Best Historian Poems
Philippines, my country of birth,
one of the countries in Southeast Asia.
It is an archipelago or group of islands,
with more than seven thousand islands.
Luzon, the largest island in the northern
part of the country, is where I was born
and where Manila, the capital is located.
Manila, the city known as Pearl of the Orient.
Magellan, the Portuguese explorer for Spain
claimed the archipelago in fifteen hundred
twenty one, named the islands Las Felipinas
or The Philippines, after King Phillip II of Spain.
Philippines was colonized more than three
hundred years, from fifteen hundred sixty five
until eighteen hundred ninety eight and ruled
under Mexico-based Viceroyalty of New Spain.
Manila was called Pearl of the Orient Seas
by the historian/Jesuit priest Juan Jose Delgado
in seventeen hundred fifty one for being a way
of sea transactions during Asian trade of goods.
However, in Jose Rizal’s poem “My Last Farewell,”
he wrote before his execution by the Spanish
government for rebellion through his writings,
he stated his country as Pearl of the Orient.
So, Philippines, the country and not Manila,
the city became known as Pearl of the Orient,
upon the discovery of his poem after his execution
in December thirty, eighteen hundred ninety six.
Philippines is known as Pearl of the Orient for
its strategic location in Asia, rich biodiversity or
different kinds of plants and animals, natural
resources and its natural beauty and splendor.
The Spanish Crown called it Pearl of the Orient
for the country was a precious source of spices,
other resources and trade of goods, even prior to
their colonization to acquire a share in spice trade.
Philippines’ natural gem is south sea pearls
and it is renowned for cultivating south sea pearls.
The famous pearl in the country, known as The Pearl
of Lao Tzu, was considered the largest known pearl.
The pearl weighed fourteen pounds, found by a
Filipino diver in nineteen thirty four and later, a giant
pearl, the Pearl of Puerto weighing seventy five pounds,
found by a fisherman, both discovered in Palawan Island.
No doubt why The Philippines is called Pearl of the Orient,
the two biggest pearls were found in Palawan, Philippines.
Isn’t that the most obvious, sensible reason? I wonder……
Well, what do you think?...... Just asking……
Categories:
historian, history, places,
Form:
Free verse
Karl Marx was a historian and scholar
Groucho Marx whooped it up and hollered
Both of them were starved for attention
Neither of them honorable menschen *
____________________________________
* 'Menschen' in Yiddish literally means 'men.'
But it is used to describe honorable, decent
human beings, kind and caring.
Categories:
historian, history, perspective,
Form:
Clerihew
Caring and
Amable too,
Rich Spice in
Our Poetry Soup
Lady of Wisdom
Yummy great poet
Number one,You!
Dedicated and loving,
Encouraging to friends,
Violin playing in verses
Orchestra in her magic pens.
Nice and Kind to all,
Sweet as Candy,even more.
Historian,a great teacher too,
Intelligent,bright person,
Rain of Silver Glitters
Enchanting Eyes in blue.
(To dearest Carolyn Devonshire,A talented poet but mostly a great friend)
Charmaine
Categories:
historian, friendship
Form:
Acrostic
In the old days
castles were built from sturdy solid rock
with arrow loops for arrow protection
and curvilinear structures irregular to the eye.
They were built with survival in mind
appearing uniform grey from a distance
but up close like a monument of
mosaic humble rocks.
Castles were built to outlast civilization
Protectors of ancient people they were a safe shelter,
crowning the landscape with their touch of old charm.
Castles only crumbled when it was their time.
the heart of humankind is built like a fortress
it is a military historian that never lets it guard down
it serves and protects without counting the cost.
So, are we castles or are we crumbling rocks ?
Categories:
historian, analogy,
Form:
Free verse
Brave Conquerors Of Weakened Tribes
They could never in any great haste
their false glory dare to forsake.
Why abandon that gleam in their eyes
for truth in those sad tomorrows?
Dwell not in that bitter splendor
A victor with a yellow wreath.
In pride hide being a lying pretender
never giving up what fate bequeath!
Restless spirits from vanquished foes
can not invade that haughty parade.
Brave conquerors of weakened tribes
living out a false, arrogant charade.
History now reveals the dishonor disguised.
