifix tombstones, but all the while there those 3 Crucifixes sit, atop this city like a tombstone, but this grave feels so alive, so vibrant in it’s Post-Colonial glory… ∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
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i found that showing off your taste in music is actually more intimidating than walking around in Eden stark naked - given the auspiciousness in the "glamour" industry and elsewhere, odd, isn't it? we are more ashamed by our musical taste, shunned by it - the Balkan Slavs are the Spaniards of what most people call "cheap taste", you now, oiled and greasy six packs and - well the Balkan Slavs bred with the Ottoman Turks, what do you expect? we are more intimidated by our taste in music being exposed than our naked bodies - believe me, i'll cry at the beauty, i'll cry at the beauty but i will not despair - i rather allow tears in, because i know laughter too will come, i rather cry at beauty than inhibit it with a masculine heart expected of me to be stern and in the belgian trenches - stupid youth idolising the warring of old farts who have a disclosure for swollen prostates and can't take the banta ( huh?! goli? i hate slang incorporation, it's absolute nonsense) - so instead they shove young men into warring enclosures and then lay wreaths of poppies with a 1 minute silence... i told you, absolute ******** - i rather cry at beauty when it appears like a picturesque sunrise - that Armenian will have a beef stake weighing at half a kilogram to box with translating my works - i don't mind standing naked like this, another example https://goo.gl/pJpddh.
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Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
Mr. Sarajevo (https://goo.gl/6j8oMi)
*when it came to naming things we were so imaginative, hydrochloric acid et. al., so imaginative we forgot to equip everyone with enough vocabulary stash of savings, and we decided to call that savings black hole dyslexia; and yet when it came to naming people, our imagination sort of got lost, we became unimaginative... a ****** million johns in the cauldron of speaking - and half of them entitled with a surname smith.* first came gabriel unto mary, then gabriel became a mr. wordsworth or a mr. wordington, the sacredness of the name enshrined in very famous books lost their prowess, their income decreased in terms of people thinking about them, only the spaniards were daring enough to name their children jesus en masse - and so it goes, modern era, people reduced to be called peaches & maltesers, or some other schmuck pluck name; and then you do wonder, esp. when you come to a divination, the catholic bureaucracy, the tetragrammaton shambles, first the prime gospels numbering four, then your first name, your second name, your confirmation name, your surname - but indeed them you come across some oddly personal detailing through the lens peering at a single word, on paper, a poem by adam zagajewski (always breezy poetry, like a cool wind on a rocky beach in Cornwall), rome, open city, and with citation - *matthew keeps asking himself: was i truly summoned to become human?* i know, a whimsical idea, the 20th century's "perfect" splendour of being humanely attentive to what that actually means - now a time when even medical students stride to use poetry for an armchair, and a time when poets as such, poets pure and simple are turning into better magicians than the old and the terminally ill - while the critics ask aesthetic questions of whether song lyrics are poetry, and why you can't really sing what's defined as poetry, not with instruments at least, the verbiage they say, a mountain of luggage just sitting there - no wonder then, given lyricism has turned to: um, yeah, pop a champagne bottle, um yeah, all my ******* and ma'h hoes, um, yeah, watch me fly the emirates business class, um, yeah, put my hand in a kangaroo pouch, um yeah - say oh! say slow! um, yeah, heads up in the hood, um, yeah; etc.
