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Who Is With The Bomb?

Where is it?
It is over here! !
Where is it?
It is over there! !
It has occured again and,
Who is with the bomb?
It is over here an there and,
Who is playing with the bomb?
It has destroyed many and,
It is still destroying us daily;
But, who is with the bomb?
Right from creation till now,
We have been destroying ourselves!
With bombs here and there;
But, when are we going to learn?
We do advance on in life but,
We still have the bombs in our hands;
Who really is with the bomb today? !
Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb! ! !
With the atomic bombs alike to kill us all;
Now, the nuclear race is at hand.
Who is with the bomb?
With arsenals and nuclear war heads;
After two thousand years of history,
We still cannot learn from our mistakes.
Here and there with the manufacturing plants,
We still go to conferences thinking of stopping it;
But, should we have no fear of the Atomic Energy? !
A nuclear rat-race,
The arm-race of weapons!
Two thousand years of history could not be wiped away.

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War Is Our Worlds History

I Look into a history book.
And what do I see?
Pain and agony, death and suffering,
I see history that tells a lot about our world.
War!
Our world's history is war.
It is the pain and agony, the death and the suffering,
I see large fields of dead bodies,
I see our heritage being destroyed by other people
because it is not what they believe in,
I see people begging for mercy, but they do not get it
instead they get a bullet in the head.
In our history I see many mistakes in which we can learn from,
but we obviously we do not.
They say not to judge a book by its cover,
to me this quote means nothing to our history.
Our history is our cover,
and the book is filled with pain and agony, death and suffering.
Plain and Simple
War!

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A Thousand Years

Words by sting, music by sting and kipper
A thousand years, a thousand more,
A thousand times a million doors to eternity
I may have lived a thousand lives, a thousand times
An endless turning stairway climbs
To a tower of souls
If it takes another thousand years, a thousand wars,
The towers rise to numberless floors in space
I could shed another million tears, a million breaths,
A million names but only one truth to face
A million roads, a million fears
A million suns, ten million years of uncertainty
I could speak a million lies, a million songs,
A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time
But if there was a single truth, a single light
A single thought, a singular touch of grace
Then following this single point , this single flame,
The single haunted memory of your face
I still love you
I still want you
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves
Like galaxies in my head
I may be numberless, I may be innocent
I may know many things, I may be ignorant
Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands
Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands
I could be cannon food, destroyed a thousand times
Reborn as fortunes child to judge anothers crimes
Or wear this pilgrims cloak, or be a common thief
Ive kept this single faith, I have but one belief
I still love you
I still want you
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves
Like galaxies in my head
On and on the mysteries unwind themselves
Eternities still unsaid
til you love me

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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
And the terms for its end were signed and set.

Washington yearned to retire at home
But his country chose him first president.
Cheering crowds waved flags of love and support
For they believed that 'he, ' by God, was sent.

THE HINGE OF HISTORY

The hinge of history swings in all directions
As the happenings of the past are written down.
Out of all that has occurred since man's beginnings
Less has been recorded than waits to be found.

Babylonians kept chronicles of history
Hebrews wrote the past as a dramatic story.
Greeks had no faith in the future at all
Believing mans repeated errors doom his glory.

Christians added a new dimension to history
Looking forward to Christ's return to earth.
An on going drama involving man and God
Believing all are created of equal worth.

Some have asked why must we study history
It just encourages us to live in the past.
When we forget history we repeat its mistakes
As the outcome of humanity is cast.

AMERICAN SOLDIER

The cost of freedom is sometimes high
Extremely more when our loved one's die.
Men and women pledged to fight and serve
And it's our support that they deserve.

Mankind itself is the one to blame
That all through history, the story's the same.
Peace, like love, can be hard to acquire
Subject always to enemy fire.

Some how the righteous tend to prevail
Over the miss-guided, prone to fail.
No wonder we fear the tongues that lie
As mankind squabbles beneath God's sky.

The danger our solders face is real
So lets let them know just how we feel.
Put forth your flag and show them your heart
As those we love from us depart.


