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The General has Fallen

star hope to see the heaven in the night,
though nothing seems to see the light
but the firefly guided my way to find
an easy day the garrison of being free

hail on the flag floating, like canoe in the
stream fighting the turmoil of distance rock
finding the easy trap, and the falling craft,
faded in the cloth of tag

I have something that stands my valor,
just like a newly hire machine, the bullet sway my
vest, and as I stand alone, the
coated helmet faded the glory of the star, and
then suddenly stumble my heart and lifted
my soul to the ground

surrender comes and goes, but never have I
died to fight the prize that I fail, those days has
fail to looks for that purple star I waited

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poem by Antonio Liao
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Seasons

Oh the cheerful Budding-time!
When thorn-hedges turn to green,
When new leaves of elm and lime
Cleave and shed their winter screen;
Tender lambs are born and 'baa,'
North wind finds no snow to bring,
Vigorous Nature laughs 'Ha, ha,'
In the miracle of spring.

Oh the gorgeous Blossom-days!
When broad flag-flowers drink and blow,
In and out in summer-blaze
Dragon-flies flash to and fro;
Ashen branches hang out keys,
Oaks put forth the rosy shoot,
Wandering herds wax sleek at ease,
Lovely blossoms end in fruit.

Oh the shouting Harvest-weeks!
Mother earth grown fat with sheaves

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poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sleeping for the Flag

When our boys come home in triumph, brother,
With the laurels they shall gain;
When we go to give them welcome, brother,
We shall look for you in vain.
We shall wait for your returning, brother,
Though we know it cannot be;
For your comrades left you sleeping, brother,
Underneath a southern tree.

Sleeping to waken
In this weary world no more;
Sleeping for your true-lov'd country, brother,
Sleeping for the flag you bore.

You were the first on duty, brother,
When "to arms" your leader cried--
You have left the ranks forever, brother,
You have laid your armies aside.
From the awful scenes of battle, brother,
You were set forever free,

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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Soldiers To Pacifists

NOT ours to clamor shame on you,
Nor fling a bitter blame on you,
Nor brand a cruel name on you,
That evil name of treason,
You who have heard the ivory flutes,
Who float white banners, brave recruits
Of Peace, seeking to pluck her fruits
In bud and blossom season.
A sterner bugle calls to us;
More direful duty falls to us;
God grants no garden-walls to us
Till the scarred waste be delivered
From dragon passions that destroy
All sanctitudes of faith and joy;
We, too, are on divine employ;
By sword shall sword be shivered.
Cherish your bud, star-eyed of bloom,
Dawn-flower of hope, belied of gloom,
While, surges of the tide of doom,
The gathering nations thunder

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poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Overcoming The Pains Of Reading Too Much

when the eyes ache
i see camels on a journey to a long desert at night time

the aches are but temporary
a contrary thought that wants the pleasure of the dumb
it shies away from the pages of a book
desert sands at noontime
skulls of horses and skeletons of
some brave Bedouins
losing everything for the love
of the unknown
oasis,

i battle for more air in my lungs
as simple as a series of sighs and deep breaths
a roomful of
fresh air from the window of trees

then the sign of the triumphant flag is sounded
at the temple of ivory

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Villon's Straight Tip to All Cross Coves

"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your pot?
How do you melt the multy swag?
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag;
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,

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poem by William Ernest Henley
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Everyone Was There

Thinking about senior year
Everyone was here
Playing capture the flag at the park
Didn’t stop ‘til it got dark
And the very next day
Had poison on my arms and legs
And I didn’t even care
Because everyone was there

We were young and stupid
We were wild and crazy
But we didn’t even care
Because everyone was there

Thinking about that one Saturday
Was having fun in our own way
At a friends house we were spending the night
Think that was true? Yeah right
We were partying hard in the field
If my parents found out I’d be killed

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poem by Maggie lll
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Child Of War

Child born under a red flag.
He gave up all he had.
For ultimate power.
For ultimate control.
For images that couldn't washed out of his head.
The blood ran as rivers of the dead flowed.
Bones littered the ground.
As a reminder of what he has done.
Even in the darkness the sun still shined.
Even upon all chaos some found peace.
A happiness was met on the horizon with grief.
Part of the daily living.
Hopefully soon all this would cease.
A testament to boy living in a war torn country.
He only understands one thing.
To survive you must kill.
To survive you must take.
All is yours if you want it is all he has ever known.
This is what we taught him.
Are we tell him that he must stop?

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Hope Is a Tattered Flag

Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time.
Hope is a heartspun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white
The evening star inviolable over the coal mines,
The shimmer of northern lights across a bitter winter night,
The blue hills beyond the smoke of the steel works,
The birds who go on singing to their mates in peace, war, peace,
The ten-cent crocus bulb blooming in a used-car salesroom,
The horseshoe over the door, the luckpiece in the pocket,
The kiss and the comforting laugh and resolve—
Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.
The spring grass showing itself where least expected,
The rolling fluff of white clouds on a changeable sky,
The broadcast of strings from Japan, bells from Moscow,
Of the voice of the prime minister of Sweden carried
Across the sea in behalf of a world family of nations
And children singing chorals of the Christ child
And Bach being broadcast from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania
And tall skyscrapers practically empty of tenants
And the hands of strong men groping for handholds
And the Salvation Army singing God loves us….

poem by Carl Sandburg
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Nightmares In The Day

He kept hearing noises
even though they weren't there.
He kept seeing flashes
going off in the air.
He saw them and heard them.
They never seemed to stop.
They made his body shake
from the bottom to the top.
And when it reached the top
he felt a throbbing pain.
He drank. He took pills
but still it did remain.

How long had it been
since he'd been outside?
How long had it been
since his buddies all died?
He could not remember
and what difference would it make?
Every time he saw the scene,

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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