Pro-vit dikt om minnet av Martin Luther King. Urspungligen publicerad i tidningen 'Liberty Bell', 1978.
"I have a dream," King shouted loudly, The black man soon will stand up proudly. Equality! -- we're "free at last!" He thundered with a mighty blast. Equality through integration And concomitant miscegenation. To equalize, one thing is needing: We must have racial interbreeding! Raise up the lower, reduce the better, We need a common denominator! We'll integrate to make us free, The White Man has no right to be! Culture, science, and civilization, Uniquely are White Man's creation. However, this will count for naught, As full equality is sought. We'll tear down all that he has built, Equality will hide our guilt. We'll use 'Non-Violence', King claimed, Small comfort to the killed and maimed. For violence followed in his wake, While looters grabbed what they could take. Their grievances, more imagined than real, They set out to avenge with savage zeal. "Burn baby, burn!" the looters chanted, "Kill Whitey!" the cannibals all ranted. White politicians gave assent To this denigrating descent. "Their cause is right, their demands are just!" Asserted this vermin, to our disgust. Thirty pieces of silver was sufficient To satisfy the liberal, mental deficient, Which financiers were glad to pay To those who joined this treasonous fray. Yet, retribution will surely come To this abominable scum. They abetted this explosion To buy the votes and please the 'Chosen'. While these looked on with much elation, The pols betrayed both race and nation. They said, "Give all that they demand, Or violence will mar our land." Open housing, affirmative action - Our enemies smile with satisfaction. School busing and integration - Or is it just disintegration? As they ring down the final curtain, The White Man's doom is all but certain. Now - who shall carry the White Man's burden? For if he goes, you will go, too, With no one left to carry you. You cannot build, invent, create, So, back off now, ere it's too late! We'll win this struggle, never doubt it, We'll fight until the schemer's routed! Thereupon we will be free To fulfill the White Man's Destiny. We'll build, invent, explore, discover, The secrets of the universe uncover. All may gain by our ability, But - never from King's 'Equality!'
Från Rudyard Kipling's vers: Inclusive Edition, 1885-1918 (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1919). Diktens verkliga datum är okänt. Hyllad av pro-vita organisationer som ett bevis på att Kipling var för en seperation mellan raser.
The Stranger within my gate, He may be true or kind, But he does not talk my talk— I cannot feel his mind. I see the face and the eyes and the mouth, But not the soul behind. The men of my own stock They may do ill or well, But they tell the lies I am wonted to, They are used to the lies I tell. And we do not need interpreters When we go to buy and sell. The Stranger within my gates, He may be evil or good, But I cannot tell what powers control— What reasons sway his mood; Nor when the Gods of his far-off land Shall repossess his blood. The men of my own stock, Bitter bad they may be, But, at least, they hear the things I hear, And see the things I see; And whatever I think of them and their likes They think of the likes of me. This was my father's belief And this is also mine: Let the corn be all one sheaf— And the grapes be all one vine, Ere our children's teeth are set on edge By bitter bread and wine.
Neither water nor fire will embrace me in the end but I will sail softly down like the golden leaf of the apple tree that feels, at last, the warm caress of earth I will turn slowly sere and brown and blend with the elements My small and errant love will be released into the Love that touches its worth so rarely in our consciousness All inhumanity will change and sweeten This death is birth as every dying cell surrenders in delight to that Illumination existing beyond light
I cross ocean, poor and broke, Take bus, see employment folk. Nice man treat me good in there, Say I need to see welfare. Welfare say, "You come no more, We send cash right to your door." Welfare checks, they make you wealthy, Medicaid it keep you healthy! By and by, I got plenty money, Thanks to you, American dummy. Write to friends in motherland, Tell them 'come fast as you can.' They come in turbans and Ford trucks, I buy big house with welfare bucks. They come here, we live together, More welfare checks, it gets better! Fourteen families, they moving in, But neighbor's patience wearing thin. Finally, white guy moves away, Now I buy his house, and then I say, "Find more aliens for house to rent." And in the yard I put a tent. Send for family they just trash, But they, too, draw the welfare cash! Everything is very good, And soon we own the neighborhood. We have hobby -- it's called breeding, Welfare pay for baby feeding. Kids need dentist? Wife need pills? We get free! We got no bills! American crazy! He pay all year, To keep welfare running here. We think America darn good place! Too darn good for the white man race. If they no like us, they can scram, Got lots of room in Pakistan.
