Quotes about flag, page 86
That Will Be The Last Reunion
i assure myself, i was lost,
in that reunion, their faces are no longer the same
their noses are elongated
and their words are
smelling like
dead fish their vision about us float like stinging jellyfish
the world has changed a lot, old friends are tied
to broken families
ex-girlfriends have become wild grasses in the forests
nothing and no one is as tamed as that old closeness
that knows
what sympathy was all about
the perfume of empathy
is lost in the air of indifference
nothing good spreads there
i listen a lot and i have heard what i must vomit
everything ends at ten o'clock in the evening
and then i flag a taxi
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Alcázar
The General now lives in town;
He's eighty odd, they say;
You'll see him strolling up and down
The Prada any day.
He goes to every football game,
The bull-ring knows his voice,
And when the people cheer his name
Moscardo must rejoice.
Yet does he, in the gaiety
Of opera and ball,
A dingy little cellar see,
A picture on a wall?
A portrait of a laughing boy
Of sixteen singing years . . .
Oh does his heart dilate with joy,
Or dim his eyes with tears?
And can he hear a wistful lad
Speak on the telephone?
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poem by Robert William Service
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Take Your Place!
Blame me not for too calm a face, in midst of a storm,
Baring not the turmoils within, wearing their disguises thin,
On tunes when the heart danced on the cadence of those times
With you at their helm, carrying me along, lighting- a tremor
Of your lips, before a streak of your laughter, the wind their song
Me, the free bird stranded in their shadows, seeking the solace
Of your cage, fluttering like sheaves of corn in sun's embrace,
My flag of surrender, thus wooed; how can I not let you win,
Above the din, drive away my sleep, ransack my dreams
Rob me of my world, take me captive, sweep me away,
To your shores that rock me like a cradle, on rocks so grey
My heart lit like lamps as they blow out again and again,
Let us see who shall tire and bare their naked shame
Even if you turn away your face, I shall wait on these ways
For the storm to blow, till time has come for you to take your place.
Seema.joglekar
4th August-2012
poem by Seema joglekar
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My American Flag
Flag of the brave
Victory's only passage
With the Azure night
The dash of the fire ablaze
The stripe of pearly snow
Smybol of a victory
America's Victory
Soldiers true and brave
Trudging in the winter snow
Through the dark, hidden passage
The single, small fire ablaze
For I am of the dark night
Yet in my night:
I cry for victory,
I set my enemies ablaze,
For I am of the Brave
Within the hidden passage
The wind, the rain, the snow
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poem by Maria Robbins
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Whisper Softly, Stainless Lilies
WHISPER softly, stainless Lilies,
As you fold each snowy cup
Over soldiers who are sleep,
With their war-tents folded up.
Bear to them our loving message,
In thy sweet unwritten speech;
Chime, white bells, above them softly,
Echoes only angels teach.
Tell them, Roses, as you wither,
Tho' their dust shall heed you not;
Still by song and flag and blossom
We would prove them unforgot.
Show them, Pansy's purple shadow,
Through thy heart of golden bloom,
How the light of deeds heroic
Overlies the darkened tomb.
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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems (1879)
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Drafted
The biggest moment in our lives was that when first he cried,
From that day unto this, for him, we've struggled side by side.
We can recount his daily deeds, and backwards we can look,
And proudly live again the time when first a step he took.
I see him trudging off to school, his mother at his side,
And when she left him there alone she hurried home and cried.
And then the sturdy chap of eight that was, I proudly see,
Who packed a little grip and took a fishing trip with me.
Among the lists of boys to go his name has now appeared;
To us has come the sacrifice that mothers all have feared;
And though we dread the parting hour when he shall march away,
We love him and the Flag too much to ask of him to stay.
His baby ways shall march with him, and every joy we've had,
Somewhere in France some day shall be a little brown-eyed lad;
A toddler and a child at school, the chum that once I knew
Shall wear our country's uniform, for they've been drafted, too.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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The Falling Of Thrones
Above the din of commerce, above the clamor and rattle
Of labor disputing with riches, of Anarchists' threats and groans,
Above the hurry and hustle and roar of that bloodless battle,
Where men are fighting for riches. I hear the falling of thrones.
I see no savage host, I hear no martial drumming,
But down in the dust at our feet lie the useless crowns of kings;
And the mighty spirit of Progress is steadily coming, coming,
And the flag of one republic abroad to the world he flings.
The Universal Republic, where worth, not birth, is royal;
Where the lowliest born may climb on a self-made ladder to fame;
Where the highest and proudest born, if he be not true and loyal,
Shall find no masking title to cover and gild his shame.
Not with the bellow of guns and not with sabres whetting,
But with growing minds of men is waged this swordless fray;
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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Day Is Done
nuclear fission, sins of omission,
hide your eyes, buy the lies!
hearts gone numb, minds struck dumb,
the flesh dies, stink and flies.
roll down the window, just past tomorrow,
trading souls, fighting for control.
politicians kiss and tell, on the road to hell,
the fire gone cold, nothing left to hold.
broken down, running on empty.
packs of wolves roam the cities.
children's bodies down in the alleys,
nowhere to run, day is done!
nowhere to run, day is done!
the curse of invasion, profitable occasions.
fly the flag, drums and bodybags.
different shades and colors, forgotten brothers,
it's easier to kill, than it is to feel!
the cries and the voices, ghosts of our choices,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The mast Hangs Aft
The Mast hangs aft; we lower our Top-sails.
seeking a birth, aptly captain conns the ship
the vessel bears under the course, furls on trail,
we strike the flag, pull it down upon the cup;
The helm is 'hard a weather', we stow the hold,
the mizzen 's abaft, we gaze land in niep tides,
seaward to the land, course offing and bold.
ship rides a thwart, then betwixt wind and tide.
Ebony trees. Darkened vastness, we abreast,
quarter winds in favor, we lay the quoil on shore.
A whisper rides overset, cold spell's obverse,
sudden of darkness fell, time dissembled yore.
In mist we hear a hymn, icy cords of tensed lyre
numb we launch hoe, maids beseeched, beg;
unintelligibly, our minds freeze, at sound eerie;
accordment passive, and offing, fore to clegg.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Dead Boy
The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction,
A green bough from Virginia's aged tree,
And none of the county kin like the transaction,
Nor some of the world of outer dark, like me.
A boy not beautiful, nor good, nor clever,
A black cloud full of storms too hot for keeping,
A sword beneath his mother's heart—yet never
Woman bewept her babe as this is weeping.
A pig with a pasty face, so I had said,
Squealing for cookies, kinned by poor pretense
With a noble house. But the little man quite dead,
I see the forbears' antique lineaments.
The elder men have strode by the box of death
To the wide flag porch, and muttering low send round
The bruit of the day. O friendly waste of breath!
Their hearts are hurt with a deep dynastic wound.
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poem by John Crowe Ransom
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