Heard this poem in high school, liked it, decided to read it for you all It's appropriate now with the murder of George Floyd who passed a counterfeit $20 The Fed is counterfeiting trillions and trillions and trillions and trillions and trillions and trillions and trillions and trillions of dollars every day Would someone please lean on their necks? Thank you!
BY LANGSTON HUGHES What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?
I sometimes feel like an alien creature, for which there is no earthly explanation. Sure I have human form, walking erect and opposing digits, but my mind is upside down. I feel like a run-on sentence in a punctuation crazy world, and I see the world around me like a mad collective dream.
An endless stream of people move like ants on the freeway. Cell phones, pc's, and digital displays. "In Money We Trust," we'll find happiness, the prevailing attitude. Like a genetically modified irradiated Big Mac is somehow symbolic of food.
Morality is legislated, prisons over-populated, religion is incorporated, the profit-motive has permeated all activity. We pay our government to let us park on the street, and war is the biggest money-maker of all. We all know missile envy only comes from being small.
Politicians and prostitutes are comfortable together. I wonder if they talk about the strange change in the weather. This government was founded by, of, and for the people, but everybody feels it like a giant open sore, they don't represent us anymore. Blaming the President for the country's woes is like yelling at a puppet for the way it sings. Who's the man behind the curtain pulling the strings?
A billion people sitting watching their TVs in the room that they call living. But as for me, I see living as loving, and since there is no loving room, I sit on the grass under a tree dreaming of the way things used to be. Pre-Industrial Revolution, which of course is before the rivers and oceans, and skies were polluted, before Parkinson's, and mad cows, and all the convoluted cacophony of bad ideas like skyscrapers, and tree paper, and earth rapers like Monsanto and Dupont had their way, as they continue to today.
This was Pre-us, back when the buffalo roamed and the Indian's home was the forest. God was nature and heaven was here and now. Can you imagine clean water, food, and air, living in community with animals and people who care?
Do you dare to feel responsible for every dollar you lay down? Are you going to make the rich man richer? Or are you going to stand your ground? You say you want a revolution, a communal evolution, to be a part of the solution, maybe I'll be seeing you around...
Thoughts from Within - a poem written and recited by Woody Harrelson. Featuring selected artwork by David Dees.
Rejection of the Race-Based Agenda in Favour of the Common Struggle By: Willow from Willow's Web Astrology
We were once indigenous people, too. Dispossessed from our land, too. Native language stolen from our tongues, too.
We were pushed off, burned out, forced into starvation or urban slavery - a slow death sentence handed down by those with means Forced into workhouses and gulags Either murdered quickly or left to perish slowly from cold and damp and overwork and filth and bugs and vermin and hunger and lack Forced to give up our ways, too, to be useful to them, to make profit for them, to bend our souls, our natures, to fit their machine(s)
For many, to come to this new land was not a choice. "Emigrate or die" is no choice. Sent on ships not seaworthy and many sank Conditions so poor many did not live to see land again No monetary value for us, less worth than livestock or commodified slaves, So no one cared if we lived to see the other shore. Deprivation and early death on this new land, too brutal to sustain us, too heartsick and homesick to resist it.
So don't call me a "white European colonialist." Don't try to make me feel guilty for the crime of surviving. Don't tell me I'm on land I have no right to exist on, As if I somehow need your permission. I'm here. I'm sovereign. And my roots go just as deep as yours.
My heart aches for a place to belong and for the old ways, for freedom, just like yours. The Sun, the Moon, the seasons as my timepiece, The intuitive call as true authority.
They teach us your history (their version) while we are severed from our own. Our history stays invisible, while you spit their words at us: "white European imperialist" And teach the partial story being misrepresented as truth Common roots covered with convenient black-and-white agendas The genocide has happened a hundred times before To every colour of skin The land has been taken, revoked, stolen and with it our survival, our peace Set adrift on a sea of anomie, searching for a place to belong Addictions to numb the heartsick and soulsick, The gnawing knowledge that we may never again feel at home.