Out of the night that covers me Black as a pit from pole to pole I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.
Dikt av Emma Lazarus skrev för att hjälpa till med insamlingen av pengar till bygget av Frihetsgudinnan, vars den sista frasen bildar Frihetsgudinnans inskription.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame, Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she With silent lips. Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
"Jägarsoldat, stolt och stark med basker grön på Sveas mark men jag vill åka till Moskva döda ryssar och må bra för rysk soldat med stjärna röd gör sig bäst när han är död på en rysk bonngård vi hitta´ liten och go´rysk bonnfitta hon blev slagen och våldtagen sedan fick hon en bajonett i magen hennes mormor rädd och blek hängde vi uti en ek över stock och över sten jägarmarsch över Ivans ben dricker napalm och käkar taggtrå´ vi vill dö med kängorna på när vi träffar på ryssar i staden krossas deras skallar mot närkampsspaden ryska barn ifrån oss springa kulsprutan smattra´sen fanns där inga vart än vår jägarpluton drar ryska barn blir utan far vart vi än regementsfanan vänder ryska städer står i bränder."
jag vill bli en pansarskytt märket på baskern har jag redan sytt när vi kom till Ivans land, rulla' vi fram på våra band en stuga som vi hitta' bodde där en rysk bonnfitta' hon blev slagen och våldtagen sedan fick hon en bajonett i magen mormor liten, rädd och blek henne spika' vi upp i en ek jag vill mosa ryssar under banden trycka ned dem i skyttegravssanden över stock och över sten rulla' vi fram på Ivans ben när vi träffa ryska barn i staden slog vi dem närkampsspaden ryska barn ifrån oss springa AKn smattra och sedan fanns där inga vart jag än min ekan drar ryska barn blir utan far vart jag än min bandvagn vänder ryska städer står i bränder
Framfödd med karateslag gråblått ansikte med öppen mun som lyckas skrika efter luft trots navelsträngens krampaktiga tag runt den lilla halsen. Hon kom att manifestera det goda hennes händer pudervita och de rödlätta kinderna en sammetsväv av oskuld och renhet. Illa tilltygad var du och man kallade dig ond. Du sökte dig till rum där din hämning inte fick plats. Men rummets väggar slogs sönder och din hämning bar fram till dig i guldask. Framfödd med karateslag gråblått ansikte med den öppna munnen skrik efter den luft som kom att bli din navelsträngs substitut.
Make my word a crime, I will cry out louder Silence my voice, I will find another Make my voice a crime, I will create a new one Hunt me down, I will find a new place to hide Lock me away, Ten will rise to take my place You cannot silence me, You cannot stop me, I and my kind are forever...
She ran her tongue over her teath seeking out the last bitter fragments, while rolling the small empty bottles against the chipped teapot. So cold, she fleetingly imagined a warm bath, water lapping soothingly on parched skin as she drifted off. She jolted alet with panic, head pounding. Something forgotten? The moment passed and her head sank awkwardly to her chenilled elbow. Small comforts. She tried to focus on the picture behind her eyes but the borders blurred. Her lonliness settled in the folds of her old dressing gown and spilled onto the lino with the fregs of her tea.
In life we shall always share Thoughts of you and whisper soft We will always feel you near Days may swiftly come and go But in our hearts you stay Memories that will linger on Are never far away Walk in peace with special prayers That come with Friendships love Tears may fall upon us now The sun still shines above Tenderly we hold you close With friendship that can't compare When we turn around we see your face You're glow forever there.
When your mother has grown older, When her dear, faithful eyes no longer see life as they once did When her feet, grown tired, No longer want to carry her as she walks - Then lend her your arm in support, Escort her with happy pleasure. The hour will come when, weeping, you Must accompany her on her final walk. And if she asks you something, Then give her an answer. And if she asks again, then speak! And if she asks yet again, respond to her, Not impatiently, but with gentle calm. And if she cannot understand you properly Explain all to her happily. The hour will come, the bitter hour, When her mouth asks for nothing more.
