Safe House [Weston Guards Frost while the Safe House Is Attacked]
Cast: Denzel Washington, Ryan Reynolds
clip from Safe House, directed by Daniel Espinosa, screenplay by David Guggenheim (2012)
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In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams
In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams
By Uriah Lee Hamilton
Last day of summer, football Saturday afternoon. A Warm breeze was pushing me toward Ann Arbor like a happy autumn leaf in pursuit of the beautiful poetic soul of Ryan Adams. Lovely charming mood all the way playing Easy Tiger and Demolition and feeling like the universe was kind and smiling.
Exit off 94 West onto State Street and all excited to make my way to Liberty Street and the heart of the College town I love. Kids were milling around everywhere in their gold and blue, gleeful and happy that Michigan is now playing 500 football after a discouraging start. Parking spaces across the street from Michigan Theater in the parking structure are all taken, I have to drive to the roof and still wait for a football fan to leave.
Me and my friend Cassandra start walking around and dig everything and everyone we see. Ann Arbor brings out your gentle Jack Kerouac nature, the part of you that wants to praise everything for it’s sad but beautiful, integral purpose to this existence.
We enter an Eastern clothing and folk art store that is positively charming and enlightening. I can’t remember the name of the store. Perhaps, it is called the Enchanted Sarong. It almost felt like George Harrison was there with us, beautiful carved statues of Buddha and Krishna and Ganesha were everywhere. The sales lady was friendly and helpful and said sweetly, “we’re Om friendly” as we asked about carved symbols for the breath-word Om. The serene incense Nag Champa drifted through the room but it was now time to leave and make our way to the Ryan Adams concert at Michigan Theater.
I purchased my tickets the very minute they went on sale and prayed I had front row despite my tickets saying double A. No Such luck, but I was still happy to be in row 27. As I was waiting for the show to begin, I saw my concert friend Jeremy and got his attention. He looked as happy and as excited as myself and said he had spent a fortune at some cool record store. Jeremy then handed me a beautiful soundboard copy of Ryan Adams at the Gem Theater in downtown Detroit June 20th 2007. Man, how I’ve been longing for that show! I then gave Jeremy a copy of Ryan’s punk rock band the Finger.
Now the lights go out and the music begins. Ryan Opens with Goodnight Rose and closes with Goodnight Hollywood Boulevard. Everything in-between is just magical. The first auspicious sign was that Ryan came out playing guitar! ! In June, he only sang, he didn’t play any instruments, some injury sidelined him. The June Show as a result was more subtle, almost like MTV Unplugged. Subtle but amazing. Last night was more rocking and adventurous with reworked extended arrangements, ala the Grateful Dead. In particular was a long and lovely version of Off Broadway from Easy Tiger. At the completion of Off Broadway, I shouted, “That was gorgeous! ” Of course, I may have added an expletive, all in the interest of ecstatic joy for music.
Ryan told a story during the show about running into a girl on her way to the concert that didn’t recognize him because he dresses like a plumber. My friend after the show said she thought she saw Ryan Adams on the street near the theater. I asked, “Really? ” She said, “I saw someone that looked like a plumber.” I can say, I didn’t see Ryan on the streets anywhere in Ann Arbor yesterday, but I have been known to miss a plumber or two in my day.
The first two songs in the encore made the whole show for me. Ryan came out by himself with an acoustic guitar and sang Call Me On Your Way Back Home. Toward the end of the song, Ryan played harmonica and I screamed like a schoolgirl, pretty much the way I do whenever Bobby Dylan plays harmonica! And if that wasn’t enough to make the end of summer completely magical, Ryan then sat down at the piano and sang Sylvia Plath: Oh my God, the point of tears! I’ve waited six years to hear him sing that song live from the Album Gold. As I told my friend, that was the song that sealed the deal making Ryan Adams my modern hero! If you want to get my attention and loyalty, sing about one of the tragic poets I love.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Why Washington Retreated
1775
Said Congress to George Washington:
"To set this country free,
You'll have to whip the Britishers
And chase them o'er the sea."
"Oh, very well," said Washington,
"I'll do the best I can.
I'll slam and bang those Britishers
And whip them to a man."
1777
Said Congress to George Washington:
"The people all complain;
Why don't you fight? You but retreat
And then retreat again."
