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Discover a selection of top forums active leagues p2 on the internet. Come to share your passion on forums active leagues p2 and meet other fans of active leagues p2. Then, why don't you create your own forum of active leagues p2 ?
We are a group of women who enjoy tags, psp and friendship. We have daily theme threads, some games, a wonderful chat thread, psp challenges and more! Come check us out! Members MUST be active upon jo
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Dragons Roleplaying Forum is an active and reliable RPG about dragons. We hunt and fly, exploring lost lands and seas. Skimming the waves, feeling the wind whistling through our ears, we fly, with freedom, with strength, with POWER.
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Founded in 2010, we are an active community, which focuses not only on literate wolf roleplay but also contests, events, and an all around positive experience.
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Free forum : The Home of Ruffians Leagues
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Bleach: Era X, An online Bleach RP. Set 100 years after the events of the actual series. Though we prefer original characters we still allow the use of canon.
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Free to play, immersive Dragon Ball Z roleplay site. Custom characters, races and you can even control planets and command an army. Or defend the Earth to your last breath.
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Today's blog post is way too lovely and inspiring not to mention. I have always been a major fan of what Giambattista Valli puts down his runways. The looks are always feminine, classic, elegant, and glamorous. Basically everything beautiful and dreamy rolled up into a perfectly intricate dress or gown. His 2015 spring/summer couture line is nothing less than breathtaking. I'll have one of each, please, literally! If you haven't seen the line yet, take a peek and be prepared to fall madly, deeply, in love!
All images are from Vogue. You can view the full collection here. Another collection too beautiful not to mention is Elie Saab. Who wouldn't want to trot around Paris, sporting something from either of these lines?
Just a little taste of glamour for your Wednesday afternoon. You're welcome!


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1 - 3 of 3 Comments
Last updated Jul 16, 2013
Jul 15, 2013
You are in so much trouble young man!
First, we just got the phone bill and there is a 976 number that was called over 100 times. This better not be another one of those phone sex numbers. We already had a discussion about that. When you start paying for your own phone number you can call all the "ladies" you want. Second, we were looking through your browsing history and we found a link to a site called "Giving the Dog a Bone" Imagine our horror when we went that site and it isn't about feeding dogs. David, I am starting to worry about you. You had better not be doing those things pictured on that site to Sasha. She is an innocent dog! Also, your father and I had told you time and time again NOT to use our computer upstairs in the family room. We know you were using it because you visited a site called "Hairy BBWs". If you insist on visiting those filthy sites use you own computer down in the basement in your room. Lastly, bring my GD hand cream back upstairs and stop taking it. I have no idea what you are doing with it, nor do I want to know. All I know is I am getting tired of buying a new bottle every few days. David, you are in your 50's, son. It is time you started acting like it. Please do that for mommy. Please. |
Jul 15, 2013
Gertrude, that was just F'n awesome. Won't you please join me in the regular assault on David Crosby. Now watch, that dick head Crosby will accuse me, the Sopper, of writing that piece. Did you give him the name Gaylord, from the Fockers flick?
Jul 16, 2013
This friggin Crosby crap has no redeeming social value. If only a smiggin was true, this Crosby character should be shot.
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These Social Tribute poems are examples of Social poems about Tribute. These are the best examples of Social Tribute poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.
Extraordinary, I am Craving for unusual thoughts Endless exploration without boundary Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought Invisible drawings in my mind Playing with the words in my head My passion The food of my soul I feel so lucky The random thoughts A lifetime companion A self esteem builder A goal planner Be my forever life saver I write more I talk less I want to please I chose to bore What tickles me the most Is to know what I'm for Thinking is my love When my mind goes empty That's when I hate My day dreaming lust Organizing things in my mind Playing roles of simulation Where images of art is my vision And words of attitude is my heart
(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu) Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom: Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country. He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising. After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg. In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership. Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone. He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty. Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act. On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court. Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979. His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid. In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria. On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words: 'My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom. Tell my people that I love them. They must continue the fight.' Mahlangu died for a cause! Salute! The Struggle Continues… (special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)
generic minds listen to generic music have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive watch generic things talk about generic things gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease better get your flu shot thats what they said to me a suicidal vaccine a subliminal killing spree its contagious and the outrageous thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye that they didn't even know they had it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians inside the looking glass with nightmares of being free without a key to their mind for it is trapped in the frequency in the illusion of time bathed in our universe killing all that refuse to see those that admit to hypocracy or see the message in hip hop how cant you see the message in the lyrics that bring adolescents to their knees from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh contradicting that they're the best but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest that they dont wanna go home that they should ride alone with the gat as their only companion and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain they realize that the music itself is ashamed so whats to look up to when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious so when youre screaming oh please close your eyes and bring your mind to life open your eyes for the first time and never wonder why since the answer this entire time has been inside and you better find it before you die you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others a buncha brothers missing their mothers but only seeing strangers only feeling the haters wishing they would have used their minds when they had them and now its too late, now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
My Fetish. I adore you. Wedges. Pumps. Stilettoes. Brown. Baby Blue. Black. Red. Pink are all so beautiful. You make me feel like a lady. Nikes. Timberlands. A pair of killer boots. Match with a fedora or a fresh to death leather coat. Uggs, Steven DSW, oh my how I am grateful for you. Loafers. Buckles. Straps. Peek a boo toes. Strapbacks. ON SALE. Played dress up with my mom's and the love affair began. Leopard. Bows. Fashion. Class. With leggings. Jeans. Skirts. Suits. Bikini underwear with a special Boo. Bags the same color, high heels assists with what some say is my sex appeal. Pretty details draw attention from all ages and genders. A little girl's obssession grown into a woman. Closet packed sparkling eyes, legs dancing, carrying me into the next life lesson. I give you tribute and pay homage to you. I love you shoes.
I love your soft kisses.I love firm but gentle touch. I love the way you bite your lip.I love you soooooo much. I love the way you look at me.I love the way you smile. I love the way you're shy sometimes,Every once and a while. I love it when you look at me, When I'm not looking at you. You think I do not realize it, But really...I do. I love the way you cuddle. I love the way you sleep. I love how you bite your lip when something turns you on. I love the way you rub your neck,when you are thinking so deep. I love all of you,Your nose, your lips, your hair, even your smelly feet. I love how you drink Dr Pepper. Morning noon and night. I love how if someone puts me down your always there first one there ready to fight. I will never stop loving you. You are so amazingly sweet. I love that I love you.I have loved you from the very start. I LOVE ALL OF YOU,You alone hold the key to my heart.
I Don't Hate America I like the country I live in That doesn't mean I have to sing their songs to prove that sh@!. That doesn't mean that I can just can't get over the fact that they murdered the people who built it America was dedicated to a proposition that "all men are created equal, except for women, indians and blacks The white men were just fine is what we were told but what about those who were stolen that never made it over to NEW WORLD? The ones that were thrown overboard and those who died from sickness while in transport Remember those who were born into slavery and never even knew what freedom was before their physical bodies left and people like Thomas Jefferson He understood that slavery was wrong but did not free his own until his death What about those who beaten senseless and burned, and hanged, All while screaming "Nigger" What's your new name? Oh how soon do we forget… That's why I despise that word and I don't care who it is that uses it #u$k that slavery sh@! And #u$k that flag b@%ch! #u$k you America because you've always made things hard . So don't look at me strange when I show those songs disregard and those fake ass patriotic undertones about how we are the land of the free more like the land of the captured and the Home of the Slaves, see I don't' hate America I can be and do and go as I please But, then I remember the poor people they injected with disease They thought they were getting free health care but the doctor is giving them syphilis Please! I remember the natives of this land They slaughtered and labored them to work for freedom in their own land I remember the Civil War where we were a country divided by the Mason Dixon Line The north and the south of the same country at war to save lives I don't hate America This is my home But I refuse to let the things that my ancestors endured during the struggle of building SUCH A FINE COUNTRY be forgotten It's 2012 and the politicians still plottin to find a way to take away the black vote It's the same shit, but now they just don't use the noose to choke the life out of souls I'm so tired of the constitution and it's loop holes, and amendments, and acts, and laws This just proves that man can't govern themselves because even with all these rules we constantly fall into the black hole deeper and deeper I don't hate America I just choose to not take part in its little song and dance I pledge my allegiance to God and continue to write and lose myself in my poetic trans
My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart. My father, and my grandfather before has the same part. I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say. I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today. With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face. With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace. Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay. Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K. Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing. Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing. With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all. With it some being a problem that I remember I recall. My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve. My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve. I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life. I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife. With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience. With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence. Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love. Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above. Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family. Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.
