What is your favorite poem?

Roses are red
Bacon is red
Poems are hard
Bacon

SGT (Join to see) 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!

"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.

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

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.

Charge of the Light Brigade.

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

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.

"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."

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)

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