Buffy St Marie – My Country ‘Tis of thy People You’re Dyin’ – Passionate song about the genocide of the Native American Indian.

Buffy St Marie – My Country ‘Tis of thy People You’re Dyin’ – Passionate song about the genocide of the Native American Indian.

buffy_sainte-marie

Buffy St Marie was a full-blooded Native American Indian. Her passion shows in this articulate elegy concerning the plight of the Indians and the lies and genocide that was inflicted upon them.

An incredible piece of writing! I do not believe a stronger or more passionate song has ever been written! This is the best!! Nobody with a heart could fail to react.

“My Country ‘Tis Of Thy People You’re Dying” was written by Sainte-marie, Buffy.

Now that your big eyes have finally opened
Now that you’re wondering how must they feel
Meaning them that you’ve chased across
America’s movie screens

Now that you’re wondering how can it be real
That the ones you’ve called colorful, noble and proud
In your school propaganda, they starve in their splendor
You’ve asked for my comment, I simply will render

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

Now that the long houses breed superstition
You force us to send our toddlers away
To your schools where they’re taught
To despise their traditions

You forbid them their languages, then further say
That American history really began
When Columbus set sail out of Europe
Then stress that the nation of leeches that conquered this land
Are the biggest and bravest and boldest and best

And yet where in your history books is the tale
Of the genocide basic to this country’s birth
Of the preachers who lied, how the Bill of Rights failed

How a nation of patriots returned to their earth
And where will it tell of the Liberty Bell
As it rang with a thud o’er Kinzua mud
And of brave Uncle Sam in Alaska this year

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

Hear how the bargain was made for the West
With her shivering children in zero degrees
Blankets for your land, so the treaties attest
Oh well, blankets for land is a bargain indeed

And the blankets were those Uncle Sam had collected
From smallpox-diseased dying soldiers that day
And the tribes were wiped out and the history books censored
A hundred years of your statesmen have felt
It’s better this way

And yet a few of the conquered have somehow survived
Their blood runs the redder though genes have paled
From the Gran Canyon’s caverns to craven sad hills
The wounded, the losers, the robbed sing their tale

From Los Angeles County to upstate New York
The white nation fattens while others grow lean
Oh the tricked and evicted they know what I mean

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

The past it just crumbled, the future just threatens
Our life blood shut up in your chemical tanks
And now here you come, bill of sale in your hands
And surprise in your eyes that we’re lacking in thanks

For the blessings of civilization you’ve brought us
The lessons you’ve taught us, the ruin you’ve wrought us
Oh see what our trust in America’s brought us

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

Now that the pride of the sires receives charity
Now that we’re harmless and safe behind laws
Now that my life’s to be known as your ‘Heritage’
Now that even the graves have been robbed

Now that our own chosen way is a novelty
Hands on our hearts we salute you your victory
Choke on your blue white and scarlet hypocrisy
Pitying the blindness that you’ve never seen

That the eagles of war whose wings lent you glory
They were never no more than carrion crows
Pushed the wrens from their nest
Stole their eggs, changed their story

The mockingbird sings it, it’s all that he knows
“Ah, what can I do?”, say a powerless few
With a lump in your throat and a tear in your eye
Can’t you see that their poverty’s profiting you?

My country ’tis of thy people you’re dying

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Ducking and Diving – a poem for the Tories

Ducking and diving

 

Ducking and diving

What are they hiding?

Afraid to say what they think.

 

Appealing to the loonines

The xenophobic goonies

Taking the Tory Party to the brink.

Opher 24.6.2019

 

0.2% of the electorate will decide who our next Prime Minister will be – just 160,000 of the most extreme Tory members – mainly white, old and male!

Both candidates are playing to that field – promising more and more extreme policies to please the xenophobic, nationalistic loonies.

Bluster Bluster Bluster – a poem for Johnson

Bluster Bluster Bluster – a poem for Johnson

Bluster Bluster Bluster

A temper like a tempest

Bluster Bluster Bluster

Inept, deceit and jest

Bluster Bluster Bluster

Buffoon, bumbler and pest

Bluster Bluster Blust

You’re kidding me –  the best?

Opher – 24.6.2019

This man is an object of derision around the world – sort of Trump-light. He’s a nincompoop! The word was invented for him. Is this really the best that the Tories can come up with? Unbelievable!! No wonder only 5% of under 25s support Tories. They are a dying breed of xenophobic nationalists who have spent their lives supporting the elite and imposing austerity on the rest of us!!

Kiddie Fiddlers – a poem

Kiddie Fiddlers

 

Kiddie fiddlers

In church and state

Covered up and protected

By the prelate.

 

Operating with impunity

To abuse the innocent;

Pretending to live a life

Most decent.

 

Those who should protect

Are the ones to betray.

They need hunting down

And putting away!

