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The Collective: The Porcelain Doe

Eloquently, she skid and hop
In the summer haze and mistral fog
Never let the mirth to stop
Serendipitous legs of a scallywag
Gallop out of a hungry trap
And wave along the rainbow flag

She ran with the alacrity of snow
Plummeting sveltely and gracefully
Do you escape? Do you chase? We do not know
Exuberant from an enigma that vexes me dearly
Your resilient swings seldom goes slow
And it concerns me unfathomably

In blithe, you skip, hop, amble
Forgetting about your frail rendour
That porcelains dare not trample
Or reside in gelid pieces on the floor
I am here to pick your shards too supple
But only you can find the girdling core

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poem by Norman Santos
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Intimate Relationship

Intimate Relationship

Saw the rusty old tramp-ship on the glittering
blues sea mowing cumbersome eastward.
My god, I knew her, more than many, had spent
two years in her hot interior and long nights
listening to her reassuring heart beats.

When sea was rough she rode the waves like
a swan, shuddered sometimes as to get sea off
her deck. Here she was again, under alien flag,
disappearing slowly as a dream remembered.

Wondered if she was on her way to Caribbean?
She liked it there, warm water good for her hull.
And like me she knew every little port, she could
birth blindfolded. Glad to see her again, yet sad
feel as I betrayed her for leaving; pitiable she, not
anchored in the inlet of peace by now.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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America's Journey To Peace

America's Journey To Peace
9/11/01 A Day of Many Heroe's

Terrorist intruders dropped one morning
from the sky.

U.S. Citizens became warrior combatants,
fighting back hurling them howling to their deaths.

Americas peace challenged
we could not, would not! be pushed over the edge.

We awakened united in anger
transformed into purpose
to perpetuate throughout the whole world
American's hurt, wounded, thousands dead,
would not be our end, but our begining.

Our flag still waves for freedom
from the homes of all America in a united

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poem by Esther Brush
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American Narrative

i grew up with the promises
sweet, golden, yet never fulfilled
i worked the meaneal jobs for livin wages, only there wasnt much to live on, merely exist
from sad ghetto windows
hollow, burned out
i watched snow fall like jesus
renewing the earth for us to dirty
felt no reform in prison but the solitude
held the flag high if no other reason
worshipped the neon gods of night
spilled into the ragged eyes
try, buy, something new
only nothing is new
only innocence that we dirty
i saw dreamers killed
no future but the one wanted
gorged myself on the banquets of glory
lived on the crumbs of remorse
danced in the street so violent as a matador
each step as if fate held

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poem by Richard Poor
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Francis Magalona

You taught me how to love our country,
Through your music and poetry,
You had raised and lionized our flag,
Preached patriotism through rap.

You promoted our own culture,
Made no discrimination of color,
Showcased the fairness of Philippines,
As the best place for us to live in.

'Mga Kababayan Ko' boldly sang,
Spoken by ev'ry street tongue,
'Ako ay Pilipino' proudly said,
Still be told even though you're dead.

Thank you for makin' me proud,
By making brown nation avowed,
Three stars and the sun is proud of you,
And will never forget you, Kiko.

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poem by Juneil Sechico
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A Soldier's Prayer

This poem is written for our soldiers over seas. May God be with them all.

A Soldier's Prayer
By: Adam M. Snow

O' Lord my God I pray;
for I am far away;
on a land, not my home;
I'm on my knees and all alone;
as I fight for freedom and peace;
I ask, 'Let this bloodshed cease.

I am fighting a war;
on a distant foreign shore;
fighting for my family and friends;
hoping that this would soon end.
I bow my head to a flag-draped casket;
to a soldier, not a rank past private.

I pray for salvation for all soldiers dead and gone;

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poem by Adam M. Snow
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John Wasson

Oh! the dew-wet grass of the meadow in North Carolina
Through which Rebecca followed me wailing, wailing,
One child in her arms, and three that ran along wailing,
Lengthening out the farewell to me off to the war with the British,
And then the long, hard years down to the day of Yorktown.
And then my search for Rebecca,
Finding her at last in Virginia,
Two children dead in the meanwhile.
We went by oxen to Tennessee,
Thence after years to Illinois,
At last to Spoon River.
We cut the buffalo grass,
We felled the forests,
We built the school houses, built the bridges,
Leveled the roads and tilled the fields
Alone with poverty, scourges, death-
If Harry Wilmans who fought the Filipinos
Is to have a flag on his grave
Take it from mine!

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Trafalgar Day

LAURELS, bring laurels, sheaves on sheaves,
Till England's boughs are bare of leaves!
Soon comes the flower more rare, more dear
Than any laurel this year weaves--
The Aloe of the hundredth year
Since from the smoke of Trafalgar
He passed to where the heroes are,
Nelson, who passed and yet is here,
Whose dust is fire beneath our feet,
Whose memory mans our fleet.

Laurels, bring laurels, since they hold
His England's tears in each green fold,
His England's joy, his England's pride,
His England's glories manifold.
Yet what was Victory since he died?
And what was Death since he lives yet,
Above a Nation's worship set,
Above her heroes glorified?--

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poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Day After Greed

walking the greying streets,
between the broken down
and vacant buildings....
through the alleyways..

concrete graveyards...
the hint of smoke hangs
in the air.... the stain of soot,
the taste of death... lingers....

i closed my eyes and saw
the bodies... strewn in the street
like trash blown against a fence...
eyes wild, faces contorted, ...
death, and it's brothers and sisters...

storefronts dark and ominous,
gas pumps stand alone like angry
sores, oozing into the emptiness.
great black birds fly, casting shadows

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Waving of the Red

It is a sad and cruel fate the country’s coming to,
And there’s no use in striking, ‘so what are we to do?’
“I know what we could do, but then, there might be traitors near,
And things are running in my head that only mates should hear!”
The world cannot go on like this, in spite of all that’s said,
And millions now are waiting for – the Waving of the Red.

“Last night as I lay slipping out a vision came to me;
A girl with face as fair and grand as ever man might see –
Her form was like the statues raised to Liberty in France,
And in her hand a blood-red flag was wrapped around a lance.
She shook the grand old colour loose, she smiled at me and said;
“Go bid your brothers gather for the Waving of the Red.”

poem by Henry Lawson
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