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Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 5:25 PM UTC
the sacrilege of names / an adam zagajewski poem
*when it came to naming things we were so imaginative, hydrochloric acid et. al., so imaginative we forgot to equip everyone with enough vocabulary stash of savings, and we decided to call that savings black hole dyslexia; and yet when it came to naming people, our imagination sort of got lost, we became unimaginative... a ****** million johns in the cauldron of speaking - and half of them entitled with a surname smith.* first came gabriel unto mary, then gabriel became a mr. wordsworth or a mr. wordington, the sacredness of the name enshrined in very famous books lost their prowess, their income decreased in terms of people thinking about them, only the spaniards were daring enough to name their children jesus en masse - and so it goes, modern era, people reduced to be called peaches & maltesers, or some other schmuck pluck name; and then you do wonder, esp. when you come to a divination, the catholic bureaucracy, the tetragrammaton shambles, first the prime gospels numbering four, then your first name, your second name, your confirmation name, your surname - but indeed them you come across some oddly personal detailing through the lens peering at a single word, on paper, a poem by adam zagajewski (always breezy poetry, like a cool wind on a rocky beach in Cornwall), rome, open city, and with citation - *matthew keeps asking himself: was i truly summoned to become human?* i know, a whimsical idea, the 20th century's "perfect" splendour of being humanely attentive to what that actually means - now a time when even medical students stride to use poetry for an armchair, and a time when poets as such, poets pure and simple are turning into better magicians than the old and the terminally ill - while the critics ask aesthetic questions of whether song lyrics are poetry, and why you can't really sing what's defined as poetry, not with instruments at least, the verbiage they say, a mountain of luggage just sitting there - no wonder then, given lyricism has turned to: um, yeah, pop a champagne bottle, um yeah, all my ******* and ma'h hoes, um, yeah, watch me fly the emirates business class, um, yeah, put my hand in a kangaroo pouch, um yeah - say oh! say slow! um, yeah, heads up in the hood, um, yeah; etc.
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Uembekua, UEMBECUA te amo. I love you Te quiero. "I LOVE YOU" in Purépecha...my native Mexican Mestizo people. the purépecha style of Michoacan, Mexico. The Purépecha, a proud people with a strong ancient culture, claim to never have been conquered by neither the Aztecs nor the Spaniards. PatRick jpcRddbba: Lala Sassy Coco and grand- babes UEMBECUA. https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6p5FLuv-7Y ~~~~~ BY:  karijinbba All Rights Reserved
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Aug 29, 2023
Aug 29, 2023 at 7:24 PM UTC
Purhepetcha Mexican indigenous..
How can white supremacist protest about making America a better place by concentrating on hating people because of differences? Something that's dates back further than Europeans and Spaniards settlement in this beautiful country. Have these people of today's world forgotten where they've came from as far as their ancestry and about the people whom they've slaughtered were in fact the Natives. They forced people to fall under their religions as far as Christianity and so on. African american women and men know that they're African decedents; but they know nothing about what was taken from them and we overlook it. People that are apart of the LGBT community finally have the freedom to do as they wish with whomever and these white supremacist want to take that away from them again. KKK's are against interracial relationships and yet some of their people within their bloodline ***** a lot people; let us not forget according to history the first interracial relationship in America dates back to April 5, 1614 Pocahontas and John Rolfe. Jews were tortured by Nazis from 1933 to 1945. Hispanics escape their originally places of birth to come to a country that gives people the right to make a better life for themselves and decisions just as well as everybody else. People are so busy minding everybody else's business but their own History creeps up on the current. By: Leory Santana Dawn
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Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
History
Cast your mind back to 1973 If you wasn't there then you’re in the same boat as me But Great Britain joined the EEC to make this land a force So what had we been doing wrong beforehand to lead us on this course We'd sailed this planet and conquered nations to show them of our pride The smallest country in the mix of many, no one shoves us to one side Spaniards tried and failed so bad who else wants to have a go The Germans twice so anyone else, your dice in the ring, come on and give them a throw But tactics have changed and evolved with the times, political is our new hurdle Tony opened the gates and the waves came in, Blair’s fault or now Mrs Merkel? No matter how you did vote it was a shock to us all that we now set sail on this boat we've named Britannia 29th of March, 2019, we raise anchor and set sail into a gulf of unknown venture But British spirit much prevail as it always has if it still lingers to blow gust in these new sails Two fingers towards Brussels, out on our own, with this we cannot fail We’ve done it before and we can do it again it just depends who might follow Only time will tell if it was the choice to make or may have to beg steal and borrow JJB
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Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 5:52 AM UTC
Brexit
Sad eyes on a happy face Soft and silent She came along and turned on everyone Her dancing sets the place on fire Heaven and hell The flames come up to everyone's As she shakes pearls and snakes Bodies and bones Flesh and blood Mental and physically   I see the pain in beautiful creatures
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Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 10:45 AM UTC
London, 2 a.m. The spaniards inn.
