What is your favorite poem?

2014-09-15T10:19:45-04:00

My favorite one since my high school days is "Invictus"
My second favorite is "If" by Rudyard Kipling

Response by SGT Richard H. made Sep 15 at 2014 10:29 AM

2014-09-15T10:29:57-04:00

Dante's Inferno...the translated and updated version that I can actually understand.

Response by CW5 Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 15 at 2014 12:30 PM

2014-09-15T12:30:30-04:00

Paul Revere's Ride. I memorized it with my daughter to help her with a school assignment. I love the language in the poem, plus it's a part of our history.

http://poetry.eserver.org/paul-revere.html

Paul Revere's Ride

He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-- One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Response by Cpl Dennis F. made Sep 15 at 2014 12:55 PM

2014-09-15T12:55:20-04:00

I'm not much for poetry, but Rudyard Kipling's poem about the plains of Afghanistan impressed me greatly. Wish I could remember the title. Any help out there?

Response by Sgt Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 15 at 2014 1:58 PM

2014-09-15T13:58:10-04:00

Sir, I too have always loved Invictus. I also thoroughly enjoy the Raven, by Poe. and The Poet’s Curse by Lord Byron, Stanzas 134–137 in Paricular

Response by SGT Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 16 at 2014 2:30 AM

2014-09-16T02:30:11-04:00

"If" by Rudyard Kipling! Out of all the poems in the world, this one is magnificent. I'm not even a man, but I've had this poem memorized for the last 20 years, CPT Ahmed Faried. Awesome!

If you can keep your head
When all about you
Are losing theirs
And blaming it on you...

My second one is Fiddler's Green. I love it.

Response by SSG Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 16 at 2014 2:49 AM

2014-09-16T02:49:24-04:00

Roses are red
Bacon is red
Poems are hard
Bacon

Response by SSG Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 16 at 2014 2:55 AM

2014-09-16T02:55:41-04:00

All bacon aside though.... Fiddler's Green and Supporting the Three. We lost a Soldier in Iraq and Supporting the Three was on the back of the little memorial paper.

SUPPORTING the THREE

I am the Infantry, follow me.
not a foot soldier, we're much more you see.
We'll take the fight to the enemy.
I am the Infantry, the first of the three.

I am the Cavalry, follow me.
A modern horse soldier in an APC.
Charging straight forward to the enemy.
I am the Cav, most daring of the three.

I am the Armor, follow me.
The arm of decision I'll always be.
When the going gets rough, call on me.
I am the Armor, the best of the three.

Armor, Cav, and Infantry
rush headlong into the melee.
Braking the lines like an angry sea
deep into enemy territory.

Approaching a crossroads, what do we see?
The area secured by two lonely MPs
Directing us forward, how can this be?
How long have they been waiting for me?

What a crazy person an MP must be.
He has no firepower or armor like me.
And I thought everyone followed the three
Armor, Cav, and Infantry.

I am the MP, don't follow me.
You don't want to be where I will be.
Guarding the crossroads, waiting for the three.
Just my partner, a sixteen, a sixty and me.

With the objective taken, wait and see.
No one will remember the lonely MP
Who held this ground so they could run free,
But that's my job, supporting the three.

Written by SGT Allan Perkins, 1982 (an MP)

Response by MAJ Robert (Bob) Petrarca made Sep 16 at 2014 7:27 AM

2014-09-16T07:27:07-04:00

In Flanders Fields
If - Thanks SGT Private RallyPoint Member for introducing me to this
Footprints
The military version of "Twas the Night Before Christmas"

Response by MAJ Robert (Bob) Petrarca made Sep 16 at 2014 7:33 AM

2014-09-16T07:33:07-04:00

SGT Private RallyPoint Member and other moms I think you'll appreciate this.

This little ditty I wrote myself for my wife after returning from Iraq. It's about taking care of our 3 kids.

THE REF

By: Bob Petrarca, Jr. December 18, 2006

She doesn’t aspire to be an umpire
In the World Series or Super Bowl.
Maintaining order, day in and out,
Is truly, her only goal.

She’ll never moonlight in the NBA
Or on the ice in the NHL,
Her day is absorbed by her career,
One she’s suited for so well.

The games start bright and early,
On the one-yard line of the day.
It’s first and ten with twelve hours left,
“Get ready, get set, go play!”

They are not seven foot point guards
Or huge linemen playing defense
But her players can cause total chaos,
Being constantly on the offense.

She’s right smack in the middle
Of disputes, both big and small,
With senses sharp and voice so strong
And both eyes on the ball.

“Who just did a body slam
And caused someone some pain?”
“Who took whose pile of building blocks?”
“Who has the choo-choo train?”

