Originally posted by Sam The ShamIf they're so sorry, why not just fire her or revoke her accreditation due to non-performance? Obviously no one would bat an eye if what you say is true. But something smells fishy about your story (as they always do.)
10 grand a month for the last 25 years as "Professor For Life" is hardly a token salary. I'm sure Wake Forest University thought at the time that she was actually going to do something, instead of taking the money and running with it for the rest of her life. What do you wanna bet they're very, very sorry they hired her "for life". She couldn't teach t y.
How many real teachers could they have for what they are throwing away on her?
And personally, I don't care about degrees. Whether she has 100 honorary degrees or just one from the Black Panthers School of Tolerance, it does not take away from her skills as a poet.
Originally posted by rhb{{{{{{{{{{{{your pole}}}}}}}}}}}}}
I too dream of such a sterile forum. I like. I don't like. I yawn.
At least a blunt expression of dislike brings this place to life a bit and takes us away from the 'list of who i'd most like to smoke my pole' type of threads.
There's nothing been written by you or your cronies that will persuade me to change my method of critique.
A brave and startling truth - Maya Angelou
This one is excellent, and with the music and imagery to it, perfect.
&mode=related&search=Maya%20Angelou%20Nell%20Painter%20Interview
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
can come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
Originally posted by stockenThe world is miraculous to us, not us to it. We are merely guests here!
A brave and startling truth - Maya Angelou
This one is excellent, and with the music and imagery to it, perfect.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KVytZdM-Pg&mode=related&search=Maya%20Angelou%20Nell%20Painter%20Interview
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent su ...[text shortened]... are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
This planet's power far outweighs ours!
Let's get the agenda correct please. 🙁
Not sorry Stocks, but I read it three times now. It's cack!
As I've maintained for some time now, if you want to read beautiful poetry about man, woman or child then read 'The Prophet' by Kahlil Gibran. That's poetry! That's beauty of words and wisdom and suffered pain. One can only get higher if one has been lower. One can only understand the quivering strings of a lute that makes music but at the same time has been carved with a knife if that same one has really experienced LOVE!....
Wolfie....... help me out here, ye of maturity??
Originally posted by mikelomInteresting point of view there. Isn't life miraculous by virtue of being so
The world is miraculous to us, not us to it. We are merely guests here!
This planet's power far outweighs ours!
Let's get the agenda correct please. 🙁
unlikely? Considering how miniscule our tiny little planet is, and even our
sun is a midgit as far as suns go, I think it's incredible that I can sit
here, breathing, thinking (though some would certainly question that),
feeling and picking my nose. That's the miracle. Our planet is at our
mercy (bummer there), and it is the life giver, but we, unlike
the world around us (as far as we can tell - though admittedly that sort of
ruins my argument) can conjure up thoughts to help control our own
environment. Too bad we use it for the wrong things.
Wait! Are we in spiritual, debates or general? I'm confused now. 😕
Originally posted by stockenSee my edit!
Interesting point of view there. Isn't life miraculous by virtue of being so
unlikely? Considering how miniscule our tiny little planet is, and even our
sun is a midgit as far as suns go, I think it's incredible that I can sit
here, breathing, thinking (though some would certainly question that),
feeling and picking my nose. That's the miracle. Our p ...[text shortened]... for the wrong things.
Wait! Are we in spiritual, debates or general? I'm confused now. 😕
Originally posted by mikelomKahlil Gibran wrote:
Not sorry Stocks, but I read it three times now. It's cack!
As I've maintained for some time now, if you want to read beautiful poetry about man, woman or child then read 'The Prophet' by Kahlil Gibran. That's poetry! That's beauty of words and wisdom and suffered pain. One can only get higher if one has been lower. One can only understand the quivering s ...[text shortened]... e one has really experienced LOVE!....
Wolfie....... help me out here, ye of maturity??
You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link.
This is but half the truth. You are also as strong as your strongest link.
And even though that is at the very end of 'The Prophet', it bothers me.
It's just not true. The strongest link will hold together a part of the chain,
but the weakest link will make the whole chain into useless pieces. Until
every part of the chain is made durable and strong, there can be no
forces put on it, or it will snap. Life is much like that, yeah? Until
everyone wants to protect life and the earth we walk upon, any pressure
is likely to wipe out more than a fair share of it.