a poem stolen from a NYT article about IKEA
the nicked veneers and wobbly joints of Ikea regret self-assembled furniture requires retightening over time We sold screwdrivers like you can't believe. Tom Walker 604 255 4812
Anna Letitia Barbauld, Eighteen Hundred and Eleven, A Poem
1811 was the year when King George III was declared insane. * EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN, A POEM. BY ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD. LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON AND CO., ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. 1812. PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR AND CO., SHOE LANE. STILL the loud death drum, thundering from afar, O'er the vext nations pours the storm of war: To the stern call still Britain bends her ear, Feeds the fierce strife, the alternate hope and fear; Bravely, though vainly, dares to strive with Fate, And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state. Colossal Power with overwhelming force Bears down each fort of Freedom in its course; Prostrate she lies beneath the Despot's sway, While the hushed nations curse him--and obey. Bounteous in vain, with frantic man at strife, Glad Nature pours the means--the joys of life; In vain with orange blossoms scents the gale, The hills with olives clothes, with corn the vale; Man calls to Famine, nor invokes in vain, Disease and Rapine follow in her train; The tramp of marching hosts disturbs the plough, The sword, not sickle, reaps the harvest now, And where the Soldier gleans the scant supply, The helpless Peasant but retires to die; No laws his hut from licensed outrage shield, And war's least horror is the ensanguined field. Fruitful in vain, the matron counts with pride The blooming youths that grace her honoured side; No son returns to press her widow'd hand, Her fallen blossoms strew a foreign strand. --Fruitful in vain, she boasts her virgin race, Whom cultured arts adorn and gentlest grace; Defrauded of its homage, Beauty mourns, And the rose withers on its virgin thorns. Frequent, some stream obscure, some uncouth name By deeds of blood is lifted into fame; Oft o'er the daily page some soft-one bends To learn the fate of husband, brothers, friends, Or the spread map with anxious eye explores, Its dotted boundaries and penciled shores, Asks where the spot that wrecked her bliss is found, And learns its name but to detest the sound. And thinks't thou, Britain, still to sit at ease, An island Queen amidst thy subject seas, While the vext billows, in their distant roar, But soothe thy slumbers, and but kiss thy shore? To sport in wars, while danger keeps aloof, Thy grassy turf unbruised by hostile hoof? So sing thy flatterers; but, Britain, know, Thou who hast shared the guilt must share the woe. Nor distant is the hour; low murmurs spread, And whispered fears, creating what they dread; Ruin, as with an earthquake shock, is here, There, the heart-witherings of unuttered fear, And that sad death, whence most affection bleeds, Which sickness, only of the soul, precedes. Thy baseless wealth dissolves in air away, Like mists that melt before the morning ray: No more on crowded mart or busy street Friends, meeting friends, with cheerful hurry greet; Sad, on the ground thy princely merchants bend Their altered looks, and evil days portend, And fold their arms, and watch with anxious breast The tempest blackening in the distant West. Yes, thou must droop; thy Midas dream is o'er; The golden tide of Commerce leaves thy shore, Leaves thee to prove the alternate ills that haunt Enfeebling Luxury and ghastly Want; Leaves thee, perhaps, to visit distant lands, And deal the gifts of Heaven with equal hands http://www.lib.ucdavis.edu/English/BWRP/Works/BarbAEight.htm * -- Yoshie * Calendar of Events in Columbus: http://www.osu.edu/students/sif/calendar.html * Anti-War Activist Resources: http://www.osu.edu/students/sif/activist.html * Student International Forum: http://www.osu.edu/students/sif/ * Committee for Justice in Palestine: http://www.osu.edu/students/CJP/
[Fwd: [BRC-ANN] POEM: Wanted Dead or Alive]
Original Message Subject: [BRC-ANN] POEM: Wanted Dead or Alive Date: Mon, 12 Nov 2001 07:52:26 -0500 (EST) From: Art McGee [EMAIL PROTECTED] Reply-To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://rabble.ca/everyones_a_critic.shtml?x=3234 Rabble (Canada) October 26, 2001 Wanted Dead or Alive By Tara Atluri [EMAIL PROTECTED] Wanted dead or alive Wanted dead or alive When the right bodies bleed red it's red alert on brown skin funny head dresses and last names Didn't have a problem tagging along on the mehndi meditation bandwagon But when more than overpriced incense is burning you want to know why the hell we ever came. Let's grieve for the America we used to know Even though for some of us burning buildings police presence and everyday living have started to look the same Even though some of us have been used for target practice since we came. And the woman at the store in the shopping mall Malled by racks of discount boutique fashion laced with traces of an immigrants blood says Let's grieve for the America we used to know. All dreams and dollars and safety and peace Pieces of apple pie that never got divvied up to aunties and sisters getting paid by the piece When brown hands bleed red it seems to get blacked out in the local press release. When their veins popped and backs cracked like a World Trade tower it never made no primetime TV hour. When bombs were going off in heads of brown-skinned people told to explode language and custom and myth 'cause it was dirty and backward and might get you deported. No one said Americans under attack They said You can't stand the heat in the slave-wage kitchen get your gun smuggling, terrorist ass back where you came from. To whatever country you're from that don't respect human