What God has put asunder, I have joined together. He chuckles at this somewhat self-consciously, His clientele comprised primarily of gentlemen of a certain age, Most of whom have stepped off to the altar Twice or thrice, some even more, Whose wives will be, at least pro tem, The mistresses of the Moorish bastardizations Being commissioned by their husbands, Vaguely Iberian grotesqueries Christened Sin Cuidado and Villa Tranquilla Festooned with cornucopias of cornices and cupolas, Featuring vaulted cathedral ceilings and open-prairie floor plans, Impossible to cool in the ninety-degree dawn of August Or heat during the all too frequent cold snaps, (Such being noted to him by a visitor From a staid Boston architectural firm, To which he replied, *Save that for the classrooms, pal. I give the people what they want, dad, And these folks are first, last, and forever All about the façade.*) It is not, however, his effort to turn Florida’s East Coast Into a giant movie set for the stories of Don Juan or El Cid Which inspires him to utter his inversion of the marital vow. He has moved beyond being a mere designer; He is a man of substance, a builder in the larger, cosmic sense, And so he is here, in this sticky, sweltering venue Which disappointed Spaniards named after a rat’s oral cavity, To make a new Venice, complete with electric gondolas, Cloisters which would put any in the Old World to shame, Gesturing, bellowing, and cajoling, A Prospero of sawhorses and steam shovels, As displaced Seminoles and colored laborers Sweat and swear and stumble As they dredge swamps and hack down stumpy mangroves In the service of his vision, the aggrandizement of his bottom line, Arm-twisting the caprices of drought and hurricane To serve the pricier whims Of a gaggle of DuPonts and Wanamakers. It’s not that I don’t believe in a higher power, he will demur, I’m simply not averse to some slight enhancement of His plans.
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Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 10:18 AM UTC
Addison Mizener In The Swamps
What God has put asunder, I have joined together. He chuckles at this somewhat self-consciously, His clientele comprised primarily of gentlemen of a certain age, Most of whom have stepped off to the altar Twice or thrice, some even more, Whose wives will be, at least pro tem, The mistresses of the Moorish bastardizations Being commissioned by their husbands, Vaguely Iberian grotesqueries Christened Sin Cuidado and Villa Tranquilla Festooned with cornucopias of cornices and cupolas, Featuring vaulted cathedral ceilings and open-prairie floor plans, Impossible to cool in the ninety-degree dawn of August Or heat during the all too frequent cold snaps, (Such being noted to him by a visitor From a staid Boston architectural firm, To which he replied, *Save that for the classrooms, pal. I give the people what they want, dad, And these folks are first, last, and forever All about the façade.*) It is not, however, his effort to turn Florida’s East Coast Into a giant movie set for the stories of Don Juan or El Cid Which inspires him to utter his inversion of the marital vow. He has moved beyond being a mere designer; He is a man of substance, a builder in the larger, cosmic sense, And so he is here, in this sticky, sweltering venue Which disappointed Spaniards named after a rat’s oral cavity, To make a new Venice, complete with electric gondolas, Cloisters which would put any in the Old World to shame, Gesturing, bellowing, and cajoling, A Prospero of sawhorses and steam shovels, As displaced Seminoles and colored laborers Sweat and swear and stumble As they dredge swamps and hack down stumpy mangroves In the service of his vision, the aggrandizement of his bottom line, Arm-twisting the caprices of drought and hurricane To serve the pricier whims Of a gaggle of DuPonts and Wanamakers. It’s not that I don’t believe in a higher power, he will demur, I’m simply not averse to some slight enhancement of His plans.
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Mother of Exiles Saint Mary’s Church of Frydek, San Felipe, and Sealy The grasses of the coastal plain are still; Across the road a summer field ploughed under Waits through October’s lingering heat for frosts While the distant Interstate chants to itself Our Lady of Frydek, Mother of Exiles! First Nations, Spaniards, Mexicans, Czechs, Poles Italians, Germans, English, Vietnamese Have ended their pilgrimages here, with You Where God has led them for His purposes And here, dear brother, God has led you too To wait with them, with Her, for history’s end Which will be The Beginning
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Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Mother of Exiles
Spaniards voice Culture scents San Antonio, Texas was my vacation My account being my personal proclamation The enriched history inspired me being pure rejuvenation Here is my presentation Do you know what San Antonio in Texas means? Saint Anthony So what’s in a name could be a person born with the same My exploration took me on tour of all the highlights that made San Antonio, and why it is a major city It was Medical Centers, Universities, and San Antonio Zoo, which I witnessed from an Aerial view I even visited the famous, “ALAMO” The Mexican Spanish War fighting for independence But there is a unique side of San Antonio, and it is the “RIVERWALK” It’s those floating taxi’s that bring the Riverwalk alive and extends into the suburbs Yet, there is a European atmosphere culture at the Café’s at the Riverwalk edge You hear the serene tempo music of Violin’s acquaint sunset going down and the evening air sets the stage for a romantic evening under the stars and moon This is all happening at all Café’s tables as you wine and dine Enchanted as I was, I took in all the San Antonio accord I stayed Seven days at the Holiday Inn Riverwalk in Downtown San Antonio, Texas So you know my Folio It was a venture of delight Those Texans know how to shed light Friendly citizens within San Antonio, the city Having to return back home to New York City was my pity.