"That can't be helped," said Washington,
"As you will quite agree
When you see how the novelists
Have mixed up things for me."
Said Congress to George Washington:
"Pray make your meaning clear."
Said Washington: "Why, certainly --
But pray excuse this tear.
Of course we know," said Washington,
"The object of this war --
It is to furnish novelists
With patriotic lore."
Said Congress to George Washington:
"Yes! yes! but pray proceed."
Said Washington: "My part in it
Is difficult indeed,
For every hero in the books
Must sometime meet with me,
And every sweet-faced heroine
I must kiss gallantly."
Said Congress to George Washington:
"But why must you retreat?"
Said Washington: "One moment, please,
My story to complete.
These hero-folk are scattered through
The whole United States;
At every little country town
A man or maiden waits."
To Congress said George Washington:
[...] Read more
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Conroy's Gap
This was the way of it, don't you know --
Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep,
And never a trooper, high or low,
Could find him -- catch a weasel asleep!
Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford --
A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell --
Chanced to find him drunk as a lord
Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel.
D'you know the place? It's a wayside inn,
A low grog-shanty -- a bushman trap,
Hiding away in its shame and sin
Under the shelter of Conroy's Gap --
Under the shade of that frowning range
The roughest crowd that ever drew breath --
Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange,
Were mustered round at the "Shadow of Death".
The trooper knew that his man would slide
Like a dingo pup, if he saw the chance;
And with half a start on the mountain side
Ryan would lead him a merry dance.
Drunk as he was when the trooper came,
to him that did not matter a rap --
Drunk or sober, he was the same,
The boldest rider in Conroy's Gap.
"I want you, Ryan," the trooper said,
"And listen to me, if you dare resist,
So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead!"
He snapped the steel on his prisoner's wrist,
And Ryan, hearing the handcuffs click,
Recovered his wits as they turned to go,
For fright will sober a man as quick
As all the drugs that the doctors know.
There was a girl in that shanty bar
Went by the name of Kate Carew,
Quiet and shy as the bush girls are,
But ready-witted and plucky, too.
She loved this Ryan, or so they say,
And passing by, while her eyes were dim
With tears, she said in a careless way,
"The Swagman's round in the stable, Jim."
Spoken too low for the trooper's ear,
Why should she care if he heard or not?
Plenty of swagmen far and near --
And yet to Ryan it meant a lot.
That was the name of the grandest horse
In all the district from east to west;
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Veterinary Camps
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Valentine's Day
Roses are red
Violet are blue
I love you with all my heart
You are the only one for me
Happy Valentine's Day
Ryan
Every time I see you
You make me glow
I can't live without you because
I see two worlds come together
All our hopes and dreams will finally came true
Happy Valentine's Day
Ryan
You have a cute smile
You're missing piecing of my heart
There is something about you and just way you are
I can't help it to fall in love with you each and every day
I know you will want me to be in your arms forever
Happy Valentine's Day
Ryan
Roses are red
Violet are blue
I love you with all my heart
You are the only one for me
Happy Valentine's Day
Ryan
Please be mine
I would do anything to be with you
Two worlds come together
My heart will finally have the piece it been looking for and is you and noone else
Happy Valentine's Day
Ryan
I got lost in your eyes
Everything about you is special to me
I love you too much
Happy Valentine's Day
Ryan
If heart is all we searching for
Can you ever give me chance to be with you?
I been looking for someone to love
I never make on my own without you here by myside
Happy Valentine's Day
Ryan
poem by Christina Phan
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The Columbiad: Book VII
The Argument
Coast of France rises in vision. Louis, to humble the British power, forms an alliance with the American states. This brings France, Spain and Holland into the war, and rouses Hyder Ally to attack the English in India. The vision returns to America, where the military operations continue with various success. Battle of Monmouth. Storming of Stonypoint by Wayne. Actions of Lincoln, and surrender of Charleston. Movements of Cornwallis. Actions of Greene, and battle of Eutaw. French army arrives, and joins the American. They march to besiege the English army of Cornwallis in York and Gloster. Naval battle of Degrasse and Graves. Two of their ships grappled and blown up. Progress of the siege. A citadel mined and blown up. Capture of Cornwallis and his army. Their banners furled and muskets piled on the field of battle.
Thus view'd the Pair; when lo, in eastern skies,
From glooms unfolding, Gallia's coasts arise.