The signs started in December When she started waking up in tears each night She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing Her father. Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain She wouldn't let them. She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left Because what else was there to live for now? The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms Their hearts started to lighten up once more But hers was just as dark as it was before And growing darker day by day But she wouldn't let that stop her. Suddenly a year had passed... and then two It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care But she needed someone to hold on to Anyone... With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries It found a way into her soul Until all she could see was dark and no light But her mother and sister were healed now They didn't understand The tears came back and engulfed her soul Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive The grief took over like knives Piercing her skin over and over and over It hurt so much. She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead She could see him again if she was Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain? Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again? It would. So she started to hate herself All that negative energy was starting to take toll Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself She couldn't see any light anymore So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper She was done living. That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed They started to see how deeply depressed she had become They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better It was a start. She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore They cared, and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand They really were trying Six months longer she would be treated and cared for Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face She had a new perspective Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember She had been reborn Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it To come back shining brighter than before And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it Or known that it would get better and it did! And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be But at least she knows she's lived through the worst And it can only get better from here So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?
Let's praise the Lord! All you people of the land! Let's praise him with every Instrument we have on hand! Let's shout praises to his wonderful name! A message of rejoicing, we need to proclaim! Let's come before him, with love from our hearts! This is where a victorious life really starts! Let's bring him our thanks and appreciation! And sing of his tender mercy and wondrous salvation! Let's bring him a heart filled With hope and cheer! The coming of the lord, is so very near! We bless the father, the spirit and son! Through the blood of Jesus, we have overcome! By Jim Pemberton
sited down with his head, the chilled lonely table. pen cries lovely piece of solemn lyrics, his head uttered. last sky may be till tomorrow, no more other days. I saw tears fell among dusty floor, a nail stroke my heart. farewell dearly beloved, his first solemn phrase. he dream for shiny beloved land, smiling at the sun. where moon creates gold, for better own children alone. he wish for a dream, where he wouldn't taste at all. heaviest morning comes like a mourning cloud. as counted journey flew to the end of sight. he let his feet move, conquered the fear so dim. as tied hands live the shadowed song, heart on grave. farewell dearly beloved, his last dying words before the guns vomit a deadly burning fumes tears just fall, while smile been seen glowing the hero just shout, set free my beloved land. Authors Note: This is a story of the last day before the death of the Philippine National Hero, Dr. Jose Rizal. From the night of the his last piece written the Mi Ultimo Adios, to the time of the firing squad.
Land of the free Home of the slaves The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate Amongst the soil where they were slain I'm hearing their struggle I'm feeling their pain I can't imagine being forced to part from my family All for massa's gain So I pay homage to those who promoted change People like every slave who tried to escape Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman And the safe houses who were in accord And peg leg Joe with his song Follow the drinking gourd. People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard And who was dismissed and defamed The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names The list could go on The full will never be told So I pay homage to others who were bold Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes and Charles Drew George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks Who's death by the way Symbolized the American lie You cant declare the rights of all men While the people of African decent rights get denied But still we rise Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen None who were showed any love Yeah it's an uphill battle, But obviously greatness can be done. We can rise above this stigma That blacks are lazy and daunting That our worth is null and void And in essence minus nothing And of all the names mentioned And the greatness of their successes No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind And once you have experienced just a taste of it It changes your perception of time The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom It's mine
When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child . I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child, chai . I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried I have cried before she and I met As a child , so many tears, left confused inside . Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ? It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased . The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely. It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat . When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing , cold and scarred , feeling only defeat . There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love, and reunited with the ones they lost . The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . You could not, but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind. This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet, of the Hostility . I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish, chosen Religion. There as I held her frail , old hand , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago . In 1945 , once in our distant, yet Frightening past . We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names . If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame . " Etta Babooshka Kofman "
someone always told me this with tears in her eyes... (for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother's 'sister' and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi) a wife left South Africa in the 1960's to join her husband who was in exile at the time... in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there... the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay... one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg... the wife knocked on their neighbour's door, in an apartment complex in Bombay the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady... the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband... a Parsi 'Bone-Setter' was promptly summoned... the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing 'Bone-Setter' written on the Parsi gentleman's bag... by the way, the 'Bone-Setter' worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon... but still on that day, while the 'Bone-Setter' was seeing to the husband... the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local... the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile... and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees... the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably... she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa... the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name... 'Zubeida', but you can call me 'Zubie'... the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain... the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her 'sister' from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like... Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims... then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based... the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes... a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady's daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi... the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a 'sister' in Delhi... Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi... This was in the mid-1970's... Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more... the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi... a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time... a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience... and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the 'other' in as a sister, a fellow human... and that is why there will always be hope... hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this... hope... (for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother's 'sister' and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)
If it is off, I must turn it on. If it is on, I must turn it off. If it is folded, I must unfold it. If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled. If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, stepped on or smeared. If it is high, it must be reached. If it is shelved, it must be unshelved. If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed. If it has leaves, they must be picked. If it is plugged, it must be unplugged. If it is not trash, it must be thrown away. If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor. If it is closed, it must be opened. If it does not open, it must be screamed at. If it has drawers, they must be rifled. If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table. If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied. If it is empty, it will be more interesting full. If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon. If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead. If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon. If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried. If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone. If it is paper, it must be torn. If it has buttons, they must be pressed. If the volume is low, it must go high. If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor. If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon. If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth. If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force. If it is a phone, I must talk to it. If it is a bug, it must be swallowed. If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor. If it is not food, it must be tasted. If it IS food, it must not be tasted. If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water. If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back. If it is Mommy, must make her dirty If it is sibling, must slap,kick,and fight. If it has four legs, must squeeze tight until makes noise If big person is on phone, must make lots of noise If tv is not on cartoons, scream until they are If food is not good, throw it, refuse to eat it and cry until big people give you something good
Judas betrayed Jesus's whereabouts End, was near Son of God, knew this Universe of the Son of the Divine Father, restored Sins of man forgiven, Prince of our Universal domain, alive in the hearts of his children
The Women (for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla) Pregnant, your husband on the run, your daughter, a child, a few years old, they hauled you in, these brutish men, into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell. They wanted information, you gave them nothing, these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter, and white was right in South Africa back then, but, you did not cower, you stood resolute, you, my mother, faced them down, their power, their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats. You, my mother, would not, could not break, You stood firm, you stood tall. You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall. You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles, the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad, my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place, by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men, whose skin just happened to be lighter. You told me many things, as I grew older, of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder. You were a fighter, for a just cause, like countless other South African women, you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs, of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow, you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow. Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still, a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life, all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill. I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers, the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land, who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand. I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed, your body interred in your beloved South African soil, you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder, of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil. I salute you! (for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours, who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)
American dust off crews I served some time in Vietnam As a medic I performed And saw some things to make me think As I suppose would be the norm. But the thing that did impress me most Were those dust off crews I saw They hailed from the USA, did they They were the best for sure. They were the bravest of the brave They seemed to have no fear They'd go where others feared to tread And lord, they drank some beer So often I'd get drunk with them We'd have a grand old time Back there in that long gone year Of nineteen sixty nine. Those lads would put themselves in danger No matter what the score They will have my admiration From now till evermore. For many men were saved by them {God bless them every one} As we served, us our two countries Neath that hazy Asian sun
Earths people, it is time to wake up, the 'Prince' is alive! Ascension available, access through your heart Seek and you shall find! Time is short, personally unite, connect as one Eternity given Rise to the occasion, celebrate the gift of life, bond, with 'our lord Jesus' and 'our Universal Father in heaven, building a bridge, experiencing kinship, between human and spirit ***Happy Easter Everyone***
Words said, sung, written Bred man's civilization. Words made us human.