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May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 3:26 PM UTC
MY SAN ANTONIO ******
the spaniards have a name for it: kalimotxo (Kali muchas gracias), and the poles too, although without the coca cola... muzgotrzep (shake the brain), and it stinks of sulphur to say the least; then there were ones daring enough to drink in the realm of denaturat, purple liquid; i'm not saying anything else: apart from: they used to get rid of the pigment diluting it through a slice of sour-crust bread, not quiet the part where you start drinking perfumes for the alcohol content, but you know, desperation is desperation; and the way english people write about alcoholism with that stupendous anarchy of concerns... it's the everyday reality of slavs, the heat that keeps you agile in Siberia, it's not the psychoactive potential of the thing, it's the metabolic warmth of it; i know i'm not in Siberia... but all the people around me are so cold, i have to fuse with the **** thing, and warm things up.
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Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
muzgotrzep / kalimotxo
i'll show you... the meaning of blood-money - die blutgeld! i'll show you for what you really                               are, frivolous debters, frivolschuldners! die deutsche machen wie viel wie jude-mensch        sparen geld... kamikazes of debt.. i'm not repaying my student loan, not unless    i am employed by a chemical company... no! **** you!    i'm not paying a penny back, unless i'm working in a chemical company! no!              **** you! **** a lemon and then attempt a smile!    o.k. o.k. squint with our eyes an attempt at a smile... funny... the spaniards have eyes that smile           (       (     even if their lips don't engage an       )     parabolla... evidently two negatives make up a +...                i always prefer seeing smiling if not laughing eyes, than the orthodoxy of the mouth faking it... i prefer truth-telling eyes than than the mimic of lying lips and mouth...     spaniard's eyes don't lie when they're clearly laughing, joyous...               (                        ( for when a man cries,   his eyes are "smiling"       )             ), wimbledon final, muguruza... doesn't she have the perfect smiling eyes     (                  (     ? she does...      she doesn't even require using her mouth to smile,   her eyes are already smiling... its a spanish trait...    no other ethnicity has that potency to create a smile with its eyes...      equation: ) + ) + | = a northern lament                     ( + ( + | = a spanish smile... <>: and that's a rhombus.
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Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC
in the eyes: a spanish smile ( (
i'll show you... the meaning of blood-money - die blutgeld! i'll show you for what you really                               are, frivolous debters, frivolschuldners! die deutsche machen wie viel wie jude-mensch        sparen geld... kamikazes of debt.. i'm not repaying my student loan, not unless    i am employed by a chemical company... no! **** you!    i'm not paying a penny back, unless i'm working in a chemical company! no!              **** you! **** a lemon and then attempt a smile!    o.k. o.k. squint with our eyes an attempt at a smile... funny... the spaniards have eyes that smile           (       (     even if their lips don't engage an       )     parabolla... evidently two negatives make up a +...                i always prefer seeing smiling if not laughing eyes, than the orthodoxy of the mouth faking it... i prefer truth-telling eyes than than the mimic of lying lips and mouth...     spaniard's eyes don't lie when they're clearly laughing, joyous...               (                        ( for when a man cries,   his eyes are "smiling"       )             ), wimbledon final, muguruza... doesn't she have the perfect smiling eyes     (                  (     ? she does...      she doesn't even require using her mouth to smile,   her eyes are already smiling... its a spanish trait...    no other ethnicity has that potency to create a smile with its eyes...      equation: ) + ) + | = a northern lament                     ( + ( + | = a spanish smile... <>: and that's a rhombus.
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