 

Opher- 23.6.2019

 

 

It’s in the news again – another Bishop covering up the deeds of a man of god. Paedophiles inveigling their way into churches, schools and youth services in order to get their hands on to young innocent boys and girls. That is bad enough – but what is worse are the hierarchy who, for various reasons, cover it up, move the abusers around and allow them to continue to abuse with impunity.

Roaming free – a poem

Roaming free

 

Once we roamed free

Over plains and sea,

Using our wits

Our skills and our knowledge

To take what we needed

To hunt and to forage.

 

Now swamped by numbers,

Our cruelty and greed,

We create our own downfall

Through the folly of deeds.

 

Opher 24.6.2019

 

 

I still yearn after that life of a hunter gatherer. I know it was harsh, uncomfortable and dangerous. We tend to glamorise and gloss the hardships. It was dangerous. Few grew old. But it seems real to me.

I fear that we are swamping the world with our numbers and sowing the seeds of our own demise out of greed.

No Games – a poem

No Games

 

The eagle plays no games

As she soars on the winds

Life is quite simple:

To eat or to starve;

To mate or to perish.

She takes what she finds.

Her skill is all that informs her survival.

Her strength determines

Her or a rival.

 

Opher 24.6.2019

 

 

Nature is simple and cruel. There is little intrigue or politics. What you see is what you get. It is simply a battle for survival and to pass on your genes to the next generation. So basic. If you fail you die.

There is also majesty to it. Unlike most of our existence it is completely real. Our civilisation has divorced us from nature. We think we are not subject to the same laws anymore. Our lives aren’t battles for survival. We’ve opted for safety and comfort.

I wonder what we gave up on the way?

Bought and Sold – a poem

Bought and Sold

 

Bought and sold

Brainwashed and controlled!

Chained and tricked

By cunning hypocrites.

 

They use religion.

They use guile.

They use the law –

Death with a smile.

 

The control the media

To pump propaganda.

They tell what to think

And to who to pander.

 

Kept in our cages

Within our careers,

Tied with mortgages,

Debts and arrears.

 

They inhabit a different world

To that of you and me.

They have their clubs

And no so polite society.

 

The buy the law

With privilege to spare,

They buy what they want

And deny us our share.

 

Bought and sold

Brainwashed and controlled!

Chained and tricked

By cunning hypocrites.

 

Opher – 23.6.2019

 

 

Huge populations have to be controlled so that they do not rebel against the elite. It’s a business that had been going on for thousands of years. A tiny minority live in luxury on a whole different level and convince us all that this is the best way of doing things!

I’m not so sure!

There is no fairness in this system – money talks.

Who are they? – a poem.

Who are they?

 

Who are the shadowy figures who pull the strings?

The powerful movers who lurk in the wings?

The ones who create the world the way it is?

The ones who give all thoughts about fairness a miss?

 

Presiding over poverty and war

Orchestrating power games –

Evil to the core.

 

Just think how the world might be

If we were allowed true equality?

Instead of hypocrites who use religion and politics

To control the minds of a disadvantaged public.

 

Opher – 23.6.2019

 

 

The world is controlled by those with the wealth. They control those with power in an unholy alliance. They buy the politicians, the parties and the laws that suit them, and make democracy a sham. They control the media and influence minds.

Yes there is fake news. No it is not the fake news Trump is talking about.

They like instability, war and inequality. They can profit from it. They promote consumerism and celebrity. It distracts and is profitable. They like the world just as it is – a mess. And they don’t mind if nature is destroyed in the process just as long as they come out of it with plenty of cash.

What a sad way to run a planet!

Reality is so much more! – a poem

Reality is so much more

 

Electricity and chemicals

In circuits

To create minds.

 

Creating a world within

To witness a

Universe without.

 

All we have is

Electricity and chemicals

To paint pictures!

 

Reality is so much more.

 

Opher – 21.6.2019

 

 

I often think about our brains isolated in our skulls, connected to the universe through our senses and fabricating its pictures out of chemistry and electricity.

A magician with a magic cauldron.

A sorcerer with a potion.

An artist with an electric brush.

We feel real. The universe feels real. Yet we, or at least our brains, are really making it up. It is illusory.

We live in a mental construct – a product of evolution and biology.

Wonderful isn’t it?

The Whole World – a poem

The Whole World

 

One neurone – nothing.

Two neurones – nothing.

A hundred billion neurones in a network –

You have the whole world

And me.

 

Opher – 21.6.2019

 

 

I occasionally have a little awe and wonder to throw at consciousness. Our brain is a fabulous electric blancmange. Our consciousness is wondrous. It is great, every now and again, to stop and think about it.

That is amazing. A brain thinking about itself with the mechanisms for thought it possesses.

So little we understand – so much still to learn.

What is clear to me is that these 100 billion neurones, all strung together in a wondrous network, supported by hundreds of billions of glial cells, connected to a limited number of senses, perceiving a fraction of what is around us, are doing a fabulous job of creating both me and the universe!

Stupendous!

Here’s to consciousness!!