The Nameless Slipping through the sieve of history, the nameless rest. Not for the nameless are roads renamed, nor monuments built. Not for the nameless are songs sung, nor ink spilled. The nameless rest. Their silent sacrifice, quiet ordeal, muted trauma, remain interred, amongst their remains. The nameless rest. Not for the nameless are doctorates conferred, nor eulogies recited. Not for the nameless are honours bestowed, nor homages directed. The nameless rest. They rest within us, they walk with us, in every step that we tread. They rest within us, they walk with us, for their spirit is not dead. "Your name is unknown, your deed is immortal" - inscription at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier WWII in Moscow Special thanks to my dearest elder sister Tasneem Nobandla Moolla, whose conversations with me about life as a non-white person growing up in pre and post-Apartheid South Africa prompted me to write this dedication to the countless, nameless South Africans of every colour, whose sacrifices and dedication in the struggle against Apartheid tyranny must never be forgotten. My sister's middle name 'Nobandla' which is an isiXhosa name and means "she who is of the people" was given by her godfather, Nelson Mandela, my father's 'best-man who could not be, as Nelson Mandela was unable to-make it to my parent's wedding as he was in jail at the time in the old Johannesburg Fort. This was the 31st December 1961.
Blundering bodies Find fulfilment in rhythm; Let the Music in.
Tomorrow is Ours. Suffocating beneath the weight of historical fear, asphyxiated by the legacy of traumatised yesteryear, the festering wounds of enslavement still remain, juggling euphemisms in a crisp sound-bitten refrain, spewing out neo-liberal economic charades, doling out charity in strips of plastic band-aids, but, tomorrow shall be ours, casting away subservient mind-sets that shackle, no longer the weakened prey of the insatiable jackal, tomorrow shall be ours, we shall reclaim our plundered mindspaces, we shall shed our chains, leaving behind the traces, of past injustice, of the hurt and pain of our ancestors' sorrows, we are here, now, alive with hope, we shall rightfully claim our own tomorrows.
Tonight, the full moon blooms And foils the looming gloom. The remnant doom from noon Has lost it's bullish tune. And embraces dusk's eerie cool. The village square it illuminates Arena of moonlight tales of late The little ones gather and wait While the elderly engage in debates And the goats noisily ruminates The bright night, lights sparks Of bliss and joy in trees' barks The tall iroko whistle in parks Where young lovers end their tracks And skimpy skirts lose their tacks The son of perdition frets unsure The thief in the night fears exposure The pirate sailor steers from ashore The night fisherman denied action For the kind light bathes the ocean Tonight, the full moon beams proud As the town crier makes his round Belting forth a piercing sound. While the town's chorus echoes loud The stage is set for the yearning crowd
A squad of cavalries turns up at first their flag flutters at every angle proud and their poor fate stubbornly reversed the youngest one of them blows the bugle Next, day strips itself of night, boisterous the survivors step over the fallen to the summit, wounded but victorious the bravest one sags all of a sudden That happens and will do, when justice is sliced it was worth it and it will since God pleads It's a cause for which our lives are sacrificed as blooded swords are put back into sheaths Honor befalls me, who made it public in a lonely sonnet, epic and lyric
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation The Not-So Distant Past: The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves, their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags, are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice. They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial, torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared, they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry, while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home. Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned, on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood, never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die, and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor, and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes, while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain. The Present: 19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices, delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude, a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens, in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today. I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron, yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate, our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more. Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves, perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane, babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours, I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy, yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know, this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa, needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses, so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all, for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
This is the best beer I've ever had. Yes, The best beer I've ever had. No beer is really bad, but This is the best beer I've ever had. Beer's invention was accidental I'm told. Something about stored grain and mold. Before the Sphinx, beer was made and sold; And at times, more valuable than gold. Drank my first beer while serving Uncle Sam. Got drunk on '33' in Saigon, Vietnam. By 19, I was a soldier becoming a man; So, I drank 'til I didn't give a damn. Since then, I've travelled the world all around; And tasted each brew that I've found. Most are named for people, animals or towns; And are glorious shades of gold, red or brown. There are pilsners, lagers and ales Swilled from bottles, cans, mugs…even pails. If you want to get drunk, you can't fail. Drink too much, you may end up in jail. Drank Stegmaier in old Scranton town. Folks bragged it was the "best around". I tried their Golden, their Porter, their Brown; And I must say, their judgement is sound. In Ireland, the Guinness is Stout. 'Tis a brew those Micks can't live without. In the pubs, they all sing and shout; Until, eventually, they're all drunken louts. In old Germany, there are too many to choose. Every Berg and Stein make their own brews. I tried each one on the Rhine river cruise. So many to taste. How could I lose? I enjoyed Sapporo in Tokyo, Japan; Served by a Geisha at the wave of my hand. The Singh Hai in Bangkok was grand, As was the Ninkasi in ancient Tehran. Tried a lager called Foster's down under. Drank too many. My head pounded like thunder. They say Foster's once laid Dundee asunder; But they love it… though you may wonder. Enjoyed Red Stripe on Jamaican shores And each one tasted like more. A local beauty I was hoping to score; But next morning, my head was so sore. Henry Hudson's serves Budweiser Light. It's weak, so you can drink it all night. Yes, it takes quite a bit to get "tight"; But it's cheap and that makes it alright. Yes, beer is a beverage so grand, One of God's greatest gifts to man. When life gets too tough to stand, Just open a chilled bottle or can. This is the best beer I've ever had. When I arrived I was down and quite sad; After just two or three, life isn't so bad. This is the best beer I've ever had. Yes, the best beer I've ever had.
1 Billion Rising. For Men Everywhere. Stop! Listen! Think! Act! Stop! Stop the abuse! Of grand-daughters, colleagues, daughters, girlfriends, partners, mothers, sisters, nieces, wives, all women. Listen! Listen to the voices! Of grand-daughters, colleagues, daughters, girlfriends, partners, mothers, sisters, nieces, wives, all women. Think! Think of how you treat, grand-daughters, colleagues, daughters, girlfriends, partners, mothers, sisters, nieces, wives, all women. Act! Act now to change yourself! Stop! Listen! Think! Act! The violence, the abuse, the rape, stops when you stop, the violence, the abuse, the rape. Stop! Listen! Think! Act! The violence, the abuse, the rape, is perpetrated by, grand-fathers, colleagues, boyfriends, husbands, nephews, brothers, partners, fathers, uncles, men, all men. Stop! Listen! Think! Act! The violence, the abuse, the rape, stops when us men stop, The violence, the abuse, the rape, today, now. Stop! Listen! Think! Act!