So if you want to fight corrupt power alongside each other With long, parallel roots acknowledged, If you want to make a better world for all I will stand with you.
But if you want to overpower my voice, my history, my truth, If you want to misrepresent who I am and where I come from, If you want to take my right to a place on the land (just like they do), You're on your own.
If you want to paint me as white imperialist scum, you are really no better than they. Your rhetoric will crumble and your power will desert you, Under the awesome, undeniable force of the real story, Under the drive for full acknowledgement and justice, currently denied.
So reconsider this whitewash of history, this convenient erasing of roots, this partial truth declared to be whole. Understand the common experience, the common struggle that is fought to this day, to this minute, to this second. Overturn the denial of common roots. Overturn these cheap slurs against those whose only crime is surviving the systemic violence they bring down on all of us. Overturn their easy answers and over-simplified histories Or take your place as just one more overlord As just one more chapter in their false historical line As just one more boot in the face.
The full spectrum is cracking open, And the time is now To stand for justice for all.
Willow is a professional intuitive astrologer, writer, and healing arts practitioner.
More of a poem. I'm one of those poor daft fools who genuinely enjoys Wilfred Owen; Siegfried Sassoon; Matthew Arnold; Gerard Manley-Hopkins; William Butler Yeats; Philip Larkin, and... oh so many more. Not that many, but a few more. Hungarian poetry is ferociously apt. I like reading "Saki" too.
Reciting the Seven Ages Of Men By William Shakespeare like my favorite movie Character Tony Montana would. #scarface #shakespeare #tonymontana Thank You Dear Friends of Bitchute💖 If You Are New to my Channel, I Invite You to Subscribe🔴 Share the videos that you like with your friends, or in groups that you belong to, COMMENT AND GIVE ME Thumbs up If YOU LIKE My VIDEO👍! That will help me a lot 😉 You can also find me on: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LC-Acting-Impressions-105642087611237
Reciting "Solo veninos a dormir solo venimos a Soñar" in my Acting class. Declamando El Poema de Netzahulatcoyotl "Solo veninos a dormir solo venimos a Soñar" en Ingles para mi clase de actuacion. #poem Thank You Dear Friends of Bitchute💖 If You Are New to my Channel, I Invite You to Subscribe🔴 Share the videos that you like with your friends, or in groups that you belong to, COMMENT AND GIVE ME Thumbs up If YOU LIKE My VIDEO👍! That will help me a lot 😉
A 2009 BBC Arts Documentary hosted by Simon Armitage.
Poet Simon Armitage goes on the trail of one of the jewels in the crown of British poetry, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, written about 600 years ago by an unknown author. The poem has got just about everything - it is an action-packed adventure, a ghost story, a steamy romance, a morality tale and the world's first eco-poem. Armitage follows in the footsteps of the poem's hero, Gawain, through some of Britain's most beautiful and mystical landscapes and reveals why an absurd tale of a knight beheading a green giant is as relevant and compelling today as when it was written.
Historian Michael Wood returns to his first great love, the Anglo-Saxon world, to reveal the origins of our literary heritage. Focusing on Beowulf and drawing on other Anglo-Saxon classics, he traces the birth of English poetry back to the Dark Ages. Travelling across the British Isles from East Anglia to Scotland and with the help of Nobel prize-winning poet Seamus Heaney, actor Julian Glover, local historians and enthusiasts, he brings the story and language of this iconic poem to life.
on a more positive note he will get the votes of Hindu Americans
I need a butt-shine, Right now You are holy, Oh, sacred Cow I thirst for you, Provide Milk.
Buff my balls, Love the Cow, Good fortune for those that do. Love me, breathe my feet, The Cow has risen.
Wax my ass, Scrub my balls. The Cow has risen, Provide Milk.
this man has all the characteristics to be a US President , he is a cross between jacinda Arden and Obama and has white skin like Trump , he has no policies but he may ( or may not ) have written this beautiful poem which may well be his only achievement