Tom Zart's 465 Poems Are Free to Use to Teach Or Show Support!

By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!

Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38

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A Thousand Years

Just to utter a word,
That is all I desire;
That may still be heard,
When I expire;
That still may glow,
Like a soft, sweet flame,
When others go,
As they lightly came;
That may still be sung
With hopes and fears,
By a careless tongue
In a thousand years.

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If I Lived A Thousand Years

If I lived a thousand years
What would change for me?
My existence is all that is worth
To have my son with me
An angel sent from heaven above
to help me be so strong
Who makes my world so beautiful
when things go so wrong
Who lights up a candle
Little hands are raised
In prayers that God may hear
to 'Keep my mom safe'

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After A Thousand Years Back

thousand years back,
when i was in love.
i had a great passion on my world.
my world was me, she and
our wings like that of butterflies...

now in each moments..
passes centuries and centuries..

life is too bigger and too smaller
than a life..
i still have a great passion on my world.
a world newer than thousand years..

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Thousand Years

I have lived out a thousand years,
And in them was tranquillity, peace
And various species, offering escape.
Soon the light from the sun shines
In the days and not the nights,
The never-ending life begins at home.

A thousand years have passed,
Underneath the sky of clouds
And stars shining brightly forever.
I have lived out my enemies
Forced by the military, affecting me.
This station of importance
Decides to turn into a cradle.

I walk among the clouds
After a thousand years of worry,
Filling everybody with awe and inspiration,
But not with nights and days of ancient kind.

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Not all the singers of a thousand years

Not all the singers of a thousand years
Can open English prisons. No. Though hell
Opened for Tracian Orpheus, now the spell
Of song and art is powerless as the tears
That love has shed. You that were full of fears,
And mean self-love, shall live to know full well
That you yourselves, not he, were pitiable
When you met mercy's voice with frowns or jeers.

And did you ask who signed the plea with you?
Fools! It was signed already with the sign
Of great dead men, of God-like Socrates,
Shakespeare and Plato and the Florentine
Who conquered form. And all your pretty crew
Once, and once only, might have stood with these.

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Woman Of A Thousand Years

Written by danny kirwan.
Woman of a thousand years
How are your sons of a time ago
Do they still admire your silvered ways
As you go down
To the sea and golden sand
You may be seen up in the sky
And from the land
Or floating by, a fishermans day
Flying down from a high
She is gone, and then appears
From the waters edge
Woman of a thousand years
He waits to see you...
You may be seen up in the sky
And from the land
Or floating by, a fishermans day
Flying down from a high
She is gone, and then appears
From the waters edge
He waits to see you
For it has been long since you left him
On his own to wander
Woman of a thousand years
How are your sons of a time ago
Do they still admire your silvered ways
As you go down
To the sea and golden sand

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A Thousand Years

Day after day, I feel myself slowing down, what does it mean?
The air has changed, its getting harder to breathe, or so it would seem
Sail me away to a distant shore, where everythings fine
Chorus:
A thousand years, lost in the blink of an eye
If the sky keeps fallin, the world will come tumblin down
In a thousand years
Tell me my friend, can you imagine a place free of boundaries and lies
Theres blood on the wind and its come all of the way from faraway skies
Take me away to a different world where everythings fine
Chorus
A thousand years, one day for every life
Just keep on going, well find you a home underground, in a thousand years
(instrumental break)
Sail me away to a distant shore, where everythings fine
Chorus
A thousand years, one day for every life
Just keep on going, well find you a home underground, in a thousand years

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Song of a Thousand Years

Lift up your eyes desponding freemen!
Fling to the winds your needless fears!
He who unfurl'd your beauteous banner,
Says it shall wave a thousand years!

"A thousand years!" my own Columbia!
'Tis the glad day so long foretold!
'Tis the glad morn whose early twilight
Washington saw in times of old.

What if the clouds, one little moment,
Hide the blue sky where morn appears --
When the bright sun, that tints them crimson,
Rises to shine a thousand years?