Bright o'er the scenes of state a golden throne,
Instarr'd with gems and hung with purple, shone;
Young Bourbon there in royal splendor sat,
And fleets and moving armies round him wait.
For now the contest, with increased alarms,
Fill'd every court and roused the world to arms;
As Hesper's hand, that light from darkness brings,
And good to nations from the scourge of kings,
In this dread hour bade broader beams unfold,
And the new world illuminate the old.
In Europe's realms a school of sages trace
The expanding dawn that waits the Reasoning Race;
On the bright Occident they fix their eyes,
Thro glorious toils where struggling nations rise;
Where each firm deed, each new illustrious name
Calls into light a field of nobler fame:
A field that feeds their hope, confirms the plan
Of well poized freedom and the weal of man.
They scheme, they theorize, expand their scope,
Glance o'er Hesperia to her utmost cope;
Where streams unknown for other oceans stray,
Where suns unseen their waste of beams display,
Where sires of unborn nations claim their birth,
And ask their empires in those wilds of earth.
While round all eastern climes, with painful eye,
In slavery sunk they see the kingdoms lie,
Whole states exhausted to enrich a throne,
Their fruits untasted and their rights unknown;
Thro tears of grief that speak the well taught mind,
They hail the æra that relieves mankind.
Of these the first, the Gallic sages stand,
And urge their king to lift an aiding hand.
The cause of humankind their souls inspired,
Columbia's wrongs their indignation fired;
To share her fateful deeds their counsel moved,
To base in practice what in theme they proved:
That no proud privilege from birth can spring,
No right divine, nor compact form a king;
That in the people dwells the sovereign sway,
Who rule by proxy, by themselves obey;
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems
March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.
Sincerely,
George W. Bush
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.
They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.
The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.
They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.
The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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Washington and Lincoln
Come, happy people! Oh come let us tell
The story of Washinton and Lincoln!
History's pages can never excel
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Down through the ages an anthem shall go,
Bearing the honors we gladly bestow--
Till every nation and language shall know
The story of Washington and Lincoln:
Who gave us independence,
On our continent and sea
Who saved the glorious Union!
And set a people free!
This is the story--
Oh happy are we--
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Parents to children shall tell with delight,
The story of Washington and Lincoln;
Free born and freed men together recite
The story of Washinton and Lincoln.
Earth's weary bond men shall listen with cheer--
Tyrants shall tremble, and traitors shall fear--
When, in it's fullness of glory, they hear
The story of Washington and Lincoln:
Though on the war cloud recorded with steel,
The story of Washington and Lincoln;
Peace only Peace, can completely reveal
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Thanks to the Lord for the days we behold!
Thanks for the unsullied flag we unfold!
Thanks to us, and in our time, was told
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Presidency & General Washington = 2012
THE PRESIDENCY & GENERAL WASHINGTON = 2012
Those who wish to be President
Must practice what they teach.
For their people need inspiring
To believe what they preach.
Take heed therefore, unto yourselves
You overseers of the flock
Or the voters shall cast you out
For your futures are not of rock.
Life may place you in deep waters
Though it doesn't wish you to drown.
It's your past record that lets us know
Who you are as you smile or frown.
If you wish to be remembered
From the truth you must never part.
Power corrupts the best of us
When we stop listening to our heart.
GENERAL WASHINGTON
Once in command, he boxed in the British
At Boston where he captured Dorchester Heights
Overlooking the Brits at his mercy
As his men took aim with their cannon sites.
The British commander had but one choice
To sail to New York to renew the fight.
Where the English had much greater forces
Who soon chased Washington's men in full flight.
They continued on to Pennsylvania
After crossing the Hudson in retreat
With the British forces in hot pursuit
It looked as though George was doomed to defeat.
When winter seemed to have stopped the fighting
That's when Washington crossed the Delaware.
On Christmas night he captured Trenton
Where Hessians were surprised and unaware.
He whipped the British at Princeton
Where in victory his men began to sing.
Washington then wintered at Morristown
Training his troops for the combat of spring.
