DOWN BUT NOT OUT

By Ahmed Yahaya Joe

1. “Abraham Lincoln. Honest Abe Lincoln. Possibly the most successful politician in American history – abolished slavery, united the country after the Civil War to preserve the union, modernised the economy and put America on a path to greatness. But Lincoln was not always a raging success.
In 1831 at the age of 23, he owned a general store in New Salem, Illinois. The town was booming. However, his choice of business partners wasn’t great, and the business was run into the ground. Abe then ran for the Illinois General Assembly. He lost. Lincoln then bought a half a share in another General store. This store also went bust, his business partner died, and Abe – who borrowed money to invest – was broke. He spent several years paying off the debt.

Lincoln ran for US Senate in 1854, but was defeated. In 1858, he ran for the Senate again and won the popular vote. But through a quirk of the electoral process at that time, the Illinois State Legislature chose Lincoln’s rival anyway. This guy could not catch a break. However, he managed to come back from all this and was elected President in 1860. He is generally considered to be the greatest American president in history. He was perhaps, too good a president. His achievements inspired a wing-nut – who hated Lincoln for abolishing slavery – to shoot him in the back of the head while at the theatre. A tragic for America.”

2. “In a boxing match, you can lose the first 14 rounds. All you have to do is nail your opponent in the last 10 seconds of the 15th round and you’re the world’s heavyweight champion” – Ross Perot.

3. “At the start of the Munich Games in August 1972, Lasse Viren, a 23-year-old Finnish policeman from the small village of Myrskyla, was not widely known. Indeed, the heats of the 10,000 metres were his Olympic debut. But when he stumbled and fell just before the halfway mark in the final his chance of victory seemed to have gone.

The Tunisian Mohamed Gammoudi (who had won the 5,000 metres at the 1968 Olympics) tripped over Viren and gave up two laps later. But the Finnish runner calmly got to his feet and chased his way back into contention, overtaking Britain’s David Bedford, the long-time leader, to not only win the gold medal, but set a world record of 27min 38.4sec. Ten days later, he also won the 5,000m (in an Olympic record time) – a double that he repeated in Montreal in 1976”

CELESTIAL ASS

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The Pastor entered his donkey in a race and
it won.
The Pastor was so pleased with the donkey
that he entered it in the race again and it won again.
The local paper read:
PASTOR’S ASS OUT FRONT.

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of
publicity that he ordered the Pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.
The next day the local paper headline read:
BISHOP SCRATCHES
PASTOR’S ASS.

This was too much for the Bishop so he
ordered the Pastor to get
rid of the donkey.
The Pastor decided to give it to a Nun in a
nearby convent.
The local paper, hearing of the news, posted
the following headline the next day:
NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.

The Bishop fainted.
He informed the Nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey so she sold it to a farm for $10.
The next day the paper read:
NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10

This was too much for the Bishop so he
ordered the Nun to buy back
the donkey and lead it to the plains where
it could run wild.
The next day the headlines read:
NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE.

The Bishop was buried the next day.

The moral of the story is . . . being concerned about public opinion can bring you much grief and misery . . . even shorten your life.
So be yourself and enjoy life.
Stop worrying about everyone else’s ass
and just cover your own !!!
You’ll be a lot happier and live longer!

Have a great week guys & dolls ♥️

THE MAN IN THE MOON (From Everyone hates the English)

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A review by Faye Diabel https://fayediabel.wordpress.com/

Yas Niger’s “The Man in the Moon”

“It is a fascinating tale of a culturally engaged street corner preacher, a usually misunderstood necessary oddity in major metropolises built upon colonial legacy – where the non indigenous culturally marginalized, some of them forcibly brought to build the same thing they, now, are blamed to have polluted. It is, a story said from its characters and supporting onlookers’ perspective, an insightful fiction.

“The character development focused on three actors who kept on yanking the story into motion. It is like a pyramid standing on Leroy – a self-anointed ambassador of a motley group that he himself reveals his estrangement from, depending on its state of affairs – as revealed by his following statement “… I much rather say I am black and proud, than I am a proud African …” Therefore, it is safe to say that Leroy’s sense of belonging, vis-à-vis Africa, is selective, although there is a dose of Garveyism in his preaching that all black people are from Africa. His consciousness, which was supposed to be the key to his inner peace, might very well be considered as the basis of his tragic state of being.

