Wazua
»
Club SK
»
Culture
»
Great Poetry... Literature lessons
Rank: Elder Joined: 9/15/2006 Posts: 3,907
|
Wazuazu, the sadness of @Djinn's prose #36 Posted: Monday, December 14, 2009 7:21:33 PM was moving, pay heed... Quote:On a personal note, I feel like I have lost the kinship of SK members (tribe #43) - from the flaming wars, the wanton abandon, the mirth, the camaraderie, the poetry and sometimes the sagacity...a great forlorn chasm has opened up here. And to encourage @Djinn, Charles Swindoll: Attitude is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education than money, than circumstances, than failures, than success, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company, a home, a relationship. The remarkable thing is we have a choice, every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for the day. We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that other people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90 % how I react to it.
|
|
|
Rank: Veteran Joined: 7/3/2007 Posts: 1,635
|
These words are written on the 'Writer's walk' outside the Sydney opera house. They stopped me in my tracks. Literally Son of Mine- Oodgeroo Noonuccal-I could tell you of heartbreak, hatred blind, I could tell you of crimes that shame mankind, Of brutal wrong and deeds malign, Of rape and murder, son of mine; But I'll tell instead of brave and fine When lives of black and white entwine And men in brotherhood combine-- This I would tell you, son of mine. "The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth." (Niels Bohr)
|
|
|
Rank: Member Joined: 9/6/2009 Posts: 92
|
Good Pieces, this thread is great!!! check this out..... Office ToiletSeemingly the one place in the heartlesness of working life, A hole of sorts to venture and escape the woes of a day Potent with disillusion, This done, that undone, She calleth, he beckons, She screams, he shouts, They all shut it! Cold to all, even by workers as I, The need to get away and sample peace, Tranquility, Sometimes you have to force a piss, or a shit, talkin about shit Thoughts wander into oblivion Easing me from the need to be here Then without warning... half way in, half way out IT REFUSES TO BULGE!! damn...should have had some vegetables!! Just to get that ever evasive moment devoid of pressure, Utter pleasure, Bliss In the office toilet, Where none speaks to the other, Let's you be Alone At peace with your excretions, Product of your daily intoxications, Your human ingesto activities, But ever so willing to pay homage A much needed visit, to the not so desirable, never clean enough, office toilet. Have a Good Wkend, Good People!!!!! "
Life's a wheel of fortune and its my chance to spin it"
|
|
|
|
Rank: Elder Joined: 9/15/2006 Posts: 3,907
|
Oooh a tad nostalgic.
Our Deepest Fear
Marianne Williamson
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.
We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us;
It’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we’re liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.
|
|
|
Rank: Elder Joined: 9/15/2006 Posts: 3,907
|
Will the revolution will be televised? And apparently one of Chinua Achebe's chosen reading...
THE SECOND COMING
William Butler Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
|
|
|
Rank: Elder Joined: 12/9/2009 Posts: 1,493 Location: Nairobi
|
muganda wrote:Oooh a tad nostalgic.
Our Deepest Fear
Marianne Williamson
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.
We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us;
It’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we’re liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.
Always liked this great piece Kenya ni yetu sisi sote
|
|
|
Rank: Elder Joined: 7/22/2008 Posts: 2,721
|
muganda wrote:IF
Ruyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son Invictus by William Ernest Henley Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. These 2 are my favorite. Thanks Muganda for reviving this thread.
|
|
|
Rank: Member Joined: 12/18/2009 Posts: 316 Location: nairobi
|
i remember one poem that we used to recite in primary school- bounce the ball by rodney bennet. poetry was fun . are kids still taught poetry? God loves a Trier!
|
|
|
Rank: Veteran Joined: 10/17/2008 Posts: 1,234
|
I Speak For the Bush
by: Benedict Mueni
When my friend sees me
He swells and pants like a frog
Because I talk the wisdom of the Bush!
He says we from the Bush
Do not understand civilized ways
For we tell our women
To keep the hem of their dresses
Below the knee.
We from the Bush, my friend insists,
Do not know how to enjoy!
When we come to the civilized city
Like nuns, we stay away from nightclubs
Where women belong to no men
And men belong to no women
And these civilized people
Quarrel and fight like hungry lions!
But, my friend, why do men
with crippled legs, lifeless eyes
wooden legs, empty stomachs
Wander about the streets
of this civilized world ?
Teach me, my friend, the trick
so that my eyes may not
See those house have no walls
But emptiness all around;
Show me the way you use
To seal your ears
To stop hearing the cry of the hungry.
Teach me the new wisdom
Which tells men
To talk about money and not love,
When they meet women
Tell your God to convert
Me to the faith of the indifferent
The faith of those
Who will never listen until
They are shaken with blows.
I speak for the Bush:
You speak for the civilized-
Will you hear me?
|
|
|
Rank: Veteran Joined: 10/17/2008 Posts: 1,234
|
another favourite....
Piano and Drums
When at break of day at a riverside
I hear the jungle drums telegraphing
the mystic rhythm, urgent, raw
like bleeding flesh, speaking of
primal youth and the beginning
I see the panther ready to pounce
the leopard snarling about to leap
and the hunters crouch with spears poised;
And my blood ripples, turns torrent,
topples the years and at once I’m
in my mother’s laps a suckling;
at once I’m walking simple
paths with no innovations,
rugged, fashioned with the naked
warmth of hurrying feet and groping hearts
in green leaves and wild flowers pulsing.
Then I hear a wailing piano
solo speaking of complex ways in
tear-furrowed concerto;
of far away lands
and new horizons with
coaxing diminuendo, counterpoint,
crescendo. But lost in the labyrinth
of its complexities, it ends in the middle
of a phrase at a daggerpoint.
And I lost in the morning mist
of an age at a riverside keep
wandering in the mystic rhythm
of jungle drums and the concerto.
Gabriel Okara
|
|
|
Wazua
»
Club SK
»
Culture
»
Great Poetry... Literature lessons
Forum Jump
You cannot post new topics in this forum.
You cannot reply to topics in this forum.
You cannot delete your posts in this forum.
You cannot edit your posts in this forum.
You cannot create polls in this forum.
You cannot vote in polls in this forum.
|