Sjuk dikt om småbarn
"Småbarn är det äckligaste som finns Mer eller mindre som kvinns Men när det ur deras mun rinner saliv Så börjar det ändå röra på sig i mitt underliv Och när de på mig snegla Dem vill jag då penetrera Jag må vara sjuk Men det är inget fel på min kuk Så kuken min skall du smaka Eller så ska jag tarmvred förorsaka Ända tills det blod rinna Ett minne blott är din mödomshinna"
Solitude av Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919)
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all,- There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life's gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. For there is room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain.
GOING TO DIE, DYING TO GO. av Earl Robert Wettstein
It's okay about dying, we're all going to get there without even trying. It's okay to say "death," something we all get to do. being born and dying are the only two. We celebrate birthdays, and that's so much fun, we honor the dead because they're all done. We smile and we cry, make a big fuss, then party hearty, glad it's not us. So let's all get together and make it okay to say, "Thanks for your friendship, I'm done, it's today. I'm ready to go, it's been a full life. a good many laughs, and my share of the strife. I'm checking out, I'm saying goodbye, I had a great time. now I'm ready to die." So come get in line, take a look , drink some wine. Come say your words, hug my old wife, and wave me goodbye, it's been a great life.
Resume av Dorothy Parker (1926)
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp; Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live.
Rhythm of Time av Bobby Sands
IRA-medlem som dog på hungerstrejk 1981.
There’s an inner thing in every man, Do you know this thing my friend? It has withstood the blows of a million years, And will do so to the end. It was born when time did not exist, And it grew up out of life, It cut down evil’s strangling vines, Like a slashing searing knife. It lit fires when fires were not, And burnt the mind of man, Tempering leadened hearts to steel, From the time that time began. It wept by the waters of Babylon, And when all men were a loss, It screeched in writhing agony, And it hung bleeding from the Cross. It died in Rome by lion and sword, And in defiant cruel array, When the deathly word was ‘Spartacus’, Along the Appian Way. It marched with Wat the Tyler’s poor, And frightened lord and king, And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare, As e’er a living thing. It smiled in holy innocence, Before conquistadors of old, So meek and tame and unaware, Of the deathly power of gold. It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets, And stormed the old Bastille, And marched upon the serpent’s head, And crushed it ‘neath its heel. It died in blood on Buffalo Plains, And starved by moons of rain, Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee, But it will come to rise again. It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes, As it was knelt upon the ground, And it died in great defiance, As they coldly shot it down. It is found in every light of hope, It knows no bounds nor space, It has risen in red and black and white, It is there in every race. It lies in the hearts of heroes dead, It screams in tyrants’ eyes, It has reached the peak of mountains high, It comes seating ‘cross the skies. It lights the dark of this prison cell, It thunders forth its might, It is ‘the undauntable thought’, my friend, That thought that says ‘I’m right!’ — Marcella, H-Block, Long Kesh Prison Camp.
Okänd av Okänd
Jag vandrade idag över Sergels torg; dekadensen och misären tyngde mig med sorg Stockholms hjärta en skitig avfallsplats; hela staden är full av slödder och patrask För inte så länge sedan en vacker och underbar stad; idyllen har nu dränkts i ett vidrigt och skitigt hav Pesten sprider ut sig till varje liten stad; hela Sverige är förgiftat, kommer det någonsin att bli bra Går en sväng över Värnhems torg; det en gång sköna Malmö präglas nu av knark och våld Parkernas stad är nu en avskyvärd plats; hela staden är full av slödder och patrask I alla svenska städer är det likadant; man kommer inte undan, det är tragiskt men sant Knarkare och multi-kulti-gäng drar runt och sprider skräck; ska vi någonsin få ordning så måste kräken väck
Ode to Europe av Jean Paul Schembri
Hail great Europe, Our only true mother, Whose caresses we've been nurtured with, Ever since our birth, We've pledged our duties towards you, To hail your name wherever we may be, To never shun your heritage, From now unto infinity. Great Europe, Your artistry and architecture, Are surpassed by none, You who shall be reawakened, At the beginning of this dawn, The dawn of an era; As everlasting and splendorous as the sun. Great Europe, Whose pristine beauty demands admiration, We are your cultural bearers, Faithful adherents of your divinity, Protectors of your identity, Never fear degeneration! Great Europe, Under this moonlit sky, I bow down to your presence, Am I truly worthy of your every, Glorious earthly heavens? Great Europe, Mother of Dante and Beethoven, Gods in their own league, How could I approach your majesty, With just my native tongue to speak? Great Europe, Such beauty indescribable by mere words, Your immaculate charisma, Shall forever be a sheer joy, Only to be felt. Great Europe, An idyllic goddess without comparison, All shall hail your mighty name, In due time, Until then I shall await this day, Entranced by a beauty so divine.