Washington fought bravely at Brandywine
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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To Washington
Eight years of peace and prosperity
Scandal in the White House
An election is what we need
From coast-to-coast to Washington
So America voted on a president
No one kept count
On how the election went
From Florida to Washington
Goddamn, said one side
And the other said the same
Both looked pretty guilty
But no one took the blame
From coast-to-coast to Washington
So a new man in the White House
With a familiar name
Said he had some fresh ideas
But it's worse now since he came
From Texas to Washington
And he wants to fight with many
And he says it's not for oil
He sent out the National Guard
To police the world
From Baghdad to Washington
What is the thought process
To take a humans life
What would be the reason
To think that this is right
From heaven to Washington
From Jesus Christ to Washington
song performed by John Mellencamp
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 6
Naval action of De Grasse and Graves. Capture of Cornwallis..
Thus view'd the sage. When, lo, in eastern skies,
From glooms unfolding, Gallia's coasts arise.
Bright o'er the scenes of state, a golden throne,
Instarr'd with gems and hung with purple, shone.
Great Louis there, the pride of monarchs, sate,
And fleets and moving armies round him wait;
O'er western shores extend his ardent eyes,
Thro' glorious toils where struggling nations rise;
Each virtuous deed, each new illustrious name,
Wakes in his soul the living light of fame.
He sees the liberal, universal cause,
That wondering worlds in still attention draws;
And marks, beyond, through western walks of day,
Where midnight suns their happier beams display,
What sires of unborn nations claim their birth,
And ask their empires in that waste of earth.
Then o'er the eastern world he turn'd his eye;
Where, sunk in slavery hapless kingdoms lie;
Saw realms exhausted to enrich a throne,
Their fruits untasted and their rights unknown:
A tear of pity spoke his melting mind–
He raised his sceptre to relieve mankind,
Eyed the great father of the Bourbon name,
Awaked his virtues and recall'd his fame.
Fired by the grandeur of the splendid throne,
Illustrious chiefs and councils round him shone;
On the glad youth with kindling joy they gaze,
The rising heir of universal praise.
Vergennes rose stately o'er the noble throng,
And fates of nations on his accents hung;
Columbia's wrongs his indignation fired,
And generous thoughts his glowing breast inspired;
To aid her infant toils his counsel moved,
In freedom founded and by Heaven approved.
While other peers, in sacred virtue bold,
With eager voice the coming scenes unfold;
Surrounding heroes wait the monarch's word,
In foreign fields to draw the glittering sword,
Prepared with joy to trace the distant main,
Mix in the strife and join the martial train;
Who now assert the rights of sovereign power,
And build new empires on the western shore.
O'er all, the approving monarch cast a look,
And listening nations trembled while he spoke.
Ye states of France, and, ye of rising name,
That work those distant miracles of fame,
Hear and attend; let Heaven the witness bear,
We lift the sword, we aid the righteous war.
Let leagues eternal bind each friendly land,
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Washington At War & The Hinge Of History
WASHINGTON AT WAR & THE HINGE OF HISTORY
Once in command, he boxed in the British
At Boston where he captured Dorchester Heights
Overlooking the Brits at his mercy
As his men took aim with their cannon sites.
The British commander had but one choice
To sail to New York to renew the fight.
Where the English had much greater forces
Who soon chased Washington's men in full flight.
They continued on to Pennsylvania
After crossing the Hudson in retreat
With the British forces in hot pursuit
It looked as though George was doomed to defeat.
When winter seemed to have stopped the fighting
That's when Washington crossed the Delaware.
On that Christmas night he captured Trenton
Where Hessians were surprised and unaware.
He whipped the British at Princeton
Where in victory his men began to sing.
Washington then wintered at Morristown
Training his troops for the combat of spring.
Washington fought bravely at Brandywine
And again at a place called Germantown
But the British were the victorious ones
As the dead of both sides covered the ground
Americans were blessed early that spring
When the French entered the war on their side.
Though most suffered frostbite at Valley Forge
With the help of the French they marched in stride.
The battles raged on, in the North and South
As the King's soldiers laid waste to the land.
Washington himself was in great despair
Pleading for aid for his weakened command.
His prayers were answered by 5000 troops
And a French fleet who took Chesapeake Bay.
They bottled up Cornwallis at Yorktown
Who surrendered to victory drums at play.
Yorktown was really the end of the war
Though not many quite realized that fact yet.
