Quotes about flag, page 104
Incident of the French Camp
I
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.
II
Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall."
0ut 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
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poem by Robert Browning from Cavalier Tunes (1842)
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If You Need A Reminder Just Look In My Fridge
I remember you, you and you.
But that's all I do.
Don't think you can invade my life.
When you are no longer part of it.
And you will never be again.
That storm has come and gone.
I've watch too many dawns by myself.
I picked up too many of the pieces from your aftermath of your destruction.
It is not a reluctance.
It's a absolute refusal.
Only a black flag waves.
The absence of all light.
The negative energies, the negative auras I can feel them when you come creeping around my front door.
Baton down the hatches it is time to prepare for war.
That is all feel.
Fire before I get caught in the cross fire.
They will be no more warnings shots.
Just get the hell out of here.
Let god give me the hand of fear.
And drive it right into your hearts.
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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A new 9/ 11 Poem..Osama Can You see?
It's hard To believe
That eight years have come and gone
It seems like only yesterday...
When thousands of US..laid
The wounds they left..
Cut us so very deep..
Now on our minds..
Most likely forever, we'll keep
Didn't we try to be good neighbors?
Food, medicines, dams for flood control...
Yet... for our own tears?
They've endlessly flowed
And
For our torn hearts... bleeding...
Souls pain beyond pain...
And sad...
Yet from with-in comes something...
That they never knew we had
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poem by Clyde Bryson
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The limitations of youth
I'd like to be a cowboy an' ride a fiery hoss
Way out into the big an' boundless west;
I'd kill the bears an' catamounts an' wolves I come across,
An' I'd pluck the bal' head eagle from his nest!
With my pistols at my side,
I would roam the prarers wide,
An' to scalp the savage Injun in his wigwam would I ride--
If I darst; but I darsen't!
I'd like to go to Afriky an' hunt the lions there,
An' the biggest ollyfunts you ever saw!
I would track the fierce gorilla to his equatorial lair,
An' beard the cannybull that eats folks raw!
I'd chase the pizen snakes
An' the 'pottimus that makes
His nest down at the bottom of unfathomable lakes--
If I darst; but I darsen't!
I would I were a pirut to sail the ocean blue,
With a big black flag aflyin' overhead;
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poem by Eugene Field
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Casabianca
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.
The flames roll'd on...he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He call'd aloud..."Say, father,say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
"Speak, father!" once again he cried
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poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Tri Color
Tri color may be furled tomorrow in the sky
We raise our head and try
Look! It is our national flag
Freedom is there and in bag
Yes, we have made progress
Clean roads are their with smooth surface
Yet we need to strive hard and chase
All our dreams that were not realized in some cases
We look towards stable nation
Cordial atmosphere with strong relation
We are seen with high hope
Our progress is constant and non stop
We lack many things
As new nation we may miss certain things
Yet some lapses are not to be forgotten
The basket is certainly having few eggs as rotten
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Poor Kitty Popcorn
Did you ever hear the story of the loyal cat? Meyow!
Who was faithful to the flag, and ever follow'd that? Meyow!
Oh, she had a happy home beneath a southern sky,
But she pack'd her goods and left it when our troups came nigh,
And she fell into the collumn with a low glad cry, Meyow!
Poor Kitty Popcorn!
Burried in a snow drift now
Never more shall ring the music of your charming song, Meyow!
Never more shall ring the music of your charming song, Meyow!
Round her neck she wore a ribbon -- she was black as jet -- Meyow!
And at once a gallant claim'd her for a soldier's per -- Meyow!
All the perils of the battle and the march she bore,
Climbing on her master's shoulder when her feet were sore,
Whisp'ring in his with wonder at the cannon's roar, Meyow!
Now the "cruel war is over," and the troups disband -- Meyow!
Kitty follows as a pilgrim in the northern land -- Meyow!
Ah! but sorrow overtakes her, and her master dies,
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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A Dark Day without Rain
The General stood looking in the mirror
Perfectly attired, Cap a Pied.
He turned to me and said
'We must not delay this, Mister Marshall.
This bitter cup that fate has handed me'
I handed him his sword in silence.
We'd be fighting in the hills
Were it up to me,
but even I knew that our men
were starving, Surrounded,
there could be no victory.
Traveler was mounted in an instant
Few looked finer on a horse than
Our Robert Lee.
Under flag of truce we rode
to the McLean House,
there to await the modern Ulysses.
Grant rode up dressed in a Sergent's uniform,
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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Bernanke's Hanky-Panky
Bernanke's hanky-panky
and economics cranky.
reduces rates for yankee,
Wall Street, once sleek and swanky,
finds bonuses asea.
Bearded wonders lanky
are sure to break the bank we
must turn towards with 'thank ye! '
for subprime loans now manky
with whose rates few agree.
Thus Freddy Mac and Fanny
Mae may be acting whacky,
Fed window back-to-backy
is looking all too tacky
bankrupting Indymacky
We'll pull out white flag hanky,
illusions sank, at sea, see
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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My Friends
My friends without shields walk on the target
It is late the windows are breaking
My friends without shoes leave
What they love
Grief moves among them as a fire among
Its bells
My friends without clocks turn
On the dial they turn
They part
My friends with names like gloves set out
Bare handed as they have lived
And nobody knows them
It is they that lay the wreaths at the milestones it is their
Cups that are found at the wells
And are then chained up
My friends without feet sit by the wall
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poem by William Stanley Merwin
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