Tell the great world those bless-ed tidings!
Yes, and be sure the bondman hears;
Tell the oppress'd of ev'ry nation,
Jubilee lasts a thousand years!

Fearless foes, beyond the ocean!
Little we heed your threat'ning sneers;
Little will they -- our children's children --
When you are gone a thousand years.

Rebels at home! go hide your faces --
Weep for your crimes with bitter tears;
_You_ could not bind the blessed daylight,
Though you should strive a thousand years.

Back to your dens, ye secret traitors!
Down to your own degraded spheres!
Ere the first blaze of dazzling sunshine
Shortens your lives a thousand years.

Haste thee along, this glorious Noonday!
Oh, for the eyes of ancient seers!
Oh, for the faith of Him who reckons
Each of his days a thousand years.

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I Was Born About Ten Thousand Years Ago

(adapted by elvis presley)
I saw old pharaohs daughter bring moses from the water
Ill lick the guy that says it isnt so
I was born about ten thousand years ago
There aint nothing in this world that I dont know
I saved king davids life and he offered me a wife
I said now youre talking business have a chair
Yeah, I was born about ten thousand years ago
Aint nothing in this world that I dont know
Saw peter, paul and moses playing ring around the roses
Ill lick the guy that says it isnt so
I was born about ten thousand years ago
Aint nothing in this world that I dont know
I saw old pharaohs daughter bring moses from the water
Ill lick the guy that says it isnt so
I was there when old noah built the ark
And I crawled in the window after dark
I saw jonah eat the whale and dance with the lions tale
And I crossed over canaan on a log
I was born about ten thousand years ago
Aint nothing in this world that I dont know
I saw old pharaohs daughter bring moses from the water
Ill lick the guy that says it isnt so
Yeah, I was born about ten thousand years ago
Aint nothing in this world that I dont know
Saw peter, paul and moses playing ring around the roses
Ill lick the guy that says it isnt so
I was there when old noah built the ark
And I crawled in the window after dark
I saw jonah eat the whale and dance with the lions tale
And I crossed over canaan on a log
I was born about ten thousand years ago
There aint nothing in this world that I dont know
I saved king davids life and he offered me a wife
I said now youre talking business have a chair
Yeah, I was born about ten thousand years ago
Aint nothing in this world that I dont know
Saw peter, paul and moses playing ring around the roses
Ill lick the guy that says it isnt so

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Ambrose Bierce

Fame [One thousand years I slept beneath the sod]

One thousand years I slept beneath the sod,
My sleep in 1901 beginning,
Then, by the action of some scurvy god
Who happened then to recollect my sinning,
I was revived and given another inning.
On breaking from my grave I saw a crowd
A formless multitude of men and women,
Gathered about a ruin. Clamors loud
I heard, and curses deep enough to swim in;
And, pointing at me, one said: 'Let's put _him_ in.'
Then each turned on me with an evil look,
As in my ragged shroud I stood and shook.

'Nay, good Posterity,' I cried, 'forbear!
If that's a jail I fain would be remaining
Outside, for truly I should little care
To catch my death of cold. I'm just regaining
The life lost long ago by my disdaining
To take precautions against draughts like those
That, haply, penetrate that cracked and splitting
Old structure.' Then an aged wight arose
From a chair of state in which he had been sitting,
And with preliminary coughing, spitting
And wheezing, said: ''T is not a jail, we're sure,
Whate'er it may have been when it was newer.

''T was found two centuries ago, o'ergrown
With brush and ivy, all undoored, ungated;
And in restoring it we found a stone
Set here and there in the dilapidated
And crumbling frieze, inscribed, in antiquated
Big characters, with certain uncouth names,
Which we conclude were borne of old by awful
Rapscallions guilty of all sinful games
Vagrants engaged in purposes unlawful,
And orators less sensible than jawful.
So each ten years we add to the long row
A name, the most unworthy that we know.'