“Whose turn is it to pick the show?”
“Who wants what to eat?”
“Who is whining and for what?”
“Who’s sitting in whose seat?”

“Whose turn is it with what toy?”
“Who goes first this time?”
“What just flew across the room?”
“You’re Daddy’s kids, not mine.”

When the parties to the argument
Can’t seem to work it out
You’re the one who makes the call
With the power that you tout.

“March straight up into your room!”
“For a long time-out you’ll go!”
You impose the penalty decisively,
With no whistle or flag to throw.

“Lower your voice, you’re much too loud!”
“Please be quiet while I think.”
“I just heard the toilet flush,
But I didn’t hear the sink!”

“You can’t wear that, it’s dirty.”
“On backwards are you pants.”
“Please do what I ask of you,
Without a song and dance.”

You sustain the daily rhythm.
And keep the schedule on track.
You strive to keep the house together
And the kids off each other’s back.

Aspirin and a night alone
Are the bonuses you receive,
Though you deserve much more than just
Pharmaceuticals and a brief reprieve.

The work can be quite stressful
And the days off far and few,
But no one does it half as well
Or with the finesse you do.

Although the job pays little,
And with it comes no fame,
No glory or free time for yourself,
You work hard just the same,

You do it for your children
As any parent would,
To help them grow and nurture them
The way you know you should.

While the simple scenes you settle
Will never play a Broadway stage,
The direction you give is vital to
Your children’s coming of age.

As every day you take the field,
For an ovation we should stand.
All hats off to Mom, the ref,
The fairest in the land!

Response by SFC(P) Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 16 at 2014 9:08 AM

2014-09-16T09:08:22-04:00

I am the Reaper (Henley):

I am the Reaper.
All things with heedful hook
Silent I gather.
Pale roses touched with the spring,
Tall corn in summer,
Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms—
Reaping, still reaping—
All things with heedful hook
Timely I gather.

I am the Sower.
All the unbodied life
Runs through my seed-sheet.
Atom with atom wed,
Each quickening the other,
Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless.
Ceaselessly sowing,
Life, incorruptible life,
Flows from my seed-sheet.

Maker and breaker,
I am the ebb and the flood,
Here and Hereafter,
Sped through the tangle and coil
Of infinite nature,
Viewless and soundless I fashion all being.
Taker and giver,
I am the womb and the grave,
The Now and the Ever

Response by SSG Maurice P. made Sep 16 at 2014 10:26 AM

2014-09-16T10:26:32-04:00

MAJOR PETRARCA THAT WAS AWESOME...

Response by SFC Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 16 at 2014 10:59 AM

2014-09-16T10:59:29-04:00

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening:

Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Response by SGT Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 16 at 2014 11:30 AM

2014-09-16T11:30:57-04:00

"The Raven" Edgar Allen Poe

Response by PO1 William "Chip" Nagel made Sep 16 at 2014 1:19 PM

2014-09-16T13:19:24-04:00

Poem? Poems. My Mother Read A. A. Milne to me and I read it to my Children and Grandchildren. I guess it is a Grandpa thing. Also love Sneetches by Dr Seuss (Theodore Guisel).

Response by SPC David S. made Sep 16 at 2014 1:28 PM

2014-09-16T13:28:06-04:00

Besides Fidler's Green, I like "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas. Go out swinging.

Response by TSgt Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 16 at 2014 2:05 PM

2014-09-16T14:05:40-04:00

"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
- Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."

Response by PO2 Rocky Kleeger made Sep 16 at 2014 2:17 PM

2014-09-16T14:17:41-04:00

Robert Frost - The Road Not Taken

Response by PO3 John Jeter made Sep 16 at 2014 2:21 PM

2014-09-16T14:21:50-04:00

My previous post was done in haste from my phone, so with permission, here is the better effort......
Tommy

I WENT into a public 'ouse to get a pint o'beer, The publican 'e up an' sez, ``We serve no red-coats here.'' The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' ``Tommy, go away''; But it's ``Thank you, Mister Atkins,'' when the band begins to play, The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, O it's ``Thank you, Mr. Atkins,'' when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be, They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me; They sent me to the gallery or round the music 'alls, But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' ``Tommy, wait outside''; But it's ``Special train for Atkins'' when the trooper's on the tide, The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide, O it's ``Special train for Atkins'' when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap; An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' ``Tommy how's yer soul?'' But it's ``Thin red line of 'eroes'' when the drums begin to roll, The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, O it's ``Thin red line of 'eroes'' when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too, But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints: Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an ``Tommy, fall be'ind,'' But it's ``Please to walk in front, sir,'' when there's trouble in the wind, There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind, O it's ``Please to walk in front, sir,'' when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an'schools, an' fires an' all: We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' ``Chuck him out, the brute!'' But it's ``Saviour of 'is country,'' when the guns begin to shoot; Yes it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool--you bet that Tommy sees!
Rudyard Kipling

Response by SPC Darin Taylor made Sep 16 at 2014 2:22 PM

2014-09-16T14:22:44-04:00

I don't have a particular poem that I would call my favorite, but I would like to share a little poem I wrote after the 9/11 tragedy.

