ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR

´TIS time the heart should be unmoved,

Since others it hath ceased to move:

Yet, though I cannot be beloved,

Still let me love!

 

My days are in the yellow leaf;

The flowers and fruits of love are gone;

The worm, the canker, and the grief

Are mine alone!

 

The fire that on my bosom preys

Is lone as some volcanic isle;

No torch is kindled at its blaze--

A funeral pile.

 

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,

The exalted portion of the pain

And power of love, I cannot share,

But wear the chain.

 

But 'tis not thus--and 'tis not here--

Such thoughts should shake my soul nor now,

Where glory decks the hero's bier,

Or binds his brow.

 

The sword, the banner, and the field,

Glory and Greece, around me see!

The Spartan, borne upon his shield,

Was not more free.

 

Awake! (not Greece--she is awake!)

Awake, my spirit! Think through whom

Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,

And then strike home!

 

Tread those reviving passions down,

Unworthy manhood!--unto thee

Indifferent should the smile or frown

Of beauty be.

 

If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live?

The land of honourable death

Is here:--up to the field, and give

Away thy breath!

 

Seek out--less often sought than found--

A soldier's grave, for thee the best;

Then look around, and choose thy ground,

And take thy rest.

Note: "On this Day I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year" is reprinted from Works. George Gordon Byron. London: John Murray, 1832.

Lord Byron, George Gordon (1788-1824)
Fonte: PoetryArchive

Darkness

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,

And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,

The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,

And men were gather'd round their blazing homes

To look once more into each other's face;

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye

Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:

A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;

Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour

They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks

Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.

The brows of men by the despairing light

Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

The flashes fell upon them; some lay down

And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;

And others hurried to and fro, and fed

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up

With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world; and then again

With curses cast them down upon the dust,

And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes

Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd

And twin'd themselves among the multitude,

Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.

And War, which for a moment was no more,

Did glut himself again: a meal was bought

With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;

All earth was but one thought--and that was death

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails--men

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;

The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,

Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept

The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead

Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,

But with a piteous and perpetual moan,

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand

Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.

The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

Of an enormous city did survive,

And they were enemies: they met beside

The dying embers of an altar-place

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,

And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Which was a mockery; then they lifted up

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld

Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--

Even of their mutual hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,

The populous and the powerful was a lump,

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--

A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.

The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd

They slept on the abyss without a surge--

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;

The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

Of aid from them--She was the Universe.

Nota: "Darkness" is reprinted from Works. George Gordon Byron. London: John Murray, 1832. Fonte: PoetryArchive

25. MY YOUNG LIFE

Now, I remember
my young life
when I was a child

At some years ago
there was the war
in my Country

Many men dead
their bodies start there
on my Birth Land

But now, come at my mind
the names of my friends
which they met the dead

theyare always in my head
and for that
I will can never forget them.

The End

Rui Moio
25th May 1970

Daddy

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time-- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You-- Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two-- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

Fonte. Site "Internal.org" poets/Sylvia_Path

If...

Let America be America Again

"Let America be America Again"
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-

-Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek-

-And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold!
Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men!
Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-

-Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today-

-O, Pioneers!I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand
I came
To build a "homeland of the free.
"The free?Who said the free?
Not me?Surely not me?
The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay

--Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again-

-The land that never has been yet-

-And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's,
Indian's, Negro's, ME-

-Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain
,Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-

-The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,America!
O, yes,I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath-

-America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states-

-And make America again!

Fonte: "O Futuro Presente" - post de 06Nov2008

When I fall in love

Nat King Cole - When I Fall In Love
Colocado por oublierleracismeskyblog

When I fall in love
It will be forever
Or I'll never fall in love

In a restless world
Like this is
Love is ended before it's begun
And too many
Moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun

When I give my heart
I give it completely
Or I'll never give my heart

And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love with you

Fonre: letra da canção "When I Fall in Love"

All my loving

Composição: Lennon e McCartney

Close your eyes and i'll kiss you Tomorrow i'll miss you Remember i'll always be true And then while i'm away I'll write home everyday And i'll send all my loving to you I'll pretend that i'm kissing The lips i am missing And hope that my dreams will come true And then while i'm away I'll write home everyday And i'll send all my loving to you All my loving i will send to you All my loving, darling, i'll be true Close your eyes and i'll kiss you...

Feche os olhos e eu irei te beijar Amanhã sentirei saudades de você Lembre-se que eu sempre serei verdadeiro E enquanto eu estiver fora Escreverei para casa todo dia E mandarei todo meu amor pra você Vou fingir que estou beijando Os lábios que sinto saudade E esperar que meus sonhos se tornem realidade E enquanto eu estiver fora Escreverei para casa todo dia E mandarei todo meu amor pra você Todo meu amor, eu mandarei pra você Todo meu amor, querida, eu serei verdadeiro (solo) Feche os olhos e eu irei te beijar Amanhã sentirei saudades de você Lembre-se que eu sempre serei verdadeiro E enquanto eu estiver fora Escrevei para casa todo dia E mandarei todo meu amor pra você Todo meu amor, eu mandarei pra você Todo meu amor, querida, eu serei verdadeiro Todo meu amor. Todo meu amor. Todo meu amor eu mandarei pra você

If

If 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!

Ruyard Kipling - o autor do poema "Fardo do homem branco"