'But why,' I asked, 'put _me_ in?' He replied:
'You look it'-and the judgment pained me greatly;
Right gladly would I then and there have died,
But that I'd risen from the grave so lately.
But on examining that solemn, stately
Old ruin I remarked: 'My friend, you err
The truth of this is just what I expected.
This building in its time made quite a stir.
I lived (was famous, too) when 't was erected.
The names here first inscribed were much respected.
This is the Hall of Fame, or I'm a stork,
And this goat pasture once was called New York.'

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Once in thousand years

Once in thousand years
Such a story appear and we hear
Much to the disbelief to the ears
With lots of grief and tears

A star may fall from heaven
On earth to shine and enlighten
To be put on celebrities list often
All with golden advices render comfort to listen

Lot many years have been passed
Every human being is unhappy and harassed
Where all happy days have gone?
What wrong have we done?

Take rebirth here among us and guide
No one can us to safety and provide
Much awaited relief and peaceful life
Life has become burden to walk on edge of knife

Lord, when can that happen again?
Everything has gone to long drain
We are starving and dying for no fault
Our wound are aggravated by deadly salt

No one is here to take our care
We have no idea and place to go where
You reappear and show us path to salvation
We may follow you without any reservation

Time has ripened for earth to disappear
There is no more patience to bear
All the pain and agony beyond our tolerance
It is proving hell for all of us at once

We are sure to survive but with plight
No more solution is in sight
How to know what is wrong or right?
For each and everything we have to fight

You descend on earth and rescue us from clutches
You bring an end to slavery stop before they reach
We will die for simple reason and not for cause
Just think for while without waiting for pause

Why such feelings run around globe?
What makes all activities to be put on probe?
Are we unintentionally killings the nature?
We are certainly loosing ground for sure

We are getting worst news from all the quarters
More and more people are coming forward to claim as masters
They want to spread hegemony over all aspects
The religion and nobility has lost all the respects

Under ground is poisoned and so is the surface
Atmosphere has pollution and there is mad race
Earth can be wiped out quite number of times
It may leave deadly effect not to be remembered sometimes

Only you can grant us safe heaven and place
You have capability to take the helm of affairs
There may be little flare up and we are over
Provide us safety, good life and peaceful cover

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Patrick White

A Thousand Years From Now

A thousand years from now
who will remember me
once I've disappeared from this windowpane,
a vapour of breath with awareness,
a nebular stain on the clarity
that will wash its hands of me
like a scar of water that has clung too long?

I'm not trying to embalm
the elegiac content of these obvious sunsets in words,
and it's hard to shake honey out of these mordant bells
that lie like duplicitous lifeboats to the gullible compasses and maps
that keep crashing like doves that don't have the wingspan
to come back with news of land
to this museum of DNA, two of every kind,
I keep scuttling like an ark on the top of every wave.

And what is a grave if not an abandoned embassy
that didn't have time to shred its dreaded secret?
And sometimes, when the emptiness and the silence
are beyond bearing,
I hold myself up like a passport at the panicked gates
that have made me an exile and a wounded threshold in my own home
and clamour like a continent
to be repatriated anywhere
that isn't a country whose borders are stretched out like refugee lines.

But it's a foolish wish.
And if there's a dragon to slay,
I realize it's only more shadows and swordplay,
and I think of the return of the rain lifted from the sea
and how the sea never feels anything is missing,
and everything is passage without arrival or departure
and how the arrow never leaves the hand of a good archer.

It's human nature to understand,
a sacred mode of disobedience
to look into the eyes of our worst fears
even if it's just to flare like a star without rescue
and scream out in light a moment against its own extinction.
But who or what or nothing is ever there to listen
as we go out like flies and stars in a toilet bowl?

And a love of laws is not the law of love
and there have been so many dragons
left out of the chrysales of their questions like answers
that the heart is not sustained by the impersonal blessing
of ubiquitous entropy in a long, lab coat
as the spirit longs for transformations
a star and a night beyond itself
that might astonish a human
with something enduringly human
like a next breath that can't be smudged by death
or something drastic in the dust that remembers us
when we were stars
that thawed through the windowpane
as if we were looking through the lenses of our own eyes
to discover everything we live is how we die
and we're always a plight and a plea away from knowing why.