And tales of false victories cleverly contrived!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-14-2015
Note- http://www.iearn.org/hgp/aeti/aeti-1...americans.html
In the past, the main thrust of the Holocaust/Genocide Project's magazine, An End To Intolerance, has been the genocides that occurred in history and outside of the United States. Still, what we mustn't forget is that mass killing of Native Americans occurred in our own country. As a result, bigotry and racial discrimination still exist.
"In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue" . . . and made the first contact with the "Indians." For Native Americans, the world after 1492 would never be the same. This date marked the beginning of the long road of persecution and genocide of Native Americans, our indigenous people. Genocide was an important cause of the decline for many tribes.
"By conservative estimates, the population of the United states prior to European contact was greater than 12 million. Four centuries later, the count was reduced by 95% to 237 thousand.
In 1493, when Columbus returned to the Hispaniola, he quickly implemented policies of slavery and mass extermination of the Taino population of the Caribbean. Within three years, five million were dead. Las Casas, the primary historian of the Columbian era, writes of many accounts of the horrors that the Spanish colonists inflicted upon the indigenous population: hanging them en mass, hacking their children into pieces to be used as dog feed, and other horrid cruelties. The works of Las Casas are often omitted from popular American history books and courses because Columbus is considered a hero by many, even today.
Categories:
historian, conflict, corruption, death, evil,
Form:
Sonnet
Mahammad Fuzuli (1494-1556)
Mahammad Fuzuli, the poet-philosopher, is one of the founders of the divan genre in the history of Azerbaijani and Turkish literature. He wrote his works in three languages (Turkish, Arabic, Persian) in the genres of ghazal, qasida, musaddas, tarkib-band, tarji-band and rubai.
The poem "Leyli and Majnun", which is regarded as the peak of his creativity, is among the rare pearls of Azerbaijani, Eastern and world poetry. The opera of the same name written by Uzeyir Hajibeyli, the famous Azerbaijani composer and playwright, on the basis of the masterpiece of Fuzuli, is considered to be the First Opera of the Muslim East.
Moreover, “Fuzuli Cantata” was written by the well-known composer Jahangir Jahangirov in 1959, based on the ghazal “My love has tired me of my life – will she not tire of cruelty?”. The ghazal, translated by the British-American historian Bernard Lewis into English, has been included in his book “Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish, and Hebrew Poems”.
My love has tired me of my life – will she not tire of cruelty?
My sigh has set the spheres on fire-will not the candle of my
passion burn?
On those faint and fail for her, my love bestows a healing drug
Why does she give none to me; does she not think that I am
sick?
I hid my pain from her. They said tell it to your love.
And if I tell that faithless one - I do not know, will she believe,
or will she not?
In the night of separation, my soul burns, my eyes weep blood.
My cries awaken: does my black fate never wake?
Against the rose of your cheek, red tears stream from my eyes.
Dear lover, this is the time of roses, will not these flowing waters cloud?
It was not I who turned to you but you who drove my sense away.
When the fool who blames me sees you, will he not be put to shame?
Fuzuli is a crazy lover and a byword among folk.
Ask then what kind of love is this – of such a love does he not hire?
Categories:
historian, art, destiny, dream, inspirational,
Form:
Ghazal
With modulation and inflection I speak
invariably. I disclose my soul in
reports and records, a regular chatterbox,
that voice, it shares with the world
unabashedly. But when enough is enough?
And how is abundant sufficient?
How do I disclose what I wish to state
in a different manner? See here my
prevailing challenge. Oh, I am Narcissus,
I don't object to conversing about myself,
but how to do that less conspicuous?
I am not a historian, yet I like to speak
about actual, factual historical characters
I am not an advocate, yet I want to
be one in the future, for abuse, injury.
I am not a dancer anymore, yet I want
to share the art of ballet with you,
orchestrated choreographies.
I cannot play the violin anymore, yet
I fiddle to you my love for music.
There is my list, here is my agenda,
now grant me a new tone, allow me
to declare information to you all in
a different manner. Less obvious,
more abstract. How to find a new voice?
***
March 19, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Categories:
historian, poetry, voice, words,
Form:
Free verse
A Whisper Floating On Evening Winds
I am a mere shadow of Nature's awe
Merest ghost of flesh, of all that I saw
A whisper floating on evening winds
A dreamer, with hopes of what life portends
Yes the truth, a vain example I be
A poor historian, with blinded eyes
A shallow orb beneath wide blue-cast skies
The vessel, container of blessed life
Here in this time, this place, this fleeting hour
I wake, truth seen in Nature's vast power.