“Then comes Mrs. Gregory, the essential story spinner – a provoker Leroy couldn’t live without, who summarizes the bad and the good, the two sides of the coin, of western civilization – the target of Leroy’s preaching; and then Henry, a dog given a humane characterization, a dog with a mind, caprices, and feeling; he too helped run the story to its destination. As much as they get along, there is a deep-seated love and hate. To me, it seems that Leroy loves Barbara but hates Mrs. Gregory. On his fateful day, he accepted Barbara’s invitation – as Leroy the man, but Mr. Freeborn got ambushed by Mrs. Gregory’ Caucasian embedded anxiety about black men’s motives.

“I knew, and mingled with, some Leroy Freeborns; fascinating people to be with, While perching on their stage – under the bright sun, until it is time to get home, when the sea is done swallowing the sun and the moon’ reminder that it is time now to have an inner preaching with one’s pillow, to say the least, or the time to cuddle and nurture love ones; and then you wonder whether they would prefer that the sun will never set on their day to day reality. He is the man in the moon, while standing on his pedestal, fading into the ghost of his shadow just a step down from his makeshift launching pad.

(Some excerpts from “The Man in the Moon” Everyone hates the English)

“It is not an insult to call me black, it is purely descriptive. Africa is firstly a geographical location, an address. It is a continent with more than one race on it, Negros and Arabs are indigenous to it. Without the slightest risk of sounding the least controversial, you will agree that there are Caucasians native to it, that means Caucasian-Africans. So when you call someone an African-American, you are also referring to Arabs and other Caucasians of African origins. But don’t you only wish to refer to the blacks, when you say African-American?” Leroy shouts at the top of his voice. The opening remarks ought to be delivered loudest, so pedestrians can hear him clearly as they go by. But the words are as important as the volume.

“The origin of the term black for Negros is indefinite. It is easy to guess that Negros were the first to call themselves black. All through history, naturally occurring darkness with daily year round nights in the tropics, has been associated with blackness and it is ideal to use black as a synonym for extreme darkness. The trend remains still, even if black is considered improper. The degraded imagery deduced from the term black can only be expunged by the achievements of those who can not escape it, if they wear it and must live with it. Skin colour can not be removed like some piece of clothing.” Leroy was being just assertive enough to reel in listeners. The first few pedestrians paused and veered closer to hear more.

His next line determines if they stayed. It is imperative to retain the earliest callers, their interest tends to attract others and a steady increase in numbers builds more interests. People are habitual copy cats, they only linger if others do. The material he delivers will do the rest and Leroy Freeborn always has good material.

“The most descriptive term best suited for the Negro’s visibly dark complexion is black, just like white is best suited for Caucasians.” Leroy spoke forcefully, then he repeats a summary of his earliest words, for the immediate benefit of the new arrivals joining the first few who heard him commence his rant for the day.

“Even if a popular law stops the formal use of blacks to identify Negros in its entirety, black will still be used for those purposes it is best suited for. The truth is, Negros are best identified as blacks and the home of all black people is Africa, our proud mother land. But going by the recent expression of freedom in our beloved Africa, I much rather say I am black and proud, than I am a proud African.”

A collective groan from the dozen or so people already listening in front of Leroy’s small raised platform, greeted his last words. As usual, the indefinite insinuation of the shared groan didn’t fully register approval or disapproval.

Twenty five years of standing on the same spot on the broad sidewalk, with the kind permission of the late owner of the nearby toy store, under the blue morning skies of England’s capital city, every Saturday in summer, spring and Autumn has taught the sixty year old native Jamaican the ropes of the demanding talking trade.

Leroy appeals to the intellect of just anyone, from unkempt homeless bums to unemployed graduates, from housewives on shopping runs to tourists, who only speak enough English to understand directions. Leroy can work a crowd into a frenzy and answer reasonable questions or hateful queries hurled at him with the articulate elegance of age and much knowledge. He had regulars, some have heard him for over a decade. A few regulars arrived and increased the growing numbers.

Leroy acknowledges a few nods from familiar faces and continued his tirade. It was going to be an interesting day, the small crowd appeared genuinely interested.

“I own the name Black Man! It is me, I claim it as mine and my proud identity. But who are you sir?” Leroy points at a white man in the front, not one of his regulars. The man smiles back at him, amused. It was a normal response.