Imagine, one night, looking up at the sky
and there were no death to raise the moon
like a calendar above your neck,
and everything you saw around you,
crows, kites, keys,
last year's pine cones on this year's trees,
were not denuded of their mystic specificity
in this mortal profusion of origins
that ends where it begins. Imagine,
one morning, not getting up from the dream
to pan the mindstream for the nugget of a skull
that might be gold, and the luster of the radiance
never grows old like the taste of the moon in your mouth.

Wouldn't this onceness then be eternal,
and what I'm saying now, indelible
as the space that prompts the stars to shine?
Learning wisdom is learning the universe
as if it were your own face, on the inside,
and you were its only eyes,
disappearing from view so that all that remains is you.

Birth, a breathing in; death, a breathing out,
before the first and after the last, this pulse and suspiration,
muses around the wellspring, witches around the cauldron,
planets fluttering like moths
at the windows of the constellations. Like the moon
I pass my hand over like an eclipse as if it were my own skull,
I have been creatively maintained from the start by my own expiration.
Are there no orchards in the hearts of old women?
Are there no graves in the eyes of a child?

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Patrick White

Pure Intensity

Pure intensity. The point of a star. Blue acetylene
to burn out the slag of the soul and burnish the gold
that pours from the ore like the full moon out of the new
without any fear of ever growing old.

Give up it all up like nothing less
than everything all the time
until there's nothing left for death
to get its hands on. Nothing to curse. Nothing to bless.

But you can't always tell which is which
as the witchdoctor minimalist
at the back of the wax museum
steps out of the shadows of his spider-web
and says less is more and more is less, more or less
as the crow flys. But there's deceit in his eyes
and you haven't got time to consider all that
when your hair is on fire like a tie-dyed comet
and everyone's mistaking you as a sign
of their second coming, when all you want to do
is plunge your coma in the sun that shines at midnight
in every third eye of dew on the enlightened stargrass.

Everything passes, it's true. But if you pass
fast enough, time stops, and that grave in the closet
you've been hauling around with you for light years
becomes as huge as a sky burial
at Gobekli Tepe in Turkey, or the pyre
of your own skeleton stoking the fire
that's boiling the marrow out your bones.
Stay inflammable like orchids and carnations,
waterlilies imported from your
igneous passion for the moon.

Don't ever let the gods chain you to a rock
in the Caucasus for a theft of fire
they didn't even bother to prove
before they put your liver on the daily menu
and sent vultures to peck your eyes out
like hors d'oeuvres. It's ok to be a wildflower
and bloom in fire once every seven thousand years
like the return of a Buddha in an urn of ashes.
But never lend your third eye out to an arsonist
who says he's having trouble focusing
and uses it as a lens to burn a black hole
in the middle of a poem that's been taken
out of context like a table of contents.
We've got the stars for that, and who needs
another epilogue to keep the fire going
long enough to be the third man on the match
for a bullet you didn't see coming like a space craft
because you were blinded by your own blazing?

Climbing the stairs to Joan of Arc's place,
she was conditioning her hair with a fire extinguisher
and getting ready to pull up stakes
and move back to the country where you can see
six thousand stars with the naked eye
or you can jump through the fire
like a witch without being burned
by the Burgundians for reigniting France
without a permit in a month of unbearable heat.
Even though hagiographers prefer
the fragrance of their saints in urns.

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The Journey Purple

Diabolic renditions render in submission
The audience captive in trance,
Too scared to dance still they're chancing
On the re birth of a revolution dying on its feet.

They're loosing a race lost in pace so many years
Ago now no one can remember the faith
They held so dear to there hearts,
Here I am one in the same, broken in parts.

