Quotes about canon, page 7
The Valor of Honor.....
the decisive decision may switch off or lead
our mighty strength down to the ground and powder
the castle to the mouth of the canon
horrified to face the mountain that drain every
dots of stone, into the realm of click and tick tack of
the clock; siphon every sweat to waste until, the
sacrifice gain its pain
refresh not to fade, react not over act a complete
sense, that hold ever defense to face and to cease the
reigning Queen, in the kingdom with the King
power
come always forward for every encounter, wounded
soldiers never leave nor surrender but only
close their eyes and say that 'i shall return ' above
the turmoil clouds of hope
as the victor wait the witnessing ground and the
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poem by Antonio Liao
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À Nîmes
Je me suis engagé sous le plus beau des cieux
Dans Nice la Marine au nom victorieux
Perdu parmi 900 conducteurs anonymes
Je suis un charretier du neuf charroi de Nîmes
L'Amour dit Reste ici Mais là-bas les obus
Épousent ardemment et sans cesse les buts
J'attends que le printemps commande que s'en aille
Vers le nord glorieux l'intrépide bleusaille
Les 3 servants assis dodelinent leurs fronts
Où brillent leurs yeux clairs comme mes éperons
Un bel après-midi de garde à l'écurie
J'entends sonner les trompettes d'artillerie
J'admire la gaieté de ce détachement
Qui va rejoindre au front notre beau régiment
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poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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In Allusion To The French Song. N'entendez Vous Pas Ce Language
CHORUS.
THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
I.
How often have my tears
Invaded your soft ears,
And dropp'd their silent chimes
A thousand thousand times?
Whilst echo did your eyes,
And sweetly sympathize;
But that the wary lid
Their sluces did forbid.
Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
II.
My arms did plead my wound,
Each in the other bound;
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poem by Richard Lovelace
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Kairos - For Spicer Who 'told me not
one will not win readers by cursing
the darkness
that's already in the canon
too many ears are hurt from such an age
lost its ability to hear beyond crash
nor sit still long enough to see
what sun may rise
even that belief, 'sunrise'
is failing
stars are falling
raging ones
gaze only at themselves
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poem by Warren Falcon
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A Philosophy of Heroism
heroes are not easy to come by
heroic acts are a different story.
heroism a flag bestowed unfurled
live in the annals of moral sacrifice.
spilled his guts saving lives of others
courage to suffer and still carry on,
most heroically did so in silence
oh hero hero who do not cry out
his or her deeds carried by waves,
of ethics moral and agreed upon,
live on by consensus annd canon
of each era, we salute you one and all
Oh dear me! is a Nazi soldier a hero
who gave his life for his comrades
of a diseased inhuman ideology
a hero too?
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poem by Shimon Weinroth
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Movement In Black
Simon makes it all come together, perfectly,
placing antiques 'n curio's on dusted black shelves,
window-sil ledges with geometric widgets,
navigating his world, by touch, and by texture.
Simon day-dreams about women and stem cells,
despite Canon Law, and his strict Catholic rearing.
And, he likes to muse on the concept of light,
spectrums, and prisms, though opague to Simon,
still he dusts pleated lamp-shades that house no bulbs;
says he might buy some hi-powered torchere lamps;
lie back in his chaise, absorb the dark warmth
of clear hallogen,
and imagine the sparkle of sunshine on sea-glass.
And, no one could possibly comprehend,
Simons' world of black imaged movement,
or how it feels to be gifted at birthe,
as an inspiration with Crosses to shoulder.
And of course, there's the expectations from those,
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poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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A brave Field Cornet
From a hillock
two Boer commandoes
ride into an English camp
and a few of the British are shot,
a lot are caught
and most flee away.
In the direction of the Tuli river
the enemy are followed in haste
where they join comrades
driving a ox wagon
and the Boers are marksmen
and the English flee again
to find shelter in a farmhouse.
The house is shot to pieces
and for the third time on one day
the British flee again
and the next day,
the Boer commando captures nine wagons
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Ballade Of The Headless Man
(after A.G. Visser)
On a distant road through some hillocks
a young Boer greets his pretty wife
and the robust man
holds her against him for a moment.
Choir:
In the sky there’s a moon
hanging sickle,
when I pass the bottom of a cliff
where I notice a man on his horse biting at its bridle.
Later when the weather gets cloudy
and bolts of blue lightning fall like shots about me
something happens that can take away a brave man’s courage
before the first drops of rain come down like gunshots.
When the hoofs of a horse thunder past
while a church bell rings of midnight in the distance
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poem by Gert Strydom
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At a enemy airfield
Camouflaged, hidden in some underbrush
we lay and watch with special binoculars,
scanning the enemy facilities
while the night is setting in
and twilight has magic pertaining to it
some bright lights are being switched on
and some oil or another mechanical liquid
gleams out on the tarmac
where we see some enemy Mig-23 fighter jets
being readied for war
and then some more taxiing out
standing ready for takeoff on the runway
waiting on the arrival of
a small private jet,
(maybe with military officers landing)
and with a small device
exact positions are obtained,
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poem by Gert Strydom
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To A Queen (In Answer To Alfred Lord Tennyson) (Pastiche)
Tempered, complicated – O you that bold
send armies from your office to roam the earth
spoiled by charms, power from birth
your deception has been told since the kings of old.
Victoria, - from your royal face,
from your lips to your brow
snobbishness did flow,
without grace, you treated my people base.
And should your weakness, be reported everywhere,
in gossip and jokes in your fallen empire that declines with time
then let this verse, this rhyme
tell of the worthlessness and how without care,
Then – your soldiers made mistakes,
and in a wild march to scorch the earth, women and children did fall
while you sat enthroned behind a palace-wall
while under trampling boots, canon fire the earth shakes –
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poem by Gert Strydom
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