But the British soon grew tired of the fight
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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Safe House
Cast: Denzel Washington, Ryan Reynolds, Robert Patrick, Vera Farmiga, Sam Shepard, Brendan Gleeson, Tanit Phoenix, Liam Cunningham, Joel Kinnaman, Nora Arnezeder
trailer for Safe House, directed by Daniel Espinosa, screenplay by David Guggenheim (2012)
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A Prophecy
The Guardian Prince of Albion burns in his nightly tent,
Sullen fires across the Atlantic glow to America's shore:
Piercing the souls of warlike men, who rise in silent night,
Washington, Franklin, Paine & Warren, Gates, Hancock & Green;
Meet on the coast glowing with blood from Albions fiery Prince.
Washington spoke; Friends of America look over the Atlantic sea;
A bended bow is lifted in heaven, & a heavy iron chain t158
Descends link by link from Albions cliffs across the sea to bind
Brothers & sons of America, till our faces pale and yellow;
Heads deprest, voices weak, eyes downcast, hands work-bruis'd,
Feet bleeding on the sultry sands, and the furrows of the whip
Descend to generations that in future times forget.––
The strong voice ceas'd; for a terrible blast swept over the heaving sea;
The eastern cloud rent; on his cliffs stood Albions wrathful Prince
A dragon form clashing his scales at midnight he arose,
And flam'd red meteors round the land of Albion beneath[.]
His voice, his locks, his awful shoulders, and his glowing eyes,
Appear to the Americans upon the cloudy night.
Solemn heave the Atlantic waves between the gloomy nations,
Swelling, belching from its deeps red clouds & raging Fires!
Albion is sick. America faints! enrag'd the Zenith grew.
As human blood shooting its veins all round the orbed heaven
Red rose the clouds from the Atlantic in vast wheels of blood
And in the red clouds rose a Wonder o'er the Atlantic sea;
Intense! naked! a Human fire fierce glowing, as the wedge
Of iron heated in the furnace; his terrible limbs were fire
With myriads of cloudy terrors banners dark & towers
Surrounded; heat but not light went thro' the murky atmosphere
The King of England looking westward trembles at the vision
Albions Angel stood beside the Stone of night, and saw
The terror like a comet, or more like the planet red
That once inclos'd the terrible wandering comets in its sphere.
Then Mars thou wast our center, & the planets three flew round
Thy crimson disk; so e'er the Sun was rent from thy red sphere;
The Spectre glowd his horrid length staining the temple long
With beams of blood; & thus a voice came forth, and shook the temple
The morning comes, the night decays, the watchmen leave their stations;
The grave is burst, the spices shed, the linen wrapped up;
The bones of death, the cov'ring clay, the sinews shrunk & dry'd.
Reviving shake, inspiring move, breathing! awakening!
Spring like redeemed captives when their bonds & bars are burst;
Let the slave grinding at the mill, run out into the field:
[...] Read more
poem by William Blake from America a Prophecy (1793)
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General Washington & Obama At War
Once in command, he boxed in the British
At Boston where he captured Dorchester Heights
Overlooking the Brits at his mercy
As his men took aim with their cannon sites.
The British commander had but one choice
To sail to New York to renew the fight.
Where the English had much greater forces
Who soon chased Washington's men in full flight.
They continued on to Pennsylvania
After crossing the Hudson in retreat
With the British forces in hot pursuit
It looked as though George was doomed to defeat.
When winter seemed to have stopped the fighting
That's when Washington crossed the Delaware.
On that Christmas night he captured Trenton
Where Hessians were surprised and unaware.
He whipped the British at Princeton
Where in victory his men began to sing.
Washington then wintered at Morristown
Training his troops for the combat of spring.
Washington fought bravely at Brandywine
And again at a place called Germantown
But the British were the victorious ones
As the dead of both sides covered the ground
Americans were blessed early that spring
When the French entered the war on their side.
Though most suffered frostbite at Valley Forge
With the help of the French they marched in stride.
The battles raged on, in the North and South
As the King's soldiers laid waste to the land.
Washington himself was in great despair
Pleading for aid for his weakened command.
His prayers were answered by 5000 troops
And a French fleet who took Chesapeake Bay.
They bottled up Cornwallis at Yorktown
Who surrendered to victory drums at play.
Yorktown was really the end of the war
Though not many quite realized that fact yet.
But the British soon grew tired of the fight
And the terms for its end were signed and set.
