About POET'S LAIR Page 12
|April 5th, 2009||#111|
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My Name is Old Glory info
My Name is Old Glory
I am the flag of the United States of America . . . My name is Old Glory. I fly atop the world's tallest buildings. I stand watch in America's halls of justice. I fly majestically over great institutes of learning. I stand guard with the greatest military power in the world.
Look up! And see me!
I stand for peace, honor, truth, and justice . . . I stand for freedom . . . I am confident . . . I am arrogant . . . I am proud.
When I am flown with my fellow banners . . . My head is a little higher . . . My colors a little truer. I bow to no one.
I am recognized all over the world. I am worshipped . . . I am saluted . . . I am respected . . . I am revered . . . I am loved . . . And I am feared.
I have fought every battle of every war for more than 200 years . . . Gettysburg, Shilo, Appomatox, San Juan Hill, the trenches of France, the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome, the beaches of Normandy, the deserts of Africa, the cane fields of the Philippines, the rice paddies and jungles of Guam, Okinawa, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Guadalcanal New Britain, Peleliu, and many more islands. And a score of places long forgotten by all but those who were with me.
I was there.
I led my soldiers . . . I followed them . . . I watched over them . . . They loved me.
I was on a small hill in Iwo Jima.
I was dirty, battle-worn and tired, but my soldiers cheered me, and I was proud.
I have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of countries I have helped set free.
It does not hurt, for I am invincible.
I have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of my country, and when it is by those with whom I have served in battle - it hurts. But I shall overcome - for I am strong.
I have slipped the bonds of Earth and stand watch over the uncharted new frontiers of space from my vantage point on the moon. I have been a silent witness to all of America's finest hours.
But my finest hour comes when I am torn into strips to be used for bandages for my wounded comrades on the field of battle . . . When I fly at half mast to honor my soldiers . . . And when I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving mother at the graveside of her fallen son.
I am proud.
My name is Old Glory.
Dear God - Long may I wave.
By Howard Schnauber
"The willingness with which our young people are likely to serve in any war, no matter how justified, is directly proportional to how they perceive the veterans of earlier wars were treated and appreciated." ~George Washington
|May 29th, 2009||#113|
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America's Symbol info
When you look up at me
with my red, white, and blue
waving proudly in the sky,
I hope you think about what I stand for
beyond placing your hand over heart
or standing at attention in salute.
I am so much more than
a woven cloth of stars and stripes...
I am your pride of the USA
that is worn, adorn
and individually flown
for all others to see.
I am the courage shown
by the valiant troops
who raise me up
after a victory won.
I am the solemn remembrance
of the duty served to America
that is draped over a coffin
and given folded to a loved one.
I am each state
united as one nation
with liberty and justice for all.
I am Old Glory,
America's symbol to the world
that will always fly high
in the land of the free
and the home of the brave!
By David G. Bancroft
R.I.P. Steven Zeluff
Last edited by sky2979; May 29th, 2009 at 06:08..
|July 12th, 2009||#114|
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Welcome back, Padre.
They used to tell me
I was building a dream
Well that was fine by me
Fulfill your plan?
Yes I’m your man
And that’s right up my tree.
Scale the mountains?
Sail the seas?
March, sweat and roast and freeze?
All is quiet on the western front;
We’re crushing enemies.
Yes Sir, No Sir, by your leave,
Have this one on me.
Apologies for being wet,
Only half a brain, you see.
For I’m doing this for England,
For freedom and for free.
I used to go to sea Sir,
Two years before the mast
Before I joined the Army
And then the die was cast
For service in the desert,
The Moslem Brothers’ den.
I took that in my stride Sir
And now I’m home again.
Two stripes on my arm Sir
And I’m nineteen today.
Now I’ll be done with Jihad , Sir,
For ever, so they say.
Last edited by Del Boy; July 12th, 2009 at 21:54..
|July 15th, 2009||#116|
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Yes Padre, 2007. Sorry about that. I especially undertook a quick search for one to greet your return; I believe I have a later short one which would have been just right, but unfortunately it will be a little longer before it wiil be free for publication.
Whatever, great to have you back safe and sound.
|October 25th, 2009||#117|
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Here it is Padre, as promised.
Setting sail by moonlight,
When we must slip away,
To where our fate waits kinder,
Beyond the break of day.
Muffled paddles pulling, pressing;
Stretching for the open sea.
Destinies unknown awaiting,
Where the winds of life blow free.
Chill silver dew of breaking dawn
Must light upon a different scene;
Emptiness of peace and silence
Reveal a space where we had been.
Last edited by Del Boy; October 26th, 2009 at 00:57..
|October 27th, 2009||#118|
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|November 9th, 2009||#119|
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A new military poem, regarding a young soldier who has just lost his life in Afghanistan, as told by his father on the 6th Novembeer morning Remembrance Day parade 2009 at the Cenotaph. I am waiting to ascertain whether it was written by father or son. Either way it is very poignant :-
GET FELL IN TO THE REAR OF THE COLUMN.
"There is in the eternal realms a great line of men
Who march along a long winding road.
Their task is to collect the dead of ages
Taken from the ranks of the fallen.
After midnight on the 30th of May 2009
The great line halts, and a Sgt Major’s voice rings out..
Not as on the parade ground, but in the solemn silence increased
The short command is given, "Get fell in, to the rear of the column"
Two soldiers take their place, adjust their equiptment, and calm their troubled expressions.
These fallen two shoulder arms
And the great line of men
The dead of ages, taken from the ranks of the fallen
Moves off at a slow march
Winding its way along the long winding road
Almost out of sight, the line visably halts, and a Sgt Major’s voice rings out
"Get fell in to the rear of the column"
And we who mortals be
Strain to hear the sound of their marching feet".
As soon as I have the author's name and pack drill I will add it. RIP.
Last edited by Del Boy; November 9th, 2009 at 10:47..
|November 13th, 2009||#120|
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In Flanders Fields info
A little bit late for Veteran's Day, but still a great poem. Go here for some of the history behind it: http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/flanders.htm
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
"It doesn't take a hero to order men into battle. It takes a hero to be one of those men who goes into battle." - Norman Schwarskopf, Commander of Desert Storm Operations