Open Letter To The Golden Black Angel The black angel on earth, the one proud of her skin The hot chocolate in Africa, the one with glorious power The ebony strength beneath the sun, the one full of sensuous splendor. The golden black angel, the one flying the clouds The shining star in the rich land, the woman defining beauty The rich, the warm, the dark, the glittering flower breathing in Africa. Just look at her eyes, the narrow eyes sliding to the sides Just give a glance to her ruby lips, these syrupy, luscious and tepid lips Just stare closely at her smile, am sure you are zooming the sun. I feel her hypnotizing presence, the soothing aroma in the world I feel her soporific nature, the one that naturally sends me to the sky I feel her wafting movements, the movements worth every sane eye I feel her tantalizing voice, Scandalizing my ears to lick it. Am i forgetting her curves, the curves surpassing enchanted love potions? Am i forgetting her manners, the manners giving me bedroom tendencies? How can i? How can i not talk of the African woman? Eh? Tell her i adore her Yours African, Mzee Mwau.
The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims. When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl, ripping through her skull, leaving her to bleed out and die, does Allah not recoil in horror, to see His child whimper, to see His daughter cry. Where is the indignation, the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety, where are the voices that scream so loud, that denounce all but their own creed, where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed, where are the voices that so loudly proclaim, enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn, where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them. 14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood, her crime? Advocating the rights of girls to an education. Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice. Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage. Shame on me, for my inaction, Shame on us all, who proclaim lofty ideals, yet are conspicuously silent, when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head, by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead. Not in my name! Not in my name, shall the cowardly men rain down abuse, Not in my name, shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse, Not in my name, shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head, left to bleed out, while countless mothers' tears are shed, not in my name, shall religious murderers, be left to wander free, not in my name, for I dare all believers to open their eyes, to see! To see, the innocence of a 14 year old girl, wanting only an education, as the men of the cloth, prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation. I write this today, the anger raging in my veins, yet I fear, that I shall write more of this, unless we stand up and say 'no more', I fear that I shall be writing this again, until we all, reclaim the true principles of humaneness, until we silence the voices of bigotry, of rage, of fanatical insanity, I fear I shall be writing this again, and, until the muck-ridden bile, is not excised, I shall continue to say, NOT IN MY NAME! Or else I shall have nothing, but my unending shame. (for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)
Somewhere tonight a soldier stands The fate of freedom in his hands He mans his post, he stands his ground In trouble spots the world around He could be 18 or over 30 All spit and polish or down and dirty He might be wearing Army green Or the uniform of a proud Marine He could be Air Force flying cover Or Navy in their crafts that hover He could be Coast Guard on a river No matter what he will deliver He's pledged to give up life and limb If that is what is asked of him And all he'll ask for in return Is the respect that he has earned These footsteps that he chose to follow Echo through the years so hollow His grandpa's grandpa's grandpa's fought With Washington their freedom sought They rode with Grant or maybe Lee Fighting for their family And when the Kaiser declared war They joined to give the guy what for Then when that German Hitler reigned They signed up for that war's campaign Korea in some frozen field They stood their ground, there was no yield And in the jungle, Vietnam Never knowing peace and calm They fight despite the known syndrome Of what awaits them back at home In Desert Storm and in Iraq And Afghanistan, they have our back They fight for honor, fight with pride But through the years so many died Though some may question why they fought Let's end this now with this one thought Somewhere tonight a soldier stands The fate of freedom in his hands 6/25/12 We have a history club here in our community and the chairman of the club asked if I would write a poem for an upcoming meeting all about Vietnam with vets from each of the service talking about their experiences during that war. I wrote two poems - this is one I will read at the meeting.
for bruce springsteen... it was a rain-swept monsoon day way back then, so many moons away when i felt the music strumming in my veins setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins you sang of simple truths, your verse spoke to people just like me in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight 'bobby jean' spoke to me of that girl down the street glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart led me down further roads of thunder when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on and never to surrender to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run while i danced in the dark with memories vivid and stark even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark and then a 'human touch' came along and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up working on a highway of scattered ideals and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night just like the ghost of that old tom joad...
Here stands a fair beauty Queen with poise and Dignity. The daughter of an Erudite,an erudite herself One of the three central Spoke-persons in the Assembly of law-givers. The defender of the Helpless,mother of the Motherless. As fearless as A lion,who dared the Gunners in power,time Had she spent in jail, Thrown in by the most Powerful. One thought she would Cower down,yet more Resolute she became. For stonewalls do not Make a prison make. She still the people's Mouthpiece. Champion of war on Gender in-equality,a Visionary leader,hope is Rekindled-hearts rejoice, Tears of joy pour freely as She mounts the podium Of power.
Once there were two women who lived different lives.. One I hardly around for me to remember, the other I call my mother. Two different lives, shaped to make my one... One was out of reach like a star, the other became bright sun. The first gave me life and the second taught me how to live it. The first gave me a need for love, and the second was always there to give it. One gave me a nationality, the other gave me my nick name. One gave me a seed of talent, the other gave me an aim. One gave me emotions, the other calmed my fears. One heard my first cry, the other dried all my tears. One gave me up without a second thought...To selfish to care The other prayed for my safety and God led me straight to her. I was her Mandy Bear And now you ask me, As my peer the age old question unanswered throughout the years... Heredity or environment .. Which am I the product of.. Neither, my friend .. neither.. just two different kinds of people...That ended with only ONE LOVE
Women's Day wiping away those tears of the brutal truths of your past wiping away those tears your spirit rises up, far beyond your scars and your strength resides deep within you with an unshakeable resolve that shall forever last ...the weakened men whose brute force is so macho and empty and that has always been in your face are now nothing but specks of aging, obsolete rust flitting past you, for you hold it all together as you always have rising up firm and strong from being shoved into the dust ...you are a mother, a lover, a daughter, a wife, and a worker ... above all a worker you have been tying the loose ends together time after time always there yet unseen ...a woman you are of fibre of courage of being the bedrock on which we trample on whose shoulders this world stands as you continue to work ceaselessly on with lines on your face and with raw wounds on your hands but... now your time has come and no longer will you silently bear the jabs and taunts of men for now you proudly declare that a mother am I, a daughter too, a lover and a wife as well and now the time has come for them to awaken to the tolling a new bell ...a bell that tolls for you for you have taken back the pride and dignity that they stripped off you for ages for now theirs is a lost cause while your battle still defiantly rages through cities and homes and villages and in town after nameless town for now the bell has tolled and the time has passed for you to be ever again put down
Young and innocent they went to school Expecting to learn and play Never in anyones wildest of dreams Did we expect that day For a rain of tears to shell them From one lost deep to sin But heavenly hosts came down for them Releasing them from him The devil he did have his day But God in end dost win For noubt will be lost but these young lives Will not be gone in vain The laws of the land will change in ways For it must not happen again Those who reign must stand on this Take stance and make a difference No one should be able to take a life With intent nor mindless innocence For even when with madmans mind You cannot be left to mingle How can you be able to walk in shop Purchase guns and not be liable Actions speak far louder than words And if we let just one slip through Without accounting for their sin It might well be me or you For on anyone these bullets Might be named to fall upon So make a difference – make a change Add your name – petition The whole wide world mourns in shame An Amnesty is long past needed Write your letters – use your vote Act now while it is fresh And pray for the souls of all those lost That each by the Lord be blessed Also for those who've lived through this That they might find a way To find the strength and courage To step out further each day
Hamba Kahle Anene Booysen! (1996 – 2013) Dead at 17, brutally raped and left to die, in the dirt, at a construction site in Bredasdorp. 'horrific', 'repulsed', 'brutally raped', 'shocked', do these words mean anything, to anyone, anymore. Not to Anene Booysen, murdered at 17, brutally raped and left to die, in the dirt, at a construction site in Bredasdorp. Anene was raped, savagely mutilated, Her 17 year old body tossed aside, by the hands of men. Men, always men, cowardly, beastly, perverted, twisted men. 'Beastly', 'perverted', 'twisted', do these words mean anything, to anyone, anymore. Not to Anene Booysen, who now lies cold and dead. How many Anene Booysens will it take, for us, society, families, people, human-beings, and, men, especially men, to excise the ghastly menace, of the heinous capacity that resides, within men, always men, to brutalise, rape, mutilate, and murder. 'Brutalise', 'murder', 'rape', do these words mean anything, to anyone, anymore. Not to Anene Booysen, murdered at 17, brutally raped and left, to die, in the dirt, at a construction site, in Bredasdorp. Anene Booysen (1996 – 2013) * – Hamba Kahle – "Farewell, Travel Well" in Zulu ** – Bredasdorp is a small town near Cape Town, South Africa
For our Father, Nelson 'Madiba' Mandela you are our eternal inspiration our hopes our dreams our conscience you gave everything of yourself so that we may live and love and laugh and dream and breathe the air of freedom, dignity and liberty you lead us through the darkest days with your unshakeable principles and your belief in us you brought peace and freedom to us and when at times we felt all was lost you stayed with us as a father would you lent us your wisdom and you chastised us too and we are here today because of you you stayed with us, Nelson Rolihlala 'Madiba' Mandela, through all the crests and valleys of our turbulent times you stayed with us, father today, we hope and pray and wish that you, our father Madiba stay with us still stay with us, Madiba stay with us...