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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At The Bar-Code Ranch
A stellar job in the bullpen
C.B.S. Baseball
I lie in a converted garage, sun coming up
and the chuck-chuck of unfamiliar birds
from Lake Mizell.
The lamp grows ineffectual
under a skylight; the great world
washes in, humid, composed of small numbered parts.
Sometime after nine, the classical music station stops
for the landing of a space shuttle
a sonic boom
shakes the bungalow
and Vladomir Horowitz
is abruptly terminated.
Yesterday, at New Smyrna, north of Canaveral:
knotted shoreline
looking out from a timbered interior
on the Atlantic;
driving inland on Local 40,
a two-lane, the Beach Boys on air,
to Winter Park, inches above the water table.
Today, flying north, from Florida’s eighty degrees
to Washington’s forty-something
a river far below
in South Carolina.
Salt-pork and black-eyed beans
“soul food” – and cheap – in D.C’s low
where U.S. presidents
fall like leaves . . .
Consume and Die!
Wednesday
under the pines
looking out over the waters of Potomac
a torn Bush-Quayle poster in the grass
the morning after the election,
and down on Canal St
a bag of crushed Busch beer cans
reminds me that poetry exists.
Up at 3040 R St N.W.
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poem by Laurence James Duggan
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My Washington Woman
The wages of an unskilled working man never paid enough
From time to time a nickel on a race keeps him from giving up
A blue collared man in Seattle never lives on white collared street
But there was food on the table for my Washington woman and me
The work slowed down and the one day
The foreman laid me off
That night in a tavern down on my last dime
I met a girl from Arkensal
Her daddy was a banker in Little Rock
She had a mansion on white collared street
The next morning my Washington woman woke up without me
From city to city, and state to state, I get her in shame
My Washington woman had six months left
Before out child would bring her pain
That Arkensal woman hurt me
As we crossed the Arkensal line
But the arms of Seattle
Are the arms that kept huggin' mine
For year I have basked in expensive wines
Taste champagne every day
I gave up all the things I loved
For all these things I hate
I locked up all of her forgiveness, the day I set myself free
And the heart of my Washington woman stopped beating for me
My Washington woman sends me a letter every once in a while
Inside a folded wordless page is a picture of my child
All but words, the room grows cold with a feeling of jealousy
And there's a silence between
My Arkensal woman and me
song performed by Kenny Rogers
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The Columbiad: Book VI
The Argument
British cruelty to American prisoners. Prison Ship. Retreat of Washington with the relics of his army, pursued by Howe. Washington recrossing the Delaware in the night, to surprise the British van, is opposed by uncommon obstacles. His success in this audacious enterprise lays the foundation of the American empire. A monument to be ere on the bank of the Delaware. Approach of Burgoyne, sailing up the St. Laurence with an army of Britons and various other nations. Indignant energy of the colonies, compared to that of Greece in opposing the invasion of Xerxes. Formation of an army of citizens, under the command of Gates. Review of the American and British armies, and of the savage tribes who join the British standard. Battle of Saratoga. Story of Lucinda. Second battle, and capture of Burgoyne and his army.
But of all tales that war's black annals hold,
The darkest, foulest still remains untold;
New modes of torture wait the shameful strife,
And Britain wantons in the waste of life.
Cold-blooded Cruelty, first fiend of hell,
Ah think no more with savage hordes to dwell;
Quit the Caribian tribes who eat their slain,
Fly that grim gang, the Inquisitors of Spain,
Boast not thy deeds in Moloch's shrines of old,
Leave Barbary's pirates to their blood-bought gold,
Let Holland steal her victims, force them o'er
To toils and death on Java's morbid shore;
Some cloak, some color all these crimes may plead;
Tis avarice, passion, blind religion's deed;
But Britons here, in this fraternal broil,
Grave, cool, deliberate in thy service toil.
Far from the nation's eye, whose nobler soul
Their wars would humanize, their pride control,
They lose the lessons that her laws impart,
And change the British for the brutal heart.
Fired by no passion, madden'd by no zeal,
No priest, no Plutus bids them not to feel;
Unpaid, gratuitous, on torture bent,
Their sport is death, their pastime to torment;
All other gods they scorn, but bow the knee,
And curb, well pleased, O Cruelty, to thee.