Numbered, Bummed, the dregs of the slum
Still I know with two suns shining I'll never find my peace
Shrinking in the shadows, blinking at the sight of revelations fading.
I find myself wading aimless through the dirt,
Lost in the elder forest pixy led I'm lost one in the same, shirtless
Flirting with the conception of a concept, here I am learning to respect
The forest universal, a forest universally challenged.

What is it I'm looking for scratching
At the surface of a lake frozen in the frost?
Empires rise as empires fall they say,
Two suns keep the day eternal turning.
The moon shaken from her routine lights the fires of discontent.

Watching them burn she perceives
The germ upon the surface crawling.
Pawing at the dirt the shirtless
Sink into reflections of the moon
As drunken cherubim wallow in the lagoon,
Swallowing over and over, the seed of the sun,
Apollo’s seed, his promise of life a new, beyond the day.

Beyond the need to breed,
The want for lust in which
We trust feeds upon their forms
Angelic in proportion,
Inspired perfection
Inspiring distractions.

Deep within the mountain lie a race ancient in the knowing
A hundred thousand years they have worked the knowledge of nurture
To an art, to the most esteemed of magicks, their they lie in splendor
Fending off the daemons that haunt them through the looking glass,
Possessed souls did no where to go but home, to rest an hour or two to pass.
To laugh away the time as though it was yours or mine seems the greatest gift of all,
The darkness to which we fall in repression is nothing but a call upon depression.
Leading to the suppression of instinct, of an devotion to emotion.

Flick the purple journey, Lick the skin unseen
Wrap the skin to tightness in honor of the Queen.
Queen of hearts, Queen of tarts which I you my friend
Which will it be in the end?

Here he comes out of the blue a child of Druid statures,
Bare from the wilderness, what is it he stammers?
Muttered curses? Uttered prayers?
Hammering the ground with entwined reeds
What God is it he feeds with his sacrifice?
What ritual but chaos is performed night beyond night?
Why is it that it should be labeled wrong or right?

That he should dance in dedication,
That he should chance on faith before Medication
Is it not proof of existence within the soul of the believer?
Is any God anything but a receiver of prayers, of libations?
What are they without those who believe, are they there?

Nothing but stills for times archives
Yet here they are alive
Growing in strength
As Mars once more proclaims his
Throne as the God of War
Venus waits upon the sidelines
Feeding in bloodlust a frenzy of souls.
Dance the circle whole.

To fight the good fight
In the name of the light
The light that guides
That protects from the source
The light that burns
Force beyond Forces

Mirrored
Withered
Gathered
Clouds
Withered
Mirrored
Dirty
Cr owds

Where are they going?
Why is it they run so fast?
Should I join them?
Is their race one I may last?

Who knows?
Who cares?

Maybe I was never there
Maybe it was all an illusion.
Maybe it was your ghost
Rubbing fingers through my hair.

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Walt Whitman

Sing Of The Banner At Day-Break

POET.

O A new song, a free song,
Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer,
By the wind's voice and that of the drum,
By the banner's voice, and child's voice, and sea's voice, and
father's voice,
Low on the ground and high in the air,
On the ground where father and child stand,
In the upward air where their eyes turn,
Where the banner at day-break is flapping.

Words! book-words! what are you?
Words no more, for hearken and see, 10
My song is there in the open air--and I must sing,
With the banner and pennant a-flapping.

I'll weave the chord and twine in,
Man's desire and babe's desire--I'll twine them in, I'll put in life;
I'll put the bayonet's flashing point--I'll let bullets and slugs
whizz;
(As one carrying a symbol and menace, far into the future,
Crying with trumpet voice, Arouse and beware! Beware and arouse!)
I'll pour the verse with streams of blood, full of volition, full of
joy;
Then loosen, launch forth, to go and compete,
With the banner and pennant a-flapping. 20

PENNANT.

Come up here, bard, bard;
Come up here, soul, soul;
Come up here, dear little child,
To fly in the clouds and winds with me, and play with the measureless
light.

CHILD.

Father, what is that in the sky beckoning to me with long finger?
And what does it say to me all the while?

FATHER.

