Quotes about slur, page 3
Solitude
I was nearly killed here, one night in February.
My car shivered, and slewed sideways on the ice,
right across into the other lane. The slur of traffic
came at me with their lights.
My name, my girls, my job, all
slipped free and were left behind, smaller and smaller,
further and further away. I was a nobody:
a boy in a playground, suddenly surrounded.
The headlights of the oncoming cars
bore down on me as I wrestled the wheel through a slick
of terror, clear and slippery as egg-white.
The seconds grew and grew – making more room for me –
stretching huge as hospitals.
I almost felt that I could rest
and take a breath
before the crash.
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poem by Tomas Transtromer, translated by Robin Robertson
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Christmas Poem
Christmas is a coming
And we'll all be getting fatter
But at this time of year
It really doesn't matter
The turkey'll be stuffed
With lovely sausagemeat
The table will be dressed
Looking good and really neat
We'll be making roast potatoes
And also pigs in a blanket
The food will be aplenty
Rather like a banquet
There'll be sprouts on our plate
After which we'll be trumping
We'll stuff our belly way too much
And end up like a dumpling
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poem by Bev Haigh
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The Twin Towers
September 11,2001
The Twin Towers©
I was built of steel, I was built of stone,
I was built by men of flesh and bone.
They built me strong they built me tall,
A symbol of strength for one and all.
And from my ramparts you could see,
The city of modernity.
Thousands came and gazed in awe,
All marveled at what they saw.
Commerce was my bailiwick,
I helped the world when it was sick.
My congregations came from afar,
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poem by Everett Lautin
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God, I Know Mine Do!
perhaps the lips of god tremble....
with the death of every child out of season.
with the padlock on the door of the foreclosed house,
with the bullied child hanging in the closet.
with every call to war and flag that's raised,
with the bare feet of the poverty dwellings.
with the unemployed man making bathtub met,
the girl trading sex for a high...
with every affluent sneer,
and every indifferent stare.
with every tree cut for no reason,
and every tanker spilling oil.
with every dog taken to the pound,
with every racial slur.
with every elderly person left to eat dogfood,
with every unmarked grave.
with every moment of religious pretense,
with every shirt made in a sweatshop.
with every illegal immigrant shot and killed,
with every tick of the clock in an empty room.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mixed Metaphors
Fast and funny, smart and very nimble
is his mind, the poet thinks,
making what is complicated simple,
mixing metaphors like drinks,
until, becoming quite inebriated,
his speech begins to slur,
and, manic as a tom-cat that has mated,
his poems fail to purr,
and thoughts like literate lemming herds stampede
as fearlessly they dash
till, unrestrained by Microsoft, with speed
on pixeled screens they crash,
as slow as death and very sadly humbled,
like cats that have been fixed,
while, static as statistics, he has stumbled
in metaphors he's mixed.
Barbara Ehrenreich reviews 'Faster: The Acceleration of Just About Everything, ' by James Gleick ('Pantheon' in 'Think Quick' (NYT Book Review, September 12,1999) . She says the book is 'nimble, smart, often funny, and -best of all - fast.' She explains that Glueck says that 'we glom onto Diana or O. J. or John Jr. like a lemming herd in full stampede. Against all expectations, the collective brain that emerges from our ever-richer connectedness is turning out to be kind of dumb'.
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poem by Gershon Hepner
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Doom for relation
Failure in love leads to frustration
It casts shadow and spells doom for relation
The dark clouds appear on horizons
The happy and memorable days seems by gone
Love remains one sided and often leads to breakage
It is cleverly laid trap and one is trapped in cage
Mostly female suffer a lot as they are immune
They fall for sweet words and dance to tunes
It has happened this before and may continue
It may occur often with different view
Nothing has changed and not even nature
What are we looking at towards future?
Does the life and love mean total failure?
Does it give guarantee, security for absolutely sure?
Why do we tempt and fall for easy prey?
Love was then also and now also to obey
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The House-Top
No sleep. The sultriness pervades the air
And blinds the brain-a dense oppression, such
As tawny tigers feel in matted shades,
Vexing their blood and making apt for ravage.
Beneath the stars the roofy desert spreads
Vacant as Libya. All is hushed near by.
Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf
Of muffled sound, the Atheist roar of riot.
Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought,
Balefully glares red Arson-there-and there.
The town is taken by its rats-ship-rats
And rats of the wharves. All civil charms
And priestly spells which late held hearts in awe-
Fear-bound, subjected to a better sway
Than sway of self; these like a dream dissolve
And man rebounds whole aeons back in nature.
Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,
And ponderous drag that jars the wall.
Wise Draco comes, deep in the midnight roll
Of black artillery; he comes, though late;
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poem by Herman Melville
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A result in
Why most of the cases result in sadness?
Why doe it not represent some sort of gladness?
It is in fact fragrance of fine blend
It mast last forever and remain unbend
As the days and months go by
We forget the things and don’t try
It brings only grief and pain
Why all those year we wasted and went in vain?
You still pass on the blame
Al sincerity you owe and claim
What was your real aim?
Why do you allege now and frame?
You pushed me to forefront
I was not sore and bore the brunt
You dead all bad to me to malign
You were not meant to be serious to align
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Salute
Thousands of words or applause,
Complete silence or mere a pause,
Will do nothing or serve the purpose,
When people not react and suppose,
Civilizations old mushroomed and perished,
Continents surfaced, remained for long and finished,
Races fought relentlessly and still survived,
Was it not cherished dream this is being still revived?
Racial abuse and discrimination is still hunting,
It is biggest slur and still we ignore and counting,
No efforts or slight pressure is mounting,
No condemnation or regret amounting,
Sincere gratitude and salute,
Who rise and not remain mute
To those who refuse to surrender,
Not rest and silently wonder,
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Retreat
I may not withdraw from the race
Even if I have to face shame on face
Any one can follow me and trace
Foot steps on the sand with equal pace
It may not be called cowardice act
The situation remains same as matter of fact
It is wise step taken while making retreat
Should not be made joke worth to shout in street
You may take it as running off the scene
Though we were firm, intense and very keen
Lie may prove too difficult to live under sun
Time may speak that I stood firm and only one
Sun may have its own shining sphere
Spread the light all over without fear
We have limitations and to act as mature
Finish it off with time scale and tenure
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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