Just A Little Talk With Jesus… Why not talk to Jesus? And spend some time alone? Won't you ask him to be the Lord of your heart and home? Just a little talk with Jesus can make your day so bright. He can heal your troubles and make everything "alright!" Just a few moments with him can make all of the difference! His love can give you hope and a joyous experience! Feel free to share with him your every need and concern! Won't you allow him to guide you at life's every turn? Won't you allow his cleansing power to take your sins away? He can make you a new person! And can do it TODAY! The time you can spend with him, is time you won't regret! HE will never fail you! And hasn't let go of anyone yet! Just a little talk with Jesus will bring sweetness to your soul! The words of Christ can completely make you whole! Please remember a promise from the beginning of time. When God created the world... He had all of us in mind! Spending time with Jesus will be the best thing you did! Won't you accept his love and willingness to forgive? Just think about the opportunity with Christ you can share! You can have time with him! And can meet him anywhere! Behold the glory of our Lord! He reigns from heaven above! You can enjoy his presence! And the power of HIS LOVE! By Jim Pemberton
But now your here, Raise a glass to all the talented poets here who, inspire us to write everyday and all the friends we have met along the way. Brought together by a common interest to express our thoughts and feelings and give pleasure to all the poetry family. peter Dome. copyright. 2012.
You were born in a war ravaged state You lost your man to the caprices of fate You fell prey to your wayward ways Victims of betrayal, greed or circumstances You were drowned in the tide of darkness Depraved incidents of forced sex and perversions Rooted in carnal desires and unsated frustrations The fleshpots in town frowned upon as receptacles of sin Wisdom of society's views wearing very thin Thwarting those in heat from living out their dream Objects of titillation and subjected to derision Unfortunately placed or forced in a profession Reckoned as the world's oldest Harlots you are, courtesans at best Buffers to man's baser side without respite or rest Mistress to royalty or a gangster's moll You've mastered the act of a defenceless doll Apparently enjoying the bizarre and the extraordinary But behind this masquerade is the quintessential mercenary Pandering only to the philandering of the paying strata of humanity You frequent raunchy night-clubs and sleazy bars Walk the streets and lurk around dark corners You are often just a number in the telephone directory Or recommended for unusual skills, honed to a speciality But you seldom blackmail, reflecting your innate nobility Possibly you booze to drown your pain And get your high on heroin and cocaine You are accused of ruining marital ties And of driving your lovers to a life of vice Who squander fortunes, just affording your price Hail lady of the night Only death can release you from your sordid plight You are the paramour without the strings of a wife You are the reprieve from loneliness and strife But alas, you suffer damnation in your earthly life
I give my word a breath of life and those who give me strife I willingly do what needs to be done and do not wish to be won I smile a smile that lights up any face and hope to never disgrace I do what I am taught to do and that my help would be true I clam my words together and hope times will never weather I do have some faith in all matters and things to reach with ladders I hope for many things in heart and I cherish everyone that is part I do know one thing is set and with my life I would bet I will hold true to my words and make my world good towards
and just when i felt lost again... when i feared that you were slipping away i feared more for myself, in truth I say, than for you again... you came back to us again... your light shone, ablaze reaching inside of me with the warmth of your dignity with your infinite gentleness with your effortless peace with all that makes you, you again... soothing me as you soothed a nation and a people, and people everywhere of every hue and of every creed and of the human spirit itself again... you gave of yourself 92 and frail and weak and alive oh yes alive! again... you breathed my fears away you embraced me as you have always done again... you made me cry weeping tears of joy for you for your light to shine on through again... you shined so brightly as I basked in your warmth of you being you again... you cradled my shaken being in your hands, lined with age and with wisdom and with a pureness so bright that just knowing that you are back home, smiling that fatherly smile of yours was enough for me, to slip into the waiting arms of this warm and joyous night and again... though i know that you cannot be with me forever more you came back to me on this night and just knowing that you are still here with me now is enough now, for within me, you will reside forever more just knowing that you are resting and recovering at home filled, and fills me with peace and with joy with the peace and the joy that has been your gift to me, and to us, one and all shaking me to my very core as you have selflessly done throughout my life, and on countless occasions before He is home you are home and i am home with you as your light of life continues to shine now and forever warm and dignified and forever true Viva Nelson Rolihlala 'Madiba' Mandela Viva!
MLK... (January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968) they shot you down all those years ago but your dream lives on and always will for though much has been gained since you dreamed your dream there is much to fight for and much more to struggle for and much, much more to fight for still so your dream resounds in our hearts and we pledge this to you today for though they shot you down all those years ago on a memphis day we shall overcome this we do believe deep in our hearts that we shall overcome someday... (for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)
They Left so Abruptly (for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy) the valiant ones countless many known many more nameless the truest sons and singers husbands and poets lovers and wives daughters and farmers workers and sisters brothers and friends they left so abruptly with quiet pride steely courage gentle dignity they left so abruptly leaving us our tomorrows brighter hopeful filled with promise they left so abruptly so that we may breathe the breath of liberty the air of freedom the warmth of justice they left so abruptly leaving with us their parting gift freedom inkululeko swatantrata liberte azadi vhudilangi libertad they left so abruptly yet we remember them all today in the days that slipped away and in the many more that we await they left so abruptly yet they remain hewed into our memories etched in our consciences engraved in our hearts they left so abruptly and yet they endure with us within us now and forever more
Someone cares if I'm happy today If my day is cheerful and bright? Someone somewhere cares if I'm feeling ok If everything going just right. Someone somewhere cares if I eat If there is food in my fridge and plates full at my table. Someone somewhere cares if I have clothes on my back and shoes on my feet They keep my mental state stable. Here I sit wondering if someone still thinks about me. Pondering if that someone is still out there. Is this how life is always going to be And if that someone still remembers, I care about them too if they care about me.
