Sententia

Use “Democracy” in a Sentence

  

USE “DEMOCRACY” IN A SENTENCE

 

Democracy is power,

Power of the people,

The people exercising majority rule,

Majority rule in defense and support of human rights, including minority rights,

Rights upheld and protected by the rule of law,

Rule of law ensuring free and fair elections,

Free and fair—and sufficiently frequent—elections supported by a multi-party system joined to active political participation,

Political participation of an educated and empowered polity functioning beyond minimal levels of subsistence,

Polity that insists on the transparency and accountability of their rulers,

Rulers who govern through robust democratic institutions that maintain the separation of powers and check the abuse of power,

Institutions that advance peace, social justice, economic freedom, indeed, all forms of human development.

 

Snapshots from History (More)

 

Confucius is considered the greatest sage of traditional China. When he purportedly said, “It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop,” he was not talking about breakfast.

 

Chinese Breakfast

Zero was invented in India when Hindu philosophers made great efforts to empty their minds. They came up with nothing.

 

Hindu Sanyasi

During the late forties, a struggling American artist refurbishing his New York City apartment spilled yellow paint on a large canvas he had laid out on the floor—liking what he saw, he decided to do it again, this time with red paint. Thus was born the legend of Jackson Pollock, master of Abstract Expressionism.

 

Number 16 (1949) by Jackson Pollock

Sententia

 

Snapshots from History (More)

 

Greek physicians would diagnose their patients by tasting their ear wax. Needless to say, medical school enrollments jumped after this practice was discontinued.

 

Doctor Treating a Patient, Greek Oil Flask, 480-470 BCE

Indonesia’s most popular tourist destination, the 8th-century Borobudur, is the largest Buddhist temple in the world, made up of ascending levels that represent the three planes of existence in the Buddhist universe—Desire, Forms, and Enlightenment. Tourists who climb to the third level of the temple invariably experience Enlightenment, namely, that it was a good idea to go on vacation.

 

Borobudur Temple, view from above

 

When Lenin attacked the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg on October 25, 1917, ousting the Provisional Government of Kerensky, he promised the Russian people, “Peace, Land, and Bread.” What they got was Stalin.

 

Stalin (2018) by Andrei Mironov

Two Dawn Poems

 

PROLOGUE

Gloaming is gradually pushing night away.

Casting a magician’s spell, day sweeps

His arm in a wide arc, left to right.

The sky submits to his behest.

Darkness retreats faster than low tide pulling back its forces,

Fading until morning is a garment washed many times.

Dawn is a gray wolf’s coat streaked with white clouds.

Blue and pink light diffuse, a river entering a delta.

Moon and stars now gleam faintly, soft as kindness.

Daylight is spilling, gentle waterfall, over the window sill.

The house begins to stir, a living animal.

I hear tinkling utensils, clattering plates, sloshing glasses.

Coffee is percolating, a gurgling snorkel.

Birds let loose warbles, sinuous wrist movements of a dancer.

Clearing throats repeatedly, roosters do not understand

Only once is necessary to remind everyone day is here.

Din rises, tittering audience before a performance.

Turning squeakily, a faucet drills water into a pail.

Commuters gun their engines. Motorcycles roar, punching holes in paper.

Chaos breaks out, a bull bounding free from a maze.

WINTER DAWN

In first wintry morning light

The window sill peeling paint

Has grown a beard of ice

Overnight. Glacial darkness

Now is luminous chill. Wan

Beams bounce about, silent.

Walls, doors, bed, and sofa

Glow like the full moon.

Hidden behind the horizon, a lantern

Reddens the sky, blue and gray.

Winsome, time turns, smiles

For the photographer, who

Traps the moment in amber

As eternity enters the room.

 

 

Wheatstacks (End of Summer) (1890-91) by Claude Monet

Three Dusk Poems

Afternoon has lost its fierceness…

Afternoon has lost its fierceness like the death of summer grass, dry and crackling underfoot.

Dappled shadows fuse, separate, and coalesce—grayly shifting furtive forest animal.

Faintly the wind rises, gently kicking into circular motion fronds spinning in the liquid eyes of ponds.

Branches wave back and forth, swings, doors opening and closing, leaves entering and leaving.

Black asphalt roads glow, windswept dark coal fed by hot billows firing an old bronze censer.

Orange cats, writhing, lithe, play on jade grass, shiny crabs jostling, toys scattered at day’s end.

Trees, outspreading dream catcher nets, poise against the horizon, tracing graceful fractals against the sky.

Daylight reddens, crushing pink roses against white cheeks of clouds.

Weakening, the hour bathes in vermilion blooms drifting in the darkening ocean.

Threatening black outbursts, thick clouds close to shore migrate toward the sun now deepening crimson with fatigue.

Remotely, obscured by a diaphanous curtain of rain, boats fade in and out, motes on a planetary visage.

Pummeled by distant turbulence, outlying storms, swirling fists, hurl violently into a far constellation.

DARKENING AFTERNOONS

I love the wooden beauty of darkening afternoons

Softly varnishing the oldness of the sky,

Weathered like the brows of studious hills.

Stillness dwells in the air like a great thinker,

Pondering forgotten equations, hidden runes.

Clouds are flecked with the fires of beaten copper,

Skies limpid with the blues of pale oceans.

Shadows weave fingers through grass looms

As fields gaze blankly at the sun.

Birds grasp at the last utterances of a prayer,

Day vanishes like a broken pot.

Dusk is redolent with the aged interiors of sleeping cabinets, richly inhabited.

THE JEWELER

Afternoon is a jeweler

Setting hours in gold,

As silver glinting waves

Slap the garnet shore.

Lost in Thought (2021) by Renz Baluyot