“Come on people, don’t be shy. Someone speak to me. Are you white, if I am black?” Leroy looked at yet another white man, a recent regular. Then at another, but still no answer was offered. They were being careful not to walk into a trap. They were there to listen to his harangue and not to engage him in a discussion.

“I am Caucasian,” a male voice from the back said.
Obscured from Leroy’s veiw, the fellow didn’t reveal himself but it was easy to tell the voice belonged to the man in a black leather jacket. His clean shaven head gave him away, not the plain uninterested mien he unsuccessfully tried to pass off.
Vital tip Leroy: Those crazy bald heads don’t keep straight uninterested faces.

EVERYONE HATES THE ENGLISH - Small
EVERYONE HATES THE ENGLISH
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/559891
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http://okadabooks.com/book/about/9867

THESE CLICHÉS

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Do they reap what they sow?
I’ve wondered as long as I come.
Often enough it has been as before,
They bury the hive yet have the comb.

Spare the rod and lose the child,
Same as many who didn’t at all.
The least expected child went wild
While the worst possible stands tall.

Surely and steady wins the said race,
But the rash in haste, are long gone to lose.
The patient keeps the bone or the chase,
The flesh it devoured only with its nose.

One step at a time is the long walk,
It has shown so many their goal.
That more had lived this same talk,
They still are now staring at a wall.

Rome was not built in a single day;
But it was conceived in just one.
What just any man really is anyway
Was a mere thought that was none.

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AA- THE POET IN THE POEM (Cover)
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POEMS: Poetry, The Funeral of Ice, Rightfully, Races, Young Again, Love Birds & Heart Dies Last

POETRY

What tribe will have you dance its folk lore
Anyhow you wish and still call you right
Like poetry would do with words for sure,
Misspelling and not punctuating left and right?

You married the spouse and planted the trees,
Amassed the wealth and ensured the health,
Won over the law and gained with the fees;
Even books don’t give the freedom of a poet.

THE FUNERAL OF ICE

The making of he who is
Has origins in the air he is.
Made in secret, carried about.
Revealed openly, in and out.

Gathered in the skies high,
To roam as mist up high.
It bursts the banks it fills
And cracks downwards to fill.

The hardening effect of frost;
Granite and so harsh a host,
Conquers the whole land
So that air can’t lend a hand.

Mightily the season comes
When the diamond becomes
Water again and it all ends;
Melting into a liquid that fends.

RIGHTFULLY

Your rights start where mine stops
Or is that, stops where mine starts?
When we both make the golden rule tops,
Then we greatly succeed in our mutual acts.

We have seen rights cross and overlap
With such ease and care not deliberate,
Not like the water traveling to my tap
Or as simple as the thought words I ate.

This air you bought across a counter
Comes to me all free, if not as pure.
Your noise carries across an encounter.
My displeasure for it, I seek to cure.

What efforts I put in to ensure that
Where you messed up mine doesn’t sit
Can just end your right where it start
And start mine off without a care for it.

RACES

They get set, ready and go.
To where? God only will know.
Revolting round earthly tracks
Which knows not their tasks.

Their quests are not visible
Or even humanly sensible.
Competing with complexions,
Hairs, noses and eyes in nations.

What wins these long races
That recognizes their faces,
Will not justify the future;
For races aren’t their nature.

YOUNG AGAIN

You are only young once,
Blossomed to take your chance;
To scent the world’s spring
With the fruit kinds you bring

LOVE BIRDS

Two birds perch on a tree;
One a he, the other a she.
Like any such human couple,
They couple into love’s trouble.

They take off into the sky,
Together dancing as they fly.
Like the early romance,
So full of sweet substance.

Returning to a common nest
Gives stability, if not rest.
Like marriage does at a stage,
With emotions and with age.

When they’re off in the sky,
In opposite singles they fly.
Like your everyday spouses;
Submerged in life’s sauces,

Then one bird perches alone,
Anyone of the birds on its own.
Like any spouse takes its turn
To wait the other’s solo run.

When the other bird is back,
With a petal tuck in its beak;
Like its partner it will find
Its affection swallows its kind.

HEART DIES LAST

Where is life? If you may ask;
Not numbed by faith’s old task.
Is it with living body or wise mind,
In fountained heart or soul to find?