I Want to Walk with You I want to walk with you with our heads held high Never cowering, never with heads bowed With our feet on this blessed soil, and our dreams reaching for the sky Dreams of simple joys and of peace and of mirth For all our fellow travelers on this delightful earth Dreams not of wealth or of positions of high standing or of mighty power Simple dreams of a walk in the aftermath of a Johannesburg evening rain-shower Dreams of bread and water and dignity and shelter and clothes for all Dreams where all fellow travelers may together walk this earth proud and tall I want to walk with you, my fellow traveler, with our heads held high Never pandering to power, never silent in the face of its abuse Always firm in our convictions that we can all make peace if we only try If we try to stop and think and sometimes not to look the other way If we practice what our different creeds really teach, we will surely see that day When we all, fellow travelers may walk with our heads held high Never cowering, never with our heads bowed With our feet on this blessed soil, and our collective dreams reaching for the sky Call me silly, call me naive, call me hopeless, and if you must, call me weak But is this not the common good that our different creeds and cultures all seek?
Through The Trials And Valleys… I've been through trials and difficult situations. Many times it happens with no explanations! Whatever I've had or have taken with me. I've been there when everyone has left me! The uncertainties I've had and struggles I face. Have brought me to my knees in a "quiet" place. The journeys I've traveled and the storms ahead. Have brought worry and stress in the words I said. Whatever trials I've faced... To Jesus I cried! A comfort and strength . He did provide! I know a truth that is important and most certain. Jesus can take away any hardship or burden! If there were no trials... How could I trust him? Because of what he's done How I love him! If I had no hardships or trials, I'd probably "forget him." Giving him my whole life? I don't think I'd let him! But he's proven to me just how much he loves me! He reached down from heaven and touched me! He's my comfort and joy and enduring friend! He'll be there with me… Till the very end! This Jesus I know. I recommend him to you! He is God! Our provider! This is so true! Won't you give him a chance in your life today! He can bring hope and take all of the dark clouds away! By Jim Pemberton
Still In Love With My Wife... My son came to me with a question on his mind. I said; "Not now son— I just don't have the time." He said, "Daddy—are you still in love with Mommy?" "Do you love her like you did when I was in her tummy?" My eyes choked with tears; "Yes son I really do!" "I'm in love with her... and I appreciate you." "Daddy—will you always love me like you do mom?" "Yes my son—my love for you will always belong." I looked down and much to my surprise. There were tears running down my son's eyes. He came running to me with arms wide open. "Thank you daddy" were his words spoken. I picked him up and gave him a great big hug. As I let him down, on my shirt I felt a tug. His little arm reached up to grab my hand. I knew that what I said, he began to understand. I love his mom so much—my wonderful wife. She's been such a blessing- a great part of my life! By Jim Pemberton
During this time known as Thanksgiving Day. I hope you'll give thanks and pray. A prayer of thanks for everything God has given. He has blessed us in the way we've been livin'! Our country is blessed like no other. God has supplied our "bread and butter." He's given us the freedom, we've all enjoyed. Be thankful for your food, home and being employed. For those who've endured hardship... Thank God too! It's no secret how much he loves YOU! We find in the Bible... God clearly said; "I've never seen the righteous forsaken, Nor their children begging for bread." Thanks be to Jesus, for his love, mercy and grace. And for making my heart, "his special place." I am blessed and thankful to Jesus indeed. He's given me salvation and supplies my every need. I thank God for this special day in November. Thanksgiving is a day... I will always remember! By Jim Pemberton
A sweetly-scented, earthy rain-storm, she came to me, thunderously raging with raw emotion, she came to me, drenched in the essence of truth, she came to me, she touched a chord deep inside, she strummed away all emptiness, she came to me, once... she comes to me, still... a gentle presence filling my life, she comes to me, still, a healing spirit soothing all inner strife.
The revolution will come bit-by-bit freedoms for securities, a stock split The revolution will not be streamed things aren't always what they seem The revolution will occur in silent din future different from what has been The revolution will certainly be cloned both rich and poor will be bemoaned The revolution will not be boxed change refuses to be outfoxed The revolution will make us worse and better too - our coin's obverse The revolution will not be painless at all but a deep gut pain in abdominal wall The revolution will be bloody and clean when we're overtaken by our infernal machine The revolution will be from inside out 'cause that's what revolution is all about The revolution will be beyond comprehension when people point out, a point of contention The revolution will not be equal for all many will rise, as, many will fall The revolution will not be streamed The revolution will not be Tubed The revolution will not be Twittered The revolution will not be podcast The revolution will - 'til next revolution - last The revolution will be, in the long run, forgiving The revolution will be -- in our living The revolution will begin - and be, in you © Goode Guy 2013-03-09 http://www.gilscottheron.com/lyrevol.html
All To Jesus I Surrender… All to Jesus, I give and totally surrender! May my heart be broken and tender! All to Jesus, I come and freely give! I ask him to be my Lord every day I live! All to Jesus, I will humbly share… His love and joy to people everywhere! It's Jesus, who is made perfect in my weakness!! He has given to me his love and sweetness! It's in Jesus, I have found pure delight. His spirit comforts me each day and night! It's in Jesus, there is hope and peace within! He has come and broken the bondage of sin! My dear Jesus, I kneel and humbly bow! I need you my Lord! I need you now! Only in Jesus, can I hope to obtain. Everything I need. It's all in HIS name! Only in Jesus, will I find a shelter from all harm. I want to be wrapped up in his strong arms! Only in Jesus, have I found what I needed. With him in my life…. I am now completed! By Jim Pemberton
Mido Macia 1986 - 2013 Mido Macia was a 27 year old Mozambican man, working in Daveyton near Johannesburg as a taxi-driver, who was found dead in a police cell, after police savagely dragged Mr. Macia whom they had tied to their police van. The brutal incident of Mr. Macia being dragged was caught on camera and has shocked South Africa. The 8 police officers involved are facing charges of murder, and have been suspended from the South African Police Service (SAPS). This poem is an angry poem that I felt had to be written, because as a society, we need to ask ourselves and each other the hardest questions about xenophobia and intolerance and violence. Mido Macia 1986 - 2013 Death came to Mido Macia, a savage, brutal, hellish death came to Mido Macia. Death came to Mido Macia, death dressed-up in the colours of authority, as callous, vile, sadistic policemen murdered Mido Macia. The video-footage is blood-curdling, Mido Macia being dragged, his hands tied behind him, to a police van. But death came later to Mido Macia, death cheered, clapped, and tore into Mido Macia. Death came to Mido Macia, in the cells where they murdered Mido Macia. Death came to Mido Macia, a fuelled, cheered-on, instigated death came to Mido Macia. We are all culpable, every one of us is culpable, from racist 'jokes' emailed and texted, to self-righteous comments about the 'foreigners', from casual dinner-table conversations, 'they take our jobs', 'they are crooks' the 'they marry our women' kind of lunch-time chats, racist, xenophobic, hate-filled talk, to beating a human-being to death in a police cell, or on the streets of Cape Town, Johannesburg , and in Daveyton, where death came to Mido Macia. Mido Macia 1986 - 2013
Vula Amehlo (open your eyes) "Vula Amehlo"is Zulu for "open your eyes" Vula amehlo sisters and brothers though eyes aren't needed to behold the flowing tears of those of us, left out in the cold vula amehlo sisters and brothers the time to turn your back is long gone no time now to pander and no time now to fawn vula amehlo sisters and brothers we the people are hungry, angry, and our skin is torn though we say it loudly, unbowed we are, and not forlorn vula amehlo sisters and brothers we may be invisible and tucked away far from you but we are here, still, waiting for the promise of freedom to come true vula amehlo sisters and brothers you see us sometimes, though you avert your gaze come on now, compatriots, awaken from your complacent daze vula amehlo sisters and brothers we are the open wound that festers on your ostentatious display band-aids won't do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay vula amehlo sisters and brothers as you roll down your windows and toss us some coins, look in our eyes we are your slumbering consciences, we are the famished proof of your lies vula amehlo sisters and brothers forget us not as you tuck your pretty children in, and turn off the lights we too are the children whose mothers, fathers fought for all our peoples' rights vula amehlo sisters and brothers don't think that we are bitter and livid for no reason or cause we have been waiting and waiting, for days and a decade, without any pause vula amehlo sisters and brothers vula amehlo mothers and fathers vula amehlo brown and white and all shades of this rainbow so bright we repeat what we said, we are not going to melt away into the night vula amehlo one and all our patience is being tested from day to day, year to year we have listened to your promises and we now demand that you hear vula amehlo open your eyes and see us, and hear us clearly, and hear us today band-aids won't do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay vula amehlo open your eyes
