General Interest > Open Free for All
Living on the Border
anon:
@Target@
kick me.
that?s what it says.
this stick-on note stuck to my back.
I put it there.
and I consider the possibilities
that follow me around.
I am the target for all their unhappiness.
Outsider.
Freak.
that?s what they call me.
this uncalled for label
stuck on my back.
and I put it there.
And I wonder
what will happen next
with all this hatred.
I am the target
and they will keep kicking
until its all over.
Cera Ouish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Invisible Boy
Don?t hunt the man that?s lost his Feelings
Cause he will die alone and waking
Waiting for someone to serve him,
but lies bite the hand that tries to feed me.
I raise my hand high above the others in call for truth
but invisible boy can?t speak
he screams awake at night
with all these feelings; can they have meaning?
What am I trying to prove?
We raise our hands for the fight, This fight in which we?ll lose.
The blind man won?t lead the blind, because this blind man knows more than you.
WE PRAY FOR CHANGE.
BUT I CAN?T PRAY.
A FORTRESS LOST IN ONE SHORT TOSS.
ASHES TO ASHES WE ALL FALL.
Cera Ouish
Anonymous:
The Fool?s Prayer
by
Edward R. Sill
The Royal feast was done; The King
Sought some new sport to banish care.
And to his jester cried: ?Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!?
The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.
He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the monarch?s silken stool;
His pleading voice arose: ?O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!
No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool,
The rod must heal the sin: But, Lord,
Be merciful to me, a Fool!
These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard well meaning hands we thrust
Among the heartstrings of a friend.
The ill timed truth we might have kept -
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
The word we had not sense to say -
Who knows how grandly it had rung?
Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!?
The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
?Be merciful to me, a fool!?
Anonymous:
The Racing Man
by
A. P. Herbert
My gentle child, behold this horse -
A noble animal, of coarse, but not to be relied on!
I wish he would not stand and snort;
Oh frankly, he is not the sort you father cares to ride on.
His head is tossing up and down,
And he has frightened half the town
by Blowing in their faces,
And making gestures with his feet,
While now and then he stops to eat in inconvenient places.
He nearly murdered me today,
By trotting in the wildest way through half a mile of forest;
And now he treads upon the kerb,
Consuming some attractive herb, he borrowed from the florist.
I strike him roughly with my hand; He does not seem to understand;
He simply won?t be bothered, To walk in peace, as I suggest,
A little way towards the West - He prances to the No?th?ard.
And yet, by popular repute, He is a mild, well-mannered brute,
And very well connected;
Alas, it is a painful fact,
That horses hardly ever act as anyone expected.
Yet there are men prepared to place,
a sum of money on a race,
in which a horse is running;
An animal as fierce as this, as full of idle prejudice,
And every bit as cunning;
And it is marvelous to me, That grown-up gentlemen can be,
So simple, so confiding;
I envy them, but, Oh my son,
I cannot think that they have done a great amount of riding!
Anonymous:
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
by
Rudyard Kipling
As I pass through my incarnations, in every age and race, I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers, I watch them flourish and fall, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn, that water would certainly wet us, as fire would certainly burn: But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision, and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas,
while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Sprit listed. They never altered their pace, Being neither cloud nor wind-born like the Gods of the Market-Place; But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come, That a tribe had been wiped off it?s icefeild, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch. They denied the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch. They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that Pigs had Wings. So, we worshipped the Gods of the Market, Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace. They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease. But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said:
?Stick to the Devil you know.?
On the first Feminian Sandstones, we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbor, and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said:
?The Wages of Sin is Death.?
In the Carboniferous Epoch, we were promised abundance for all, By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: ?If you don?t work you die.?
Then the Gods of the Market Tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew, And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true -
That all is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four -
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings
limped up to explain it once more.
***********************************
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man - There are only four things certain since social progress began -
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool?s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, As surely as Fire will burn, The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
Anonymous:
A Friday night affair out in the city heat.
Always a party there along the sordid street.
And it was guaranteed the place to be was Rocketown.
The drinks were two for one inside the crowded bars.
The girls would make their run out on the boulevard.
It was the idol place we lived the ways of Rocketown.
Hang around by the street light in the heart of the night life.
There came a certain man a stranger to the crowd.
We didn't understand what he was all about.
He walked a different pace so out of place in Rocketown.
They made a fool of him they teased him when he'd speak.
But when they knocked him down he'd turn the other cheek.
He told me I could find a life outside of Rocketown.
Hang around by the street light in the heart of the night life.
Some didn't like him near, some laughed and turned away.
But me, I longed to hear all that he had to say.
He had a peace of mind I couldn't find in Rocketown.
And when I reached down inside me I could feel the emptiness.
He said it's in the heart this change that comes to be.
Now he had done his part the choice was up to me.
As we were standing there he said a prayer for Rocketown.
As we were standing there he said a prayer for Rocketown.
He walked off silently - and prayed for me -
and Rocketown...
What was his mission? Where was he going?
Why was his heart light always glowing?
All I was missing he stood there holding.
What was his secret? Could I know it?
Michael W. Smith & Wayne Kirkpatrick
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