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 FOREVER A LEGEND
(The PurpleHeart Tribute)
If I could walk a mile in the thousands that he has run, I’d feel like a legend too
Setting the stage with an elite standard that leaves many unable to follow suit
Lightning has struck so many times with the strike of his fiery thunder bolts
As the track hears the sound of the phenomenal run of his record making boots
History is still talking of him in many ways and no one dares smear his name
Earning the shouts of our many voices by the way he has changed the game
A man is born, working tirelessly at his craft from which a legend is made 
And his speed defies logics by his height and just the way all his opponents fade
Far away, falling behind in an endless struggle to keep up with him to a race’s end
As history is rewritten with each record run and it’s proven that he’s a legend
And for him we raise the flag of black green and gold, as his glory never fades
In setting standards and erasing marks that truly define a legend’s accolades
On his mark he sets and goes, dipping his head and comes up painted in gold
And now he’s forever a legend, creating heroic stories and folklores to be told
There is no doubt that he came to gallantly mend a broken sport in all his toil
And for us, he’s forever a legend, risen from the humble dust of rural soil
We love and adore the way he bears our national pride of the land of his birth
As a Jamaican star who shines patriotic glory becoming a legend on this earth
Forever A Legend Posted by Oakley Lyle on August 7, 2016 
@ PurpleHeart
Note; I lay no claim to the ownership of this work. (The poet)

The Must Read BEST QUOTES Of Muhammad ALI The Great

The boxing legend died after he was hospitalized June 2 with respiratory issues that were complicated by his long battle with Parkinson’s disease.

Formerly named Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr. until he converted to Islam in 1964, he was loved the world over for the dozens of inspiring and hilarious quotes he said throughout his extraordinary life.

RCV takes a look back at thirty of the best Muhammad Ali quotes ever… ‘Float like a butterfly, Sting like a bee, your hands can’t hit, what your eyes can’t see.’ – Prior to his fight against George Foreman in 1974.

I beat people up.’ 7) ‘Live every day like it’s your last because someday you’re going to be right.’ 8) ‘A man who views the world the same at 50 as he did at 20 has wasted thirty years of his life.’ 9) ‘I done wrestled with an alligator, I done tussled with a whale, handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail; only last week I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick.

18) ‘Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it.

26) ‘The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses—behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.’ 27) ‘He who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.’ 28) ‘It’s lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges, and I believed in myself.’ The post The BEST Ever QUOTES Spoken By Muhammad ALI As The BOXING Legend DIES Aged 74 (Photos And Videos) appeared first on Real Cool Videos . 

Picture of Muhammad Ali in Boxers shorts & gloves.
Come on, hit me

Muhammad Ali's spoken word album from 1963; must read 

Read about it and more to the point, listen to the song.

 

In August 1963, Cassius Clay released a spoken word/musical LP titled "I Am The Greatest." This was before he became the heavyweight champion of the world and renamed himself Muhammad Ali after converting to Islam. Here is the title track from that album, which was also released as two different 7" singles. The first single's b-side was a song called "Will The Real Sonny Liston Please Fall Down," (released after Ali beat Liston), and the second was a cover of Ben E. King's "Stand By Me," both below: Read more

 

Note; I lay no claim to the ownership of this work. (The poet) 

Poem of the day courtesy of Poetry Foundation (Feeds)

Note; I lay no claim to the ownership of these works. (The poet)

Poem of the Day

Poem of the Day: The End and the Beginning (Tue, 21 Aug 2018)
After every war someone has to clean up. Things won’t straighten themselves up, after all. Someone has to push the rubble to the side of the road, so the corpse-filled wagons can pass. Someone has to get mired in scum and ashes, sofa springs, splintered glass, and bloody rags. Someone has to drag in a girder to prop up a wall. Someone has to glaze a window, rehang a door. Photogenic it’s not, and takes years. All the cameras have left for another war. We’ll need the bridges back, and new railway stations. Sleeves will go ragged from rolling them up. Someone, broom in hand, still recalls the way it was. Someone else listens and nods with unsevered head. But already there are those nearby starting to mill about who will find it dull. From out of the bushes sometimes someone still unearths rusted-out arguments and carries them to the garbage pile. Those who knew what was going on here must make way for those who know little. And less than little. And finally as little as nothing. In the grass that has overgrown causes and effects, someone must be stretched out blade of grass in his mouth gazing at the clouds. Wislawa Szymborska, "The End and the Beginning " from Miracle Fair, translated by Joanna Trzeciak. Copyright © 2001 by Joanna Trzeciak.  Used by permission of the author and W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. This selection may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. Source: Miracle Fair: selected poems of Wisława Szymborska(W. W. Norton and Company Inc., 2001) Wisława Szymborska Biography More poems by this author
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Poem of the Day: What He Thought (Mon, 20 Aug 2018)
We were supposed to do a job in Italy and, full of our feeling for ourselves (our sense of being Poets from America) we went from Rome to Fano, met the mayor, mulled a couple matters over (what's a cheap date, they asked us; what's flat drink). Among Italian literati we could recognize our counterparts: the academic, the apologist, the arrogant, the amorous, the brazen and the glib—and there was one administrator (the conservative), in suit of regulation gray, who like a good tour guide with measured pace and uninflected tone narrated sights and histories the hired van hauled us past. Of all, he was the most politic and least poetic, so it seemed. Our last few days in Rome (when all but three of the New World Bards had flown) I found a book of poems this unprepossessing one had written: it was there in the pensione room (a room he'd recommended) where it must have been abandoned by the German visitor (was there a bus of them?) to whom he had inscribed and dated it a month before. I couldn't read Italian, either, so I put the book back into the wardrobe's dark. We last Americans were due to leave tomorrow. For our parting evening then our host chose something in a family restaurant, and there we sat and chatted, sat and chewed, till, sensible it was our last big chance to be poetic, make our mark, one of us asked                                              "What's poetry?" Is it the fruits and vegetables and marketplace of Campo dei Fiori, or the statue there?" Because I was the glib one, I identified the answer instantly, I didn't have to think—"The truth is both, it's both," I blurted out. But that was easy. That was easiest to say. What followed taught me something about difficulty, for our underestimated host spoke out, all of a sudden, with a rising passion, and he said: The statue represents Giordano Bruno, brought to be burned in the public square because of his offense against authority, which is to say the Church. His crime was his belief the universe does not revolve around the human being: God is no fixed point or central government, but rather is poured in waves through all things. All things move. "If God is not the soul itself, He is the soul of the soul of the world." Such was his heresy. The day they brought him forth to die, they feared he might incite the crowd (the man was famous for his eloquence). And so his captors placed upon his face an iron mask, in which he could not speak. That's how they burned him. That is how he died: without a word, in front of everyone.                      And poetry—                                         (we'd all put down our forks by now, to listen to the man in gray; he went on softly)—                   poetry is what he thought, but did not say. Heather McHugh, "What He Thought", from Hinge & Sign: Poems 1968-1993 © 1994 by Heather McHugh and reprinted by permission of Wesleyan University Press. www.wesleyan.edu/wespress Source: Hinge & Sign: Poems 1968-1993(Wesleyan University Press, 1994) Heather McHugh Biography More poems by this author
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Wise Sayings From The Great One; Bob Marley

Note; I lay no claim to the ownership of this work. (The poet)