The Sound of Freedom

The sound of freedom cries aloud
Within a people whose hearts are proud.
So fight us you may by day or night
We will not faulter; we will unite.
By land and air or even the sea
America says "Don't mess with me.

Response by SGT Mark Sullivan made Sep 16 at 2014 10:08 PM

2014-09-16T22:08:42-04:00

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”

― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods

Response by CPT Ahmed Faried made Sep 17 at 2014 3:31 AM

2014-09-17T03:31:22-04:00

for those who don't know, this is Invictus:

Invictus
By William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

Response by PO3 John Jeter made Sep 17 at 2014 6:26 PM

2014-09-17T18:26:51-04:00

Perhaps I may "enlist" some help here.....(no pun intended). I remember a very short poem from many years back but I cannot find a listing for it. Perhaps one of you might recognize it (if my memory hasn't mangled it too badly)
"Morning red, Morning red.
Wilt thou shine upon me dead?
Soon the dawn it will be growing,
Then to death must I be going.
I and many trusted friends."

Response by PO1 Joseph Silvers made Sep 17 at 2014 6:30 PM

2014-09-17T18:30:11-04:00

This one, by Coleridge, is in my Top Ten favorite poems:

Poem:"Kubla Khan"

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Response by SFC Mark Merino made Sep 20 at 2014 1:47 AM

2014-09-20T01:47:37-04:00

Charge of the Light Brigade.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbs6ws18UVg

Charge of the Light Brigade - Bransby Williams

Charge of the Light Brigade by Tennyson a Dramatic Recitation by Bransby Williams famous for his Dickens Characterisations. Half a league, half a league, Hal...

Response by COL Vincent Stoneking made Sep 20 at 2014 9:12 AM

2014-09-20T09:12:15-04:00

Two of my favorites, with the Desiderata to round it out.

Response by LCDR Private RallyPoint Member made Sep 20 at 2014 9:54 AM

2014-09-20T09:54:21-04:00

"Ozymandias"

Response by SFC Private RallyPoint Member made Nov 20 at 2014 1:58 AM

2014-11-20T01:58:20-05:00

Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Response by MAJ Private RallyPoint Member made Nov 20 at 2014 9:02 AM

2014-11-20T09:02:54-05:00

Great question, CPT Ahmed Faried! My favorite is "The Sheaves" by E.A. Robinson.

Where long the shadows of the wind had rolled
Green wheat was yielding to the change assigned;
And as my some vast magic undivined
The world was turning slowly to gold.
Like nothing that was ever bought or sold
It waited there, the body and the mind;
And with a mighty meaning of a kind
That tells the more the more it is not told.

So in a land where all days are not fair,
Fair days went on till on another day
A thousand golden sheaves were lying there,
Shining and still, but not for long to stay —
As if a thousand girls with golden hair
Might rise from where they slept and go away.

Response by SGT Private RallyPoint Member made Nov 20 at 2014 10:29 AM

2014-11-20T10:29:30-05:00

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

"Tommy", Rudyard Kipling

Response by SCPO Private RallyPoint Member made Nov 21 at 2014 1:56 AM

2014-11-21T01:56:05-05:00

"TAPS"

Day is done,
gone the sun,
From the hills,
from the lake,
From the skies.
All is well,
safely rest,
God is nigh.
Go to sleep,
peaceful sleep,
May the soldier
or sailor,
God keep.
On the land
or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night,
Must thou go,
When the day,
And the night
Need thee so?
All is well.
Speedeth all
To their rest.

Fades the light;
And afar
Goeth day,
And the stars
Shineth bright,
Fare thee well;
Day has gone,
Night is on.

Thanks and praise,
For our days,
'Neath the sun,
Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.

Response by SFC Stephen King made Apr 11 at 2015 8:44 AM

2015-04-11T08:44:42-04:00

Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Response by SFC Stephen King made Apr 12 at 2015 8:09 AM

2015-04-12T08:09:18-04:00

"One day you will wake up & there won’t be any more time to do the things you’ve always wanted. Do it now."
Paulo Coelho

Control what is controllable

One must experience life. Try something new and not be afraid to fail. We learn from failure and success thus personal growth.