AUSCHWITZ - The Ballad of Tour Guide Titty Fart av Phil Sparkin
Come, let us sport with Titty Fart, queen of the surviving art. Auschwitz horrors are her pride. Auschwitz grim and gruesome guide. Titty, what lies rotting there? Toenails, dentures, various hair dark and curly, blonde more rare, clippings from shaggy dogs, less than human golliwogs, not least survivors share? Titty, those massed underpants – did they reach the sky perchance? While on tiptop trilled the lark, ‘Buy your pants at Marks and Spark.’ Trill blithe spirit, throbbing breast! How about a tiptop nest? Titty, did hebraic fat bubble in huge Auschwitz vat? Is it true when chimneys smoked stoking up the Holohoax, Hungarian smoke was blue, Polish smoke a greener hue? Did lush looming lady Jews create the boom in cast-off shoes? Did rag-bone vagrants in cahoots provide the show with rotting boots? Titty, when you joined the rush to add another tatty brush to the growing grisly pile, how tender your enigmatic smile? Did obscene fake photograph produce a thin hebraic laugh? Did non-Dresden bellies buckle with a cackle or a chuckle? Titty, was it here Anne Frank indulged in some unseemly prank? Did she sport another diary frankly titled Auschwitz Liary? Did she wield that biro pen? Discuss anatomy of men? And when she fully came on stream, did she stamp and slap and scream? But only now and then! Or was it all papa's sweet dream? Remember Titty, how you ran beside incited Princess Anne? Plugged six million fairy tales grotesque as Jonah swallowing whales. Brought compassion to the boil in a simple brain-washed royal. As you briefed the moist-eyed Anne, tell us how you kept dead-pan. Titty, is it still hush-hush once you very nearly blushed? Charles' popping eyes pop-popped, princely lower jaw just dropped... When you claimed God spoke from Heaven – "Not six million, Tit, BUT SEVEN." Titty, where's the new mass grave – skulls and skeletons Jews crave? And bigger buckets for tears? And more significant souvenirs? Lucky You, when shone beneath golden gleam – Rebecca's teeth! Tit, who was any wiser when you prised out her incisor? And instead of coca-cola you clutched her upper molar, while you sold authentic ash for cash. Kept all of it. Titty, now the nuns have left, where's the fun to feel bereft? So let us to the swimming pool, to the deep end where it's cool, not where gasees cooled their knees before the concert – if you please! There, extended you and I, Titty, shall on sun beds lie. Whiff of zyklon! But no lice or buzzing flies or pale rabbis! Titty, as the sunset pales, tell me tall gas chamber tales. It must have been like sardine tins! But caviare! Not fish with fins! Is it true by Holy See the gas alarm installed was free? Did the Nazis bet a nickel on just how quick would be that zyklon? Did the gasees slam their fivers not on ham, but ham survivors? Was gas chamber large enough? Was there time to properly stuff? Doubts those vile revisionists feel. Stuffing makes it hard to seal! Titty, now in moonlight glow, you all silvered, me in tow... Guide me where Pope John once stood, feeling, one feels, holy good, careless of unblessed home goals, blessing those four million souls. Lead me to that sacred spot where John blessed the blessed lot... Official figure now one million! Lead me to that tragic spot... Not one survivor! Three million souls that went to pot! Titty, Titty, what came after? Surely, Titty, not God's laughter? Spare a shekel tender heart for Tit and Beauty – all that art to guide you to the nearest bones, provide you with gas chamber groans, even to give you gas – TIT'S FART.
A Jewboy Named Solly av Anonym
There once was a jewboy named Solly, Who spent all his life making lolly, But we turned the gas on, Old Solly did pass on And now he's a lampshade and brolly!