Quotes about detain, page 6
We Complain
We complain
When in other countries people are in pain
We complain
And on the other side, conditions are inhumane
We complain
Many people want to ascertain
I don't eat cheese
While in other countries people die of disease
I don't want to clean my room
While many people starve just wanting food to consume
My mom just gave me 50 dollars and thats not enough
In different places people can't even pay for rent; life is tough
We complain
Many people, their life they can't sustain
Parents their kids they can't maintain
On Christmas people can't even buy a candy cane
People feeling like they're drowning in acid rain
And we complain
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poem by Bianca Edwards
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The Swagman
Kind friends, pray give attention
To this, my little song.
Some rum things I will mention,
And I'll not detain you long.
Up and down this country
I travel, don't you see,
I'm a swagman on the wallaby,
Oh! don't you pity me.
I'm a swagman on the wallaby,
Oh! don't you pity me.
At first I started shearing,
And I bought a pair of shears.
On my first sheep appearing,
Why, I cut off both its ears.
Then I nearly skinned the brute,
As clean as clean could he.
So I was kicked out of the shed,
Oh! don't you pity me, &c.
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Do You Have Power?
The word power is ambiguous and mystifying
Power is interrelated and measurable
The word power is vague and ambivalent
Everybody is believed to have some form of power
Nations and societies are said to have their own powers
The use of power depends on circumstances
Power can be used positively or negatively
The president as the commander-in-chief
Has power to declare war and federal emergency
The congress has power to enact laws
The bank has power to grant or deny you a
Loan to improve your status in life
The editor has power to decide what gets
Published in a book, dailies, or journals
Armed forces have power to defend the nation
Police have power to arrest and detain crooks
Medical doctors have power to heal the sick
Many of us have power to make a beggar smile
Voters have power to elect their representatives
For both the lower house and the senate
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poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Steppingstone
Home (from Court Square Fountain—
where affluent ghosts still importune
a taciturn
slave to entertain
them with a slow barbarous tune
in his auctioned baritone—
to Hank Williams' headstone
atop a skeleton
loose in a pristine
white suit and bearing a pristine
white bible, to the black bloodstain
on Martin King's torn
white shirt and Jim Clark's baton,
which smashed black skulls to gelatin)
was home, at fifteen: brimstone
on Sunday morning, badminton
hot afternoons, and brimstone
again that night. Often,
as the preacher flailed the lectern,
the free grace I couldn't sustain
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poem by Andrew Hudgins
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The Crusader Against Corruption
The politicians are mindless
about the opprobrium heaped on them
for their misdeeds and corruption.
Politics is an open-sesame
to criminals and the cunning
for fulfilling their ambitions.
An overdose of bribes has made
public life servile and squalid.
When the courts order to attach their wealth
and detain them in prison, they make a fun of it.
' God has already ordered a one-two punch to me
to give my wealth to the poor
and go to jail for a public cause', they say.
The votes of people with nous
don't decide the winners in these obscene elections.
The votes of the illiterates and the votes
clicked in stealth choose the victors.
When the government is gripped in the hands
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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Napoleon
Angel or demon! thou,—whether of light
The minister, or darkness—still dost sway
This age of ours; thine eagle's soaring flight
Bears us, all breathless, after it away.
The eye that from thy presence fain would stry
Shuns thee in vain; thy mighty shadow thrown
Rests on all pictures of the living day,
And on the threshold of our time alone,
Dazzling, yet sombre, stands thy form, Napoleon!
Thus, when the admiring stranger's steps explore
The subject-lands that 'neath Vesuvius be,
Whether he wind along the enchanting shore
To Portici from fair Parthenope,
Or, lingering long in dreamy reverie,
O'er loveliest Ischia's od'rous isle he stray,
Wooed by whose breath the soft and am'rous sea
Seems like some languishing sultana's lay,—
A voice for very sweets that scarce can win its way;
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poem by Victor Hugo
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Anger.... what does it mean to me?
Anger isn't just a feeling, an emotion to detain. Anger is an action that desires the true intentions to burst forth from their towers and let be to roam about for it's own destiny. An action so precise that it with holds the power of concept of it's own imagination to soar. An action so horrid that an army has to refrian it's actions to stop before and 'accident' must occur. But is it an accident? If you purposely try to harm the uninnocent, and morely to the innocent, is it still just an accident? There are two sides to this question..................
Yes, because anger can build up for almost an entire life but one day it will break free and sometimes at the wrong person atthe wrong time in front of the wrong people. These accidents can come out completely wrong and then you are left ashamed and wit-minded. Whomever pushes the buttoms of a very ppeaceful person is only asking for trouble so therefore, no one expects any one to sit in a corner and take all of the stress with out acting out. It is just unsafe and unhealthy to the person itself!
And no it is not an accident because most people can control their temper, it just depends on te person and the moment it takes place in and the amount of anger excluded. The human temper is short, but once you go that short distance, you can sometimes hold out for awile longer. And once you notice that your temper level is getting too high, you tend to act on it by doing something regretful towards either the person causing the anger or the wrong person in general.
So anger is just more than that of an emothion, it is a feeling and an action. It only goes soul deep.......
poem by Erin Grantham
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A thought on death
Alas! my thoughts, how faint they rise,
Their pinions clogg'd with dirt;
They cannot gain the distant skies,
But gravitate to earth.
No angel meets them on the way,
To guide them to new spheres;
And for to light them, not a ray
Of heavenly gace appears.
Return then to thy native ground,
And sink into the tombs;
There take a dismal journey round
The melancholy rooms:
There level'd equal king and swain,
The vicious and the just;
The turf ignoble limbs contain,
One rots beneath a bust.
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poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
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All Saints
All so grave and shining see they come
From the blissful ranks of the forgiven,
Though so distant wheels the nearest crystal dome,
And the spheres are seven.
Are you in such haste to come to earth,
Shining ones, the Wonder on your brow,
To the low poor places of your birth,
And the day that must be darkness now?
Does the heart still crave the spot it yearned on
In the grey and mortal years,
The pure flame the smoky hearth it burned on,
The clear eye its tears?
Was there, in the narrow range of living,
After all the wider scope?
In the old old rapture of forgiving,
In the long long flight of hope?
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poem by Edith Wharton
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Fragments - Lines 0467 - 0496
Of those now here with us, do not detain anyone who is unwilling to remain,
Nor show the door to anyone who does not wish to go,
Nor wake anyone who is sleeping, Simonides, should one of us,
Well fortified by wine, be gripped by gentle slumber;
Nor bid the wakeful man to sleep against his will;
For everything that is forced is by nature painful.
For the one who wants to drink, let the boy stand close and pour;
Not on all nights is it possible to enjoy delights like these.
But as for me, since I have reached my limit of honey-sweet wine,
I shall think of sleep that loosens cares, going home.
I have reached the point when a man feels most pleasure in drinking wine,
Being neither sober at all nor yet excessively drunk.
Whoever goes beyond the limit of drinking, that man no longer
Is master of his own tongue or of his mind;
He talks recklessly, saying things which the sober find disgraceful,
And feels no shame in any action when he is drunk,
A man of sound sense before, and now a fool. But you,
Understanding these things, should not drink to excess,
But either stand up and leave before you get drunk -- don't let your belly
Overpower you as if you were a base laborer hired by the day --
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poem by Theognis
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