Come then, curst goddess, where thy votaries reign,
Inhale their incense from the land and main;
Come to Newyork, their conquering arms to greet,
Brood o'er their camp and breathe along their fleet;
The brother chiefs of Howe's illustrious name
Demand thy labors to complete their fame.
What shrieks of agony thy praises sound!
What grateless dungeons groan beneath the ground!
See the black Prison Ship's expanding womb
Impested thousands, quick and dead, entomb.
Barks after barks the captured seamen bear,
Transboard and lodge thy silent victims there;
A hundred scows, from all the neighboring shore,
Spread the dull sail and ply the constant oar,
Waft wrecks of armies from the well fought field,
And famisht garrisons who bravely yield;
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poem by Joel Barlow
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America Politica Historia, In Spontaneity
O this political air so heavy with the bells
and motors of a slow night, and no place to rest
but rain to walk—How it rings the Washington streets!
The umbrella’d congressmen; the rapping tires
of big black cars, the shoulders of lobbyists
caught under canopies and in doorways,
and it rains, it will not let up,
and meanwhile lame futurists weep into Spengler’s
prophecy, will the world be over before the races blend color?
All color must be one or let the world be done—
There’ll be a chance, we’ll all be orange!
I don’t want to be orange!
Nothing about God’s color to complain;
and there is a beauty in yellow, the old Lama
in his robe the color of Cathay;
in black a strong & vital beauty,
Thelonious Monk in his robe of Norman charcoal—
And if Western Civilization comes to an end
(though I doubt it, for the prophet has not
executed his prophecy) surely the Eastern child
will sit by a window, and wonder
the old statues, the ornamented doors;
the decorated banquet of the West—
Inflamed by futurists I too weep in rain at night
at the midnight of Western Civilization;
Dante’s step into Hell will never be forgotten by Hell;
the Gods’ adoption of Homer will never be forgotten by the Gods;
the books of France are on God’s bookshelf;
no civil war will take place on the fields of God;
and I don’t doubt the egg of the East its glory—
Yet it rains and the motors go
and continued when I slept by that wall in Washington
which separated the motors in the death-parlor
where Joe McCarthy lay, lean and stilled,
ten blocks from the Capitol—
I could never understand Uncle Sam
his red & white striped pants his funny whiskers his starry hat:
how surreal Yankee Doodle Dandy, goof!
American history has a way of making you feel
George Washington is still around, that is
when I think of Washington I do not think of Death—
Of all Presidents I have been under
Hoover is the most unreal
and FDR is the most President-looking
and Truman the most Jewish-looking
and Eisenhower the miscast of Time into Space—
Hoover is another America, Mr. 1930
and what must he be thinking now?
FDR was my youth, and how strange to still see
his wife around.
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poem by Gregory Corso
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Breaking It Gently
ALL WAS UP with Richard Tanner—
‘Wait-a-Bit’ we called him. Dead?
Yes. The braceman dropped a spanner,
Landed Richard on the head;
Cracked his skull, sir, like a teacup,
Down the pump-shaft in the well.
Braceman hadn’t time to speak up,
Tanner never knew what fell.
Tell the widow? Who’d go through it?
No one on the shift would stir;
But Pat Ryan said he’d do it—
‘Nately break the news to her.’
Pat’s a splitter, and a kinder
Heart I never wish to know.
Stephens told him where to find her,
Begged him gently deal the blow.
In a very solemn manner
Ryan met the dead man’s wife—
‘Mornin’ to yez, Widdy Tanner!’
Says he gravely, ‘Such is life!’
‘I’m no widow!’ says she, prying
For the joke in Ryan’s eye.
‘’Scuse me, mum,’ says Paddy, sighing,
‘’Scuse me, mum, but that’s a lie.’
‘That remark would be repented
If Dick Tanner heard,’ says she.
‘Meanin’, mum, the late lamented
Party av that name?’ says he.
Still the widow missed the notion,
Wonder only filled her eye;
So Pat smothered his emotion,
Gulped, and had another try.
‘’Tis like this, ye see, me honey,
I’ve been sint t’ let ye know
Ye’ve inherited some money—
Twilve ’r fifteen pounds ’r so.
Through a schame av Providence’s,
Which no mortal man could dodge;
Poor Dick’s funeral expenses
Have fell due, mum, at the lodge!’
poem by Edward George Dyson
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