rights Although I see more lefts than rights Leftover jobs you say we're stealing Leftover healthcare that leave our people bleeding Leftover stereotype from Hollywood blockbuster hit where a man in a turban threatens what's left of Harrison Ford's machismo Whoops there goes the last of it. Now that the cameo's over he's hung out to dry 'cause you know there ain't gonna be no brown folks on TV unless there's a bomb or yoga studio nearby. And the television newspaper radio station print front page clip of nondescript illegal paki immigrant to make white America feel enraged and appeased 'cause they all seem to agree that this is a sign that it's time to sweep the streets of those that just can't seem to understand that America was built on creeds and mottos and master-race plans. That we should all observe five minutes of silence at major retails chains where brown bodies have laid down their lives so white backs can get clothed for cheap Blisters on fingers and extra mild curry so white tummies can always eat. Men in turbans women in hijab beaten down detained asked to spell out holy names. Make you believe murder is an import just like dishes that are too spicy you can send it back from where it came. Well I have a news flash for you We can't grieve for America as it used to be as it once was safe from murder and mayhem before ill shit was imported The illest murders on this soil are still celebrated in turkey dinners now replaced by Chinese food orders. America was built on mass genocide for which it has never apologized Unlimited justice for the nation but let's just forget that little matter of slavery They'll repair every scabbed white knee before there's an ounce of reparation. Eloquent speeches about the value of lives but when it comes to freezing starving poor when it came to Rwanda then we ain't so sure. So don't give me this Land of peace and hope tarnished by an Asian invasion bullshit When America is a nation of minefields and graves Of civilian targets never once missed. No one counts causalities of everyday war That doesn't make your globe or your star No tribute CD for the causalities of Caucasian normalcy. Where is the headline saying America Attacks? Attacks decency dignity with every back cracked blood pact welfare cheque held back sacred forest hacked. It's not that I don't feel for people who died It's not that I don't feel for people's fears But I just want y'all to remember that while some bombs can detonate quickly the lady liberty I know has been burning crosses for years. -- Tara Atluri facilitates the Women of Colour group at the University of Toronto's Women's Centre and acts as co-coordinator of the centre. Her rants -- called spoken word -- are a feature of Radio O.P.I.R.G. on CIUT 89.5. She presented the above spoken-word piece at Media Democracy Day in Toronto. Copyright (c) 2001 Tara Atluri. All Rights Reserved. [IMPORTANT NOTE: The views and opinions expressed on this list are solely those of the authors and/or organizations, and do not necessarily represent or reflect the official political positions of the Black Radical Congress (BRC). Official BRC statements, position papers, press releases, action
Bush poem
The following poem, made from George W's actual words, was sent over from Great Britain where, apparently, George is being taken as a real hoot: MAKE THE PIE HIGHER by George W. Bush I think we all agree, the past is over. This is still a dangerous world. It's a world of madmen and uncertainty and potential mental losses. Rarely is the question asked Is our children learning? Will the highways of the internet become more few? How many hands have I shaked? They misunderestimate me. I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity. I know that the human being and the fish can coexist. Families is where our nation finds hope, where our wings take dream. Put food on your family! Knock down the tollbooth! Vulcanize Society! Make the pie higher! Make the pie higher! This was probably written before the brilliant energy speech the president gave last week in which he said, The future is achievable if we make the right choices.
Re: Bush poem
We spent a lot of time talking about Africa, as we should. Africa is a nation that suffers from incredible disease. -- George W. Bush after meeting with the leaders of the European Union, Gothenburg, Sweden, June 14, 2001 (From Slate's web site) Tim --- Ken Hanly [EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote: The following poem, made from George W's actual words, was sent over from Great Britain where, apparently, George is being taken as a real hoot: MAKE THE PIE HIGHER by George W. Bush I think we all agree, the past is over. This is still a dangerous world. It's a world of madmen and uncertainty and potential mental losses. Rarely is the question asked Is our children learning? Will the highways of the internet become more few? How many hands have I shaked? They misunderestimate me. I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity. I know that the human being and the fish can coexist. Families is where our nation finds hope, where our wings take dream. Put food on your family! Knock down the tollbooth! Vulcanize Society! Make the pie higher! Make the pie higher! This was probably written before the brilliant energy speech the president gave last week in which he said, The future is achievable if we make the right choices. = Subscribe to the Chico Examiner for only $30 annually or $20 for six months. Mail cash or check payabe to Tim Bousquet to POBox 4627, Chico CA 95927 __ Do You Yahoo!? Spot the hottest trends in music, movies, and more. http://buzz.yahoo.com/
Re: Re: Bush poem