For Aung San Suu Kyi manacled you remained unyielding bruised by their bayonets of power you remained unyielding gagged by their coarse brutality you remained unyielding today you return and we salute your spirit that remained and remains unyielding
For Bob Dylan sheltered from the howling winds of vows and scattered souls and sweltering hate she is a refuge from the blistering sands of dread and loss and torn and twisted fate when the emptiness inside becomes an abyss so dark and wild and cold my words get lost in the jangling alleys where dreams are bought and sold I met her in those alleys among the withering roses on a bed of thorns and she filled me up with poems banishing the scowling moments and their baleful scorns now I lie awake and wish that I could sleep and drift away into the maze of her dream but slumber has fled and slipped the noose around my words as they thrash around and scream words that swirl around and around like that scarlet scarf wrapped around her face she's a mystery still as she will always be while I sift through this empty desolate space the storm it broke and ceased and shuffled my words as they drifted forlornly into the chasm of the dead leaving me here still and mute and frantic as I try to pick up the pieces of all the words that have been said far too many far too often far too conceited and far too proud for I failed to hear the stillness of beauty as I rambled along barking my words out aloud she hushes me now as she hushed me then in the cobwebbed tunnels of the past while I weep more words in blood and ink onto dried parchment meant never to last so tell her that her whiskey has been greedily gulped down and now that I am soberly drunk I see her songs and hear her breath reaching down into my mouldy abode of hapless funk fare-thee-well for now as I slide into the scribbled hubris of another battered rhyme dazed by the glaring embers as they scorch the moments of quickly fading time and if tomorrow finds me here still shell-shocked and drained in body and in mind tell her that her wine has slipped through the loose knots that bind tying me to this place of sanity and insanity all rolled into one while all is numb and scarred from the deed that has been done and as I flee recklessly chasing away myself from me once more she'll know the words for its a song that's been sung far too many times before (for bob dylan)
Christ' Voice Made A Difference! Christ' voice made a difference in my life today! He spoke peace and love! And took my sins away! His voice made the difference, when nothing else could. All of my problems and failures, he understood! His voice made the difference, with words of healing and hope! He picked me up, when my life was on a "slippery slope!" His voice made the difference, in my moment of desperation! It brought peace to my heart and sweet inspiration! His voice made the difference when everything else failed me! I listen to his voice! it brings love all around me! His voice can make the difference for you! Won't you listen? You'll never know "what in the world," you're missin! His voice speaks peace to all fears! And life's raging storms! His love will "glue together," a life that's "wrecked and torn." His voice is all you need! It brings assurance His gift of eternal life is 100% "life insurance!" His voice beckons... Our lord calls our name! I'm glad I listened! I'm very glad he came! His voice is what's important! And very much needed! It's only through Christ, that our life is completed! By Jim Pemberton
Ludwig & Vincent... 'They said that you were mad, Vincent', whispered Ludwig to a silent Vincent. 'I still am, quite insane', replied Vincent, 'but you, dear Ludwig, you were deaf, and mad, I hear'. 'I listened with my soul, Vincent, I heard it all without hearing a sound. Yes, mad and deaf indeed I too, still am', Ludwig said, smiling at Vincent. 'just look at them now', Vincent replied, smiling with Ludwig, 'look at them now, as they hawk sunflowers, blissfully oblivious of exquisite starry nights'. 'yes', smiled Ludwig, 'look at them now, they crave joy, yet they cannot hear an ode, dear Vincent, they cannot hear it! They do not care enough to hear'. 'Yes, dear Ludwig', Vincent sighed, 'they do not care enough to hear'. Ludwig and Vincent smiled, each tugging an ear.
For Comrade Chris Hani (1942 – 1993) mowed down by hot lead your blood flowed into our African soil murdered you, yes, they did silence you, they never will for your voice your spirit speaks to us still
Embalming the Conscience Embalming the conscience, of a world catatonic with apathy. Apathy worn on sleeves, with shimmering cuff-links of brazen indifference. Shopping, mall-hopping, acquiring. Squinting at designer tags. Ah! But the party never ends, as we giggle and flirt and drink and screw. While corpses burn, nailed to the cross. And while the others scavenge, for scraps in the dirt.
The Wind Carries His Name. They shot him down, silencing a man of flesh and bone. Though as the bullets tore through him, the wind carried his name. Far across the weary fields, high above the stubborn peaks, over the blood soaked streams, the wind carried his name. They shot him down, silencing a man of flesh and bone. Yet the wind carried his name, to you and to me, to them and to us. They shot him down, but we still say his name, as we catch it on the breeze. Still they try to shoot him down, to silence a man of flesh and bone. But the wind cannot be stilled, and the wind carries his name. "Che" (For Ernesto Guevara)
pyaasa (thirsty) – for guru dutt i'll have none of it the glittering vulgarity on crude display puffed-up egos wrapped in vacuum-sealed packs adorning the sterile aisles of shining malls with their endless racks i'll have none of it the broken & battered souls swept up in the tide of holidays by the sea & drinks on the ninth hole of the course deaf to all cries & whimpers but for the closing bell of the bourse i'll have none of it the endless parades of ostentatious pomp & raucous laughter deadened spirits aspiring for nothing more than an unquenchable greed haughtily trampling the 'other' in the crass pursuit of what next desire to feed i'll have none of it the willful silence of the privileged few among the numberless many so eloquently articulate & quick-witted in hour upon hour of polite chatter yet mute & shushed by sips of chivas when the raging war outside doesn't matter i'll have none of it none of this nauseating mockery & none of this reeking sham i'll have none of it for i was there once & lapped up the vulgarity of it all i'll have none of it now, though, so you may as well put me up against the wall i'll have none of it now for i was there once & soaked in that intoxicating air i'll have none of it now, though, so if tonight i sleep forever, i'll be the last one to care (for guru dutt-saab, 1925 - 1964)
What will you do this Memorial Day? Is it just another day off, For fun and getting away? Will you picnic with friends and family, In your usual way? Will you stop to remember those, Who have been and gone, Or will you forget what this day is about, And just move on? Will you stop by a loved one's Final resting place that day, To lay flowers of love, And pay tribute in your own special way? Will you stop by the grave of a fallen soldier, Be they a stranger or friend, Paying your respect to them, For their willingness to fight for our freedoms, To the bitter end? Will you look at your country's flag, Each and every hue, And remember that each color, Has meaning to me and to you? To me, the red represents, The blood that's been shed, By those who have protected our country, And are now dead. To me, the blue represents, Patriotism at its best, For each one who died, Did so to defend our country's interests. The white, to me, represents, The faith, purity and loyalty of all who died, Thinking only of their country, And putting their personal interests aside. So now as you plan your Memorial Day, Hang our country's flag high, And stop for a moment of silence, Paying tribute to all who've passed away, That we might make it to, Another Memorial Day.


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"Power pinners" and bloggers were not happy with Pinterest this month after the web-based inspiration board began to ban affiliate links posted by its users.
According to Wired.com, "Basically, Pinterest is removing the ability for its most influential 'Pinners' to make money via outside marketing networks, including rewardStyle and Hello Society, according to an email obtained by VentureBeat."
