Take some Picts, Celts and Silures
And let them settle,
Then overrun them with Roman conquerors.
Remove the Romans after approximately 400 years
Add lots of Norman French to some
Angles, Saxons, Jutes and Vikings, then stir vigorously.
Mix some hot Chileans, cool Jamaicans, Dominicans,
Trinidadians and Bajans with some Ethiopians, Chinese,
......
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
......
The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
......
That Justice is a blind goddess
Is a thing to which we black are wise:
Her bandage hides two festering sores
That once perhaps were eyes.
I watched them once, at dusk, on television, run,
in our motel room half-way through
Nebraska, quick, glittering, past beauty, past
the importance of beauty.,
archaic,
not even hungry, not even endangered, driving deeper and deeper
into less. They leapt up falls, ladders,
and rock, tearing and leaping, a gold river,
and a blue river traveling
in opposite directions.
......
Ik taken bezwaar aan,met inkt en met stem,
tegen de stilte die klinkt als een luid systeem.
Tegen regels die knellen papier dat niet luistert,
en dromen die sterven waar niemand fluistert.
Ik teken bezwaar aan,met hart en verstand,
voor recht dat niet buigt naar de macht van de rand.
Voor woorden die wegen,maar nooit zijn gehoord,
voor mensen gebogen door kil ambtelijk woord.
......
naught save the peddlers of art
where entertainment’s a la carte
and the menu card’s kind a faulty
yet here we’re reasonably comfy
so show us the justice of poetry
lost in the valley of minutes and years
it’s audience so glad to have been found
consumers shall ever-consume and
......
The darkness does not knock— it seeps, and it stains.
It craws through your marrow and threads through your veins.
Not a wound to touch, nor a scar to trace.
Just a hollowing force that tried your life and stole your grace.
I hear neighbors laugh, then it twists into your cries.
I know your grief presses heavy— cold and unkind.
I’m helpless in flesh as I draft, for you, my prayers.
Oh Lord— how I would bear your sorrow and spare you these labors.
......
What kind of honor, what kind of pride,
That steals a life, and lets justice slide,
For love’s sweet crime, blood is spilled,
This cruel game, where mercy is killed.
Old traditions, customs so bleak,
Where women are stories, forbidden to speak,
No right to live, no dreams to bloom,
What kind of society, what kind of doom?
......
at the edge of the red twilight, the voice of the people echoed weakly.
In unheard whispers, there is hope that is increasingly fading.
The streets are full of grey dust, leaving footprints without a new destination.
Behind the glitter of the bustling city, they are overlooked in a gloomy shadow of silence and peace. The voices of the people who are tired of screaming, reaching for justice which is increasingly difficult.
Burned by empty promises, but still hopeful in wounded hope.
Dusk turns into dark night, But the voice never went away. In the hearts of those who continue to groan, there is a prayer that strengthens the weary soul.