I wish I'd studied Latin in high school so, I could converse with the Latin Americans. Dan Quayle M.Pugliese - Original Message - From: Tim Bousquet [EMAIL PROTECTED] To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Sent: Monday, June 18, 2001 11:21 AM Subject: [PEN-L:13541] Re: Bush poem We spent a lot of time talking about Africa, as we should. Africa is a nation that suffers from incredible disease. -- George W. Bush after meeting with the leaders of the European Union, Gothenburg, Sweden, June 14, 2001 (From Slate's web site) Tim --- Ken Hanly [EMAIL PROTECTED] wrote: The following poem, made from George W's actual words, was sent over from Great Britain where, apparently, George is being taken as a real hoot: MAKE THE PIE HIGHER by George W. Bush I think we all agree, the past is over. This is still a dangerous world. It's a world of madmen and uncertainty and potential mental losses. Rarely is the question asked Is our children learning? Will the highways of the internet become more few? How many hands have I shaked? They misunderestimate me. I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity. I know that the human being and the fish can coexist. Families is where our nation finds hope, where our wings take dream. Put food on your family! Knock down the tollbooth! Vulcanize Society! Make the pie higher! Make the pie higher! This was probably written before the brilliant energy speech the president gave last week in which he said, The future is achievable if we make the right choices. = Subscribe to the Chico Examiner for only $30 annually or $20 for six months. Mail cash or check payabe to Tim Bousquet to POBox 4627, Chico CA 95927 __ Do You Yahoo!? Spot the hottest trends in music, movies, and more. http://buzz.yahoo.com/
re: Election poem
The Elephant and The Ass The election is over The results are known. The will of the people Has clearly been shown. Let's forget our differences And show by our deeds. That we'll give our government The backing it needs. We'll all get together, Let bitterness pass. I'll hug your elephant You kiss my ass. Sent to me by one of my five brothers. I love the lad. maggie
Poem celebrating American foreign policy
The White Man's Burden By Rudyard Kipling Take up the White Man's burden-- Send forth the best ye breed-- Go, bind your sons to exile To serve your captives' need; To wait, in heavy harness, On fluttered folk and wild-- Your new-caught sullen peoples, Half devil and half child. Take up the White Man's burden-- In patience to abide, To veil the threat of terror And check the show of pride; By open speech and simple, An hundred times made plain, To seek another's profit And work another's gain. Take up the White Man's burden-- The savage wars of peace-- Fill full the mouth of Famine, And bid the sickness cease; And when your goal is nearest (The end for others sought) Watch sloth and heathen folly Bring all your hope to nought. Take up the White Man's burden-- No iron rule of kings, But toil of serf and sweeper-- The tale of common things. The ports ye shall not enter, The roads ye shall not tread, Go, make them with your living And mark them with your dead. Take up the White Man's burden, And reap his old reward-- The blame of those ye better The hate of those ye guard-- The cry of hosts ye humour (Ah, slowly!) toward the light:-- "Why brought ye us from bondage, Our loved Egyptian night?" Take up the White Man's burden-- Ye dare not stoop to less-- Nor call too loud on Freedom To cloak your weariness. By all ye will or whisper, By all ye leave or do, The silent sullen peoples Shall weigh your God and you. Take up the White Man's burden! Have done with childish days-- The lightly-proffered laurel, The easy ungrudged praise: Comes now, to search your manhood Through all the thankless years, Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom, The judgment of your peers. --- McClure's Magazine 12 (Feb. 1899). Louis Proyect The Marxism mailing-list: http://www.marxmail.org
A Poem
HE BURNT a swastika on her grass He was drunkhe said he didn't know that her family died in the nazi Holocaust burning through the sodCries of burning bodies children whose hollow eyes are caught briefly in old newspaper photographs being loaded to die Music burntPhilosophy burnt Memory burnt burning through us the stench of kerosine Could we continue to live here digging up the black remains near rosebushes Always the grass will have a faint trace unless it is entirely dug up replanted Every morning as her children go to school she glances there with a burning shudder putting sandwiches in bags She remembers her mother's memories of Rosa SaraClaire HannahNora Ruth Judith She remembers their flight to south america where the nazis followed when it seemed they had lost Their symbol covering jackets of teenagers on street corners my eyes burnI know the nazis won as the slaveowners have We see evidence of their victories in every morning's paper burning with a stench that fills our lives Not so long ago some other boys burnt a cross on the grass of a Black family less than thirty miles from the grass of my home I have dead I carry on my own I'm sorry he said I didn't know what I was doing Oh but he did ---Chrystos (Menominee) From: "Indians Are Us?: Culture and Genocide in Native North America" by Ward Churchill, Common Courage Press, Monroe, Main 1994 p. 10 *---* * "In the development of productive * * James Craven forces there comes a stage when * * Dept of Economics productive forces and means of inter- * * Clark College course are brought into being which * * 1800 E. Mc Loughlin Blvd. under the existing relations only * * Vancouver, Wa. 98663 cause mischief, and are no longer * * [EMAIL PROTECTED] productive but 'destructive' forces. * * (360) 992-2283 (Office)...individuals must appropriate the * * (360) 992-2863 (Fax) existing totality of productive forces* * not only to achieve self-activity,but,* * also, merely to safeguard their very * * existence." (Karl Marx) * * MY EMPLOYER HAS NO ASSOCIATION WITH MY PRIVATE/PROTECTED OPINION *