I am a mere shadow of Nature's awe
Merest ghost of flesh, of all that I saw
Robert J. Lindley,
April 17th, 1973
Note:
Dawn spoke, whispering, yes I am to be your friend.
I am to serve you, that may one day never ends.
Categories:
historian, art, creation, deep, inspiration,
Form:
Rhyme
Perhaps being something of a contrarian and historian
I like to spend Sunday mornings playing American Top Forty reruns on the oldies station
because I enjoy the songs and stories related to me by Kemal Amin Kasem
Also known as Casey Kasem in his weekly broadcasts
He researches and answers questions I suspect nobody really asked.
Why in the biblical land down under
would anyone on this earth even wonder,
then spend so much as a minute to write a letter, and then spend a stamp to ask so they know,
“Which sibling Dutch trio has been on the Top Forty for the most weeks in a row?”
Who cares?
According to Casey, Brenda in Oregon cares.
I’m completely certain he’s lying, and I dare call shenanigans on that. Everyone knows she never cared; I declare it a fact that she’s not even a real person except on the air.
But I do enjoy the stories, and I don’t fault him for making up reasons to tell them to everyone,
such as an imaginary prompt from Brenda in Oregon
It is, after all, far less awkward that way,
And I can certainly relate,
For I, too, have a lot to say, and sadly nobody pauses to ask me about what I think or know
But that doesn’t stop me from contemplating responses to give if anyone ever asks, even if they probably won’t.
He is proof that I, too, may get someone to listen to me
Even if the audience is sometimes simply imaginary.
If I believe in the oddly curious, albeit made-up Brenda in Oregon as a beleaguered velveteen rabbit,
A reason to keep telling stories churned up from my weird inquiring habits
Maybe, like his, my mind’s audience will make itself real
maybe one day someone will care what I think and feel.
Even if he’s not here anymore I strive, as reminded in reruns each week, that no matter where we are from and who we are,
We must keep our feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars, and hope nobody cares we’re all a little bit of a liar.
Categories:
historian, celebrity, culture, history, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Allow the mind
Afford its need to conjure
Profound:
If exaltation and majesty
Require a bit of provocation and amnesty today
Humor:
As remedy and coagulation
From the bleeding of
Pain, stress and anger
Affection:
To reach out from solitary
Disconnectedness and remind
Ourselves that human beings exist
For purposes greater than commerce,
Ridicule and acceptance (approval?)
Bizarre:
Lifting the veneer of earth-toned normality
To discover colors and shapes
Radiant with black dissonance
Thorny embrace
Begging for elbow room among the
Forbidden and unforgiven
Slow dancing to rapacious cadences
That salute unspoken, unthinkable
Luscious folly
Melancholy:
For no reason
Sans the blame of others
Spite of self
Grasping sadness leased
By absentee owners
Themselves insipid to the
Context of sorrow they predispose
And so empathy
Created by that
Ancient historian with his grandiose
Visions of humanity's
Zero sum pain
Reflection:
In, out
Distinctive and plagiarized
To give depth where blank existence
Stands naked, cold
And in need of decency
Reacting to the homogenous assumptions
That fill our tomes of daily dread
Momentary answers to eternal questions
Before the rain and incessant gray tender
Cover the need to be alive
Brilliance:
Where our grasp of knowledge
Tangled inquiry
Defines
Yields bouquets fresh enough
To place in the corner
For whomever looks our way
Kernels of cerebral popcorn
Gushing with flavor
Vengeance:
Arbitrary
Yet sometimes predestined
Stimuli and caricatures resembling
Organic matter
Causality reckoning from their
Intentional, dark motives
Resulting in your personal disgrace
And corresponding focus
Of their demise
Satisfaction:
At the end of journey
Short and sweet
Long and dreary
Each the test of mettle
From quandaries and dilemmas
Begging to be solved
Or merely maintained
Where we find ourselves
At the summit
Top of the heap
With broken smile
Tacit laughter
And the sigh of a lifetime.