Response by SFC Stephen King made Apr 12 at 2015 5:30 PM

2015-04-12T17:30:20-04:00

"Be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind. Talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet. Make all your friends feel there is something special in them. Look at the sunny side of everything. Think only the best, be as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.

Forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future. Give everyone a smile. Spend so much time improving yourself that you have no time left to criticize others. Be too big for worry and too noble for anger.”
― Norman Vincent Peale

Response by SFC Stephen King made Apr 13 at 2015 8:06 PM

2015-04-13T20:06:44-04:00

Poetry of the day
The Immortal Resilience
I am the darkness in your eyes.
I am the Shadows you cast.
Unseen, unheard.
I am the petals that fall from the cherry blossoms.
I am the sun as it sleeps before dawn.
Beautiful, enlivening.
I am the rock left behind in the earth.
I am the center of the world.
Wise, ripened.
I am the light you see in a child´s eye.
I am the warmth you see entering your home.
A lover, cordial.
I live.
I die.
I don't exist.
I am all.

by The Immortal Resilience

Response by SSgt Private RallyPoint Member made Apr 13 at 2015 8:29 PM

2015-04-13T20:29:24-04:00

I first read this poem when I was probably 7 or 8 years old.

"Arnold von Winkelried or Arnold Winkelried is a legendary hero of Swiss history. According to 16th century Swiss historiography, Winkelried's sacrifice brought about the victory of the Old Swiss Confederacy in the Battle of Sempach (1386) against the army of the Habsburg Duke Leopold III of Austria." (Wikipedia)

Make way for liberty!" he cried,
Make way for liberty, and died.
In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood,--
A wall, where every conscious stone
Seemed to its kindred thousands grown.
A rampart all assaults to bear,
Till time to dust their frames should wear;
So still, so dense the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood.

Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears.
Whose polished points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendours run
Along the billows to the sun.

Opposed to these a hovering band
Contended for their fatherland;
Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks the ignoble yoke,
And beat their fetters into swords,
On equal terms to fight their lords;
And what insurgent rage had gained,
In many a mortal fray maintained;
Marshalled, once more, at Freedom's call,
They came to conquer or to fall,
Where he who conquered, he who fell,
Was deemed a dead or living Tell,
Such virtue had that patriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed,
That wheresoe'er his arrows flew,
Heroes in his own likeness grew,
And warriors sprang from every sod,
Which his awakening footstep trod.

And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burned within,
The battle trembled to begin;
Yet, while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for attack was nowhere found;
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrant's feet;
How could they rest within their graves,
And leave their homes, the homes of slaves!
Would not they feel their children tread,
With clanging chains, above their head?

It must not be; this day, this hour,
Annihilates the invader's power;
All Switzerland is in the field;
She will not fly,--she cannot yield,--
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
But every freeman was a host,
And felt as 'twere a secret known
That one should turn the scale alone,
While each unto himself was he
On whose sole arm hung victory.

It did depend on one indeed;
Behold him,--Arnold Winkelried;
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmarked he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face;
And, by the motion of his form,
Anticipate the bursting storm,
And, by the uplifting of his brow,
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

But 'twas no sooner thought than done!
The field was in a moment won;
"Make way for liberty!" he cried,
Then ran, with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp.
"Make way for liberty!" he cried.
Their keen points crossed from side to side;
He bowed amidst them like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly,
"Make way for liberty!" they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart.
While instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic, seized them all;
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free;
Thus Death made way for Liberty!

http://www.blackcatpoems.com/m/arnold_von_winkelried.html#PX7gJ1Fz5vqJXs1G.99

Arnold von Winkelried

A poem by James Montgomery.

Response by SSgt Gregg Coldsnow made Apr 23 at 2015 12:42 AM

2015-04-23T00:42:25-04:00

Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored , and unsung.
Sir Walter Scott - from "Lay of the Last Minstrel"

Response by LTC Private RallyPoint Member made Oct 26 at 2017 7:53 AM

2017-10-26T07:53:44-04:00

My favorite poem is Stuart Dischell's pantoum, "She Put on Her Lipstick in the Dark". Check it out: https://www.arts.gov/writers-corner/bio/stuart-dischell

Stuart Dischell | NEA

The poems in the fellowship application were my attempt to cool hot thoughts through structure and craft and to temper them when I could with wit in order to make the poems more durable. I still write with first principles-loss, death, love, despair-and try to give my poems a sense of physicality and location in the human landscape.