Wired reported that Pinterest removed these links and redirects because they caused "irrelevant pins in feeds."
Though the social site is making changes (that many assume will ultimately help it make money), PR professionals can still utilize pins to create a dynamic campaign.
Continue reading for more information about your brand can use Pinterest to create a successful PR campaign.
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Social media has the ability to bring people all over the world together to talk about specific events. Sunday's #Oscars proved once again that outlets like Twitter, Instagram and Facebook have a huge impact on the way consumers receive news.
What better time than awards season for garden brands to plant the seeds for a future of retweets, likes, favorites and re-pins?
Continue reading for more information on how brands can promote themselves and build a personality through social media.
New York Fashion week ends today, which means the world's most stylish influencers are packing their designer bags and looking to a new city for this season's inspiration.
Trend spotters at Garden Media are feeling especially inspired and are gathering materials from the shows for our 2016 Garden Trends.
Though one deals with fabric and the other deals with soil, the garden and fashion industry have a lot in common.
Continue reading for more information about what garden brands can learn from New York Fashion Week.
On Saturday, Feb. 7, Brian Williams, renowned NBC Nightly News anchor said, "…it has become painfully apparent to me that I am presently too much a part of the news, due to my actions." And this distraction has led to his stepping aside from his post at the Nightly News.
The anchor has recently been accused of lying. He quickly became the focal point of news stories in homes across the country as news stations reported on these accusations and his eventual fall from grace.
In addition to his suspension from NBC, his actions have caused people everywhere to question the integrity of newscasters.
Gardening companies can take a lesson from Williams. It begins with the basics written in communications 101 handbooks across the country – honesty.
Continue reading for more information about why honesty is an integral part of the public relations industry.
Garden Media Group is ready for its close up. In addition to releasing our in-depth trends whitepaper, today we launch our new YouTube video series highlighting top industry trends for 2015. The Garden Trends Report for 2015, "Unearthing the Best Life," identifies nine consumer trends that will shape the garden and outdoor living industry for the coming year. Each video in the series highlights one trend to help viewers understand why it resonates in the industry.
Valentine's Day is quickly approaching, which means thousands of people across the country will demonstrate their love and affection thought cards, candy and dinner.
While a lot of people offer different opinions about the Feb. 14 holiday, there's one thing professionals in this industry can agree on: working in public relations is like dating.
In honor of Valentine's Day, here is a list of reasons why we equate this industry to the dating scene.
Continue reading for more information about why working in public relations is like dating.
Elena of Avalor is the newest princess slated to appear on the Disney Junior network in 2016.
While Disney fans are used to meeting a variety of new characters on a regular basis, Elena proves significant because she is the first "princess inspired by Latin cultures."
According to Mashable, "Elena, described as a "confident and compassionate" 16-year-old, will be introduced in a 2016 episode of Sofia the First and that arc will set the stage for the launch of a solo series, Disney said."
Elena of Avalor's introduction also demonstrates a new top garden trend: appealing to a diverse customer base.
Garden brands need to focus on the industry's top new consumers for 2015: Hispanics, millennials and young men.
Continue reading for information on how brands can connect with the new consumers.
It's no secret that email is the most convenient form of communication when it comes to most daily tasks, but especially in public relations. PR professionals use email hourly to pitch media, coordinate interviews and talk to clients around the world.
Garden brands also use it to connect with consumers in a variety of ways.
While it is easy, instant and efficient, the tone of a message doesn't always translate from screen to screen.
According to PR Daily, an email send off, also known as a valediction, can be just as important as the body of the message itself.
Its list of 39 ways to close an email demonstrates that valedictions can also show creativity while still remaining professional.
Garden brands that structure their emails professionally and show creativity will see higher response rates.
Continue reading for tips on how to close an email.
People aren't just wearing denim anymore – they're using it in the garden.
The worn down hues of denim give off a comfortable and contemporary look to almost anything, including outdoor spaces.
The 2015 garden trend, Color Pops, has two faces. The first is all about standing out in the crowd and being noticed. This year, gardeners will rely on bold teal and pink to take their outdoor spaces to the next level.
The second is a more cool, vintage feel. Pastel hues and rustic textures like denim will make a statement, proving that all types of color can "pop" when paired correctly.
Having denim in your garden may seem strange, but that's what makes it interesting to others and helps you personalize your garden space.
This 2015 garden trend not only applies to gardens. Brands that operate with a "Color Pop" strategy will gain more recognition and see a boost in sales.
Continue reading for tips on how to incorporate this 2015 trend into your garden brand's media strategy.
Awards season is here, which means television audiences have another chance to see artists recognized for their work, admire celebrities as they walk the red carpet and most importantly, watch Tina Fey and Amy Poehler host the Golden Globes for the last time (or so they say).
These shows also allow viewers at home to participate in a classic tradition - speculating about wins. Garden Media's favorite Golden Globes win of the evening was Gina Rodriguez - Jane the Virgin – for Best Actress in Musical or Comedy. Not only did she beat out serious competition in her category, the award shed light on the industry's growing group of new consumers, Hispanics.
Just because televised awards shows are considered extravagant, formal events in Hollywood, doesn't mean recognition is only reserved for the rich and famous.
Those invested in the PR industry know that "awards" come in a variety shapes and sizes, and can be filtered through a lot of different mediums.
Continue reading to learn how PR insiders recognize clients, coworkers and members of the media for their hard work.


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follow Dictionary.com
A lot vs. Alot: 9 Grammatical Pitfalls
any of a class of organic salts formed by treatment of an alcohol with carbon disulfide in the presence of an alkali. The term is derived from the Greek word xanthos, for "yellow," in reference to the compound potassium ethyl xanthate (C2H5OCS2K), which gives a yellow precipitate when combined with copper sulfate. The most important group of xanthates are the sodium salts produced from cellulose; these materials are processed to form the synthetic fibre rayon or the transparent film cellophane, then reconverted to cellulose. The xanthates of some low-molecular-weight alcohols are used as flotation agents for the concentration of ores.


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Great Sound, any chance of doing a house mix of one your tracks, check this out:
Hope to hear from you ...
MULTI MILLION ENT. - SEARCHING TALENT FOR THE 2014 "GOTTA SHINE" MEGA TOUR 404-913-9865 www.facebook.com/multimillionentertainment
Hey, Great page! ..would be good if you could check out mine and the music video for my new single 'Up and Coming':http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNNCDaSYsYI
...Peace and Love...


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Deutsch: 1595 in Frankreich
English: 1595 in France
Esperanto: Jaro 1595‐a en Francio
Suomi: Vuosi 1595 Ranskassa
Français : L'année 1595 en France
Italiano: 1595 in Francia
Македонски: 1595 г. во Франција
Русский: 1595 год во Франции
Svenska: 1595 i Frankrike
Українська: 1595 у Франції
English: This category includes works, events and everything related to the history of France in 1595.
- This category is NOT intended ONLY for photographs taken in 1595, nor is it intended for media uploaded or scanned in 1595, as the parent Category:France by year goes in time past the invention of photography, scanners or computers. For the specific scope of photography, please see Category:Photographs by year.
- Media illustrating events of 1595 in France should be added into the subcategory Category:Events by country by year.
- Media illustrating works of 1595 in France should be added into the subcategory Category:1595 works in France.
This category has the following 3 subcategories, out of 3 total.


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Lyrics » Orange 9mm Lyrics » Day One Lyrics |
Lyrics Depot is your source of lyrics to Day One by Orange 9mm. Please check back for more Orange 9mm lyrics. |
Day One LyricsArtist: Orange 9mmAlbum: Pretend I'm Human
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