Quotes about flag, page 96
Death, and Life
so many forms of
death so many chapters
ended abruptly without
resolution
the father or mother
you thought you'd never lose
that you didnt spend enough time with
the son lost to a foreign conflict,
draped in a flag
the abortion you opted for
cause you couldnt see
any other way and now,
years later, you have doubts
the teenager who committed suicide,
that you couldnt reach,
somehow couldnt tell them or
show them they were not alone
the young man who overdosed
alone in an empty apartment
the baby left to die
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The mast hangs fore
The mast hangs fore, so we bear with the land,
searching a birth; I check at the the binnacle,
and boards her up; Ease the helm, bear up-cond,
Pervasive Euclidean theorems, and the pentacle.
Voices echo from the land, in acerbic acrimony,
Angels' hymns soothing sound to slowly sharpen
biting vibes in the gusts consented disharmony,
respectfully strike the Flag, Hail to mishappen.
Accented voices, still so pleasant, effectual;
Comely draw in foggy forms, eerie on distance,
invulnerable were we, to bewitched end unequal;
threatening darkness favored fog's outdistance;
Airy she fares, inside the gust, devilish wind,
to eliminate my vacancy, so I fear, to be alive,
maybe she will vanish, aphotic dame in dark lint,
in roads adept, without her dusky aura connive!
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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My Favorite Colors
Blue is my favorite color drawn from the seas and skies.
It beautifies my mother’s and two of my daughter’s eyes.
It also imbues the flag of my country where freedom is dear.
That’s why when I feel blue, I know happiness must be near.
Red is a close second and I’ll always remember why.
As a child I loved fire engines and the Monarch butterfly.
For me the lovely, regal rose created this exquisite color.
Many shades exist, but it’s hard to focus on any other.
Yellow is another color that has always caught my eye.
It explodes from the morning sun; then paints the sunset sky.
I wonder if, in fact, my favorite color might be yellow.
It reminds me of all that is good, positive and mellow.
Green, the color of life, emboldens the countryside.
Eyes of another daughter sparkle this color far and wide.
Though the color of money, it’s more important for me
That it signifies “proceed” toward opportunity.
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poem by Gregory Huyette
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Admiral Death
Boys, are ye calling a toast to-night?
(Hear what the sea-wind saith)
Fill for a bumper strong and bright,
And here's to Admiral Death!
He's sailed in a hundred builds o' boat,
He's fought in a thousand kinds o' coat,
He's the senior flag of all that float,
And his name's Admiral Death!
Which of you looks for a service free?
(Hear what the sea-wind saith)
The rules o' the service are but three
When ye sail with Admiral Death.
Steady your hand in time o' squalls,
Stand to the last by him that falls,
And answer clear to the voice that calls,
'Ay, Ay! Admiral Death!'
How will ye know him among the rest?
(Hear what the sea-wind saith)
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poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Hawke
In seventeen hundred and fifty-nine,
When Hawke came swooping from the West,
The French King's Admiral with twenty of the line,
Was sailing forth to sack us, out of Brest.
The ports of France were crowded, the quays of France a-hum
With thirty thousand soldiers marching to the drum,
For bragging time was over and fighting time was come
When Hawke came swooping from the West.
'Twas long past noon of a wild November day
When Hawke came swooping from the West;
He heard the breakers thundering in Quiberon Bay,
But he flew the flag for battle, line abreast.
Down upon the quicksands roaring out of sight
Fiercely beat the storm-wind, darkly fell the night,
But they took the foe for pilot and the cannon's glare for light
When Hawke came swooping from the West.
The Frenchmen turned like a covey down the wind
When Hawke came swooping from the West;
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poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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On a Soldier Fallen in the Philippines
Streets of the roaring town,
Hush for him, hus, be still!
He comes, who was stricken down
Doing the word of our will.
Hush! Let him have his state,
Give him his soldier's crown.
The grists of trade can wait
Their grinding at the mill,
But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet has been blown.
Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love on his breast of stone.
Toll! Let the great bells toll
Till the clashing air is dim.
Did we wrong this parted soul?
We will make it up to him.
Toll! Let him never guess
What work we set him to.
Laurel, laurel, yes;
He did waht we bade him do.
Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight he fought was good;
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poem by William Vaughn Moody
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A Soldier's Valentine
Just from the sentry's tramp
(I must take it again at ten),
I have laid my musket down,
And seized instead my pen;
For, pacing my lonely round
In the chilly twilight gray,
The thought, dear Mary, came,
That this is St. Valentine's Day.
And with the thought there came
A glimpse of the happy time
When a school-boy's first attempt
I sent you, in borrowed rhyme,
On a gilt-edged sheet, embossed
With many a quaint design,
And signed, in school-boy hand,
'Your loving Valentine.'
The years have come and gone,-
Have flown, I know not where, -
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poem by Horatio Alger Jr
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You Like To Talk About War Heroes
You like to talk about war heroes I'll take you to meet one today
On warm days he sits on a park chair from here in distance a short walk away
In him you may feel disappointed he is frail and aged and gray
He has blocked out most of his war memories of war he has little to say.
He is not your idea of a hero but heroes they too do grow old
Just one more forgotten old warrior the years on him in wrinkles have told
He fought under the flag of his Nation in his Country he had great pride
A survivor of the war trenches where thousands of brave young men died.
He lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in a cold and drafty place to live in
Yet in his early twenties he was a decorated soldier and medals for his bravery he did win
For him it has all come to nothing and on the reaper's call he wait
On war memorial day he does not walk in the parade he feels no cause to celebrate.
You like to talk about war heroes you come for a short walk with me
And sitting on a park chair in the sunshine a war hero in the flesh you will see
Long before your father was born he fought in a war from here far away
He is the last of his battalion his war comrades amongst the dead lay
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Promise to eradicate illiteracy
A Promise to eradicate
Illiteracy
The dark veil of flowing illiteracy,
As a canopy on our growing democracy;
Covers many crores of our great lot,
Under which teeming with ignorance, rot.
Unaware of the goings on around,
Stark illiteracy with poverty bound;
The window of the wide world is shut,
And the kaleidoscopic view of the panorama is cut.
The spiritual and intellectual devolpment,
Not sparked off by literary involvement,
Is a curse on the person and the nation,
As multitudes live like animals sans education.
Seized of the problem, in many a country,
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poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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In Response...
Jesus never had a church,
was not religious...
never wanted holy monuments
to be built in His honor.
was not interested in donations
that ease the load of sin...
never wanted to be fought over,
or for wars to be fought
in His name...
He was a complete human being,
His every breath spiritual.
He tossed the moneychangers
out of the temple,
and stood up to the religious
pride of the Pharisees.
the people He walked with,
and that He taught,
were His family...
He was as responsible to them,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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