(4/19/05)
Categories:
historian, humanity, imagery, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
In times of trouble it outshines its glow
The supposed intrinsic value of its allure
Is a safe house in times of economic un-certainty
When money is being made but not through
Traditional means
The historian would if consulted dismiss
The hype surrounding this shiny metal
As nought but a greed reflex based on
Short-sighted ignorant mania
Its value is akin to a smoke screen
Of dazzling lights
And a house of cards
That will disintegrate when the fickle mob
Move to a safer bet
Speculation and speculators
With their shark instincts
Miss the point
Gold is shiny and there lies its allure
Our supposed sophistication
And technologically advanced state
Still makes us kids drawn to the light gold emits
To flash it and bling it
Is its purpose
Not a store of wealth to be kept in a vault
The man who buys a band to
Prove his love
The gangster who shows his wealth on his person
Are the true connoisseurs of gold
It has no inner magic
Its surface does the job
It was bought to do
A status symbol of wealth and prosperity
That was meant for show
Is gold at its best
And most appealing
`
When the wearers are outspent by an investor
Then gold has rusted
And speculators lose
It's true intrinsic value laid bare
That of hype caused by uncertainty in the money market
It is to the economic historian no power-house of value
The more coveted it is for gawping appeal
The more valuable it is
Speculative mania will only
Tarnish its dazzling glow
Wear it
Bling it
Don’t invest in it
Categories:
historian, political,
Form:
Free verse
love is coming home
my internalized right wing psychosis
creates the need to explain
And justify
My 21st century poetry
Technology has made us mad
And psychotic
But driven us together
forced into oneness
Technology is blowing down barriers
Blowing down
Blowing down
Something is calling me
Something telling me
I have something to say
Capitalism’s madness
Striking literary chords
Deep inside
Inner poet
Screaming
Neurotic historian
analyzing
Its best when I let go
Let flow
Explain
Release
Allow this crisis
To sing my song
Sing my song
Sing it sing it sing it
Sing it like billie
Sing it like odetta
Lullaby. So desperately needed
Inner childs calm
This is a time when my poetry is most needed
In “the second great depression” madness
loves horizon coming and calling
Vision clearer than ever
Coming home
Coming home
Love is coming home
News tells me
Faces tell me
Ethos tells me
Everyone tells me
Love is coming home.
Categories:
historian, history, inspirational, love, peace,
Form:
Free verse
A wheel of revolution is set and rolled
The historian studies the track of the wheel
Its total journey and any incidental events
The philosopher studies the structure of the wheel
The political doctrine
The politician wants to lead the wheel
Power struggle
The voters want to control the wheel
Democracy
The scientist wants to speed up the wheel
If relevant, like the information revolution
Time wants to proceed the wheel
Axial revolution of the clock gear
The dying welcomes the wheel
The reincarnation of the wheel of life
The poor man says no words about it
And the poet just awaits
A little chance to review if any
Categories:
historian, history, life, people, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
A new species,
In the mist appears
Darkness disappears,
In his binocular spheres
Never seen before smiles
To conquer primitive fears
Overcoming basic instincts
To rule he was destined
The beauty of his offspring
Bright as a fresh ray of spring
An innovative, beautiful mind
Leaving the prehistoric behind
He ran like a Kenyan
He fought like a Spartan
And told stories like a historian
And healed gladiators like a physician
He is a galactic child
Searching for the cities of gold
For all his life he was told
Go wild before you get old
Categories:
historian, beauty, world,
Form:
Rhyme
Historiography is no job for the coward.
if you are doubtful, locomate to the “cow ward”.
Summon Ibn Bantuta, Jan vansina, Samuel Johnson and Cicero ,
they all know history is made in every scenario.
“What is history” , written and tailored by E.H Carr.
Written tradition will help for I intend to carve.
Great historians filter out myth and fables,
but illusions,monocausal explanations ,and lack of chronology still on their table.
Written sources is our Cinderella,
But in trail, historians is our helper,
cos they will shelter our history for the better,
And also help them out of their obscurity coma.
History will be kind to me for I intend to wright it.
Walter Rodney, Marx, Al-Tabari and other great historians like me are all at it.
Hit at it, achieve it and breath,
cos written history brings us out of the heat.
“Not knowing what took place before you were born is to remain forever child” … says Cicero.
Get matured, grow, flow and know,
as you lay your head on your pillow.
history is an unending dialogue between the past and the present, hope you know.
Sammy Kyle the historian , the poet, oh yes! i am.
Will not stop learning as I need no ladder to climb a can.
Historians are radicals they say, we brag! oh! yes we are
And for ever will I ride on because there is a reason behind the name kyle.
Sammy Kyle
Categories:
historian, class, cool, history, humor,
Form:
Free verse