Nothing, my babe, you see in the sky;
And nothing at all to you it says. But look you, my babe,
Look at these dazzling things in the houses, and see you the money-
shops opening;
And see you the vehicles preparing to crawl along the streets with
goods: 10
These! ah, these! how valued and toil'd for, these!
How envied by all the earth!

POET.

Fresh and rosy red, the sun is mounting high;
On floats the sea in distant blue, careering through its channels;
On floats the wind over the breast of the sea, setting in toward
land;
The great steady wind from west and west-by-south,
Floating so buoyant, with milk-white foam on the waters.

But I am not the sea, nor the red sun;
I am not the wind, with girlish laughter;
Not the immense wind which strengthens--not the wind which lashes; 20
Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and death;
But I am that which unseen comes and sings, sings, sings,
Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the land,
Which the birds know in the woods, mornings and evenings,
And the shore-sands know, and the hissing wave, and that banner and
pennant,
Aloft there flapping and flapping.

CHILD.

O father, it is alive--it is full of people--it has children!
O now it seems to me it is talking to its children!
I hear it--it talks to me--O it is wonderful!
O it stretches--it spreads and runs so fast! O my father, 30
It is so broad, it covers the whole sky!

FATHER.

Cease, cease, my foolish babe,
What you are saying is sorrowful to me--much it displeases me;
Behold with the rest, again I say--behold not banners and pennants
aloft;
But the well-prepared pavements behold--and mark the solid-wall'd
houses.

BANNER AND PENNANT.

Speak to the child, O bard, out of Manhattan;
(The war is over--yet never over.... out of it, we are born to real
life and identity;)
Speak to our children all, or north or south of Manhattan,
Where our factory-engines hum, where our miners delve the ground,
Where our hoarse Niagara rumbles, where our prairie-plows are
plowing; 40
Speak, O bard! point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all--
and yet we know not why;
For what are we, mere strips of cloth, profiting nothing,
Only flapping in the wind?

POET.

I hear and see not strips of cloth alone;
I hear again the tramp of armies, I hear the challenging sentry;
I hear the jubilant shouts of millions of men--I hear LIBERTY!
I hear the drums beat, and the trumpets yet blowing;
I myself move abroad, swift-rising, flying then;
I use the wings of the land-bird, and use the wings of the sea-bird,
and look down as from a height;
I do not deny the precious results of peace--I see populous cities,
with wealth incalculable; 50
I see numberless farms--I see the farmers working in their fields or
barns;
I see mechanics working--I see buildings everywhere founded, going
up, or finish'd;
I see trains of cars swiftly speeding along railroad tracks, drawn by
the locomotives;
I see the stores, depots, of Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, New
Orleans;
I see far in the west the immense area of grain--I dwell awhile,
hovering;
I pass to the lumber forests of the north, and again to the southern
plantation, and again to California;
Sweeping the whole, I see the countless profit, the busy gatherings,
earned wages;
See the identity formed out of thirty-eight spacious and haughty
States (and many more to come;)
See forts on the shores of harbors--see ships sailing in and out;
Then over all, (aye! aye!) my little and lengthen'd pennant, shaped
like a sword, 60
Runs swiftly up, indicating war and defiance--And now the halyards
have rais'd it,
Side of my banner broad and blue--side of my starry banner,
Discarding peace over all the sea and land.

BANNER AND PENNANT.

Yet louder, higher, stronger, bard! yet farther, wider cleave!
No longer let our children deem us riches and peace alone;
We may be terror and carnage, and are so now;
Not now are we any one of these spacious and haughty States, (nor any
five, nor ten;)
Nor market nor depot are we, nor money-bank in the city;
But these, and all, and the brown and spreading land, and the mines
below, are ours;
And the shores of the sea are ours, and the rivers, great and
small; 70
And the fields they moisten are ours, and the crops and the fruits
are ours;
Bays and channels, and ships sailing in and out, are ours--and we
over all,
Over the area spread below, the three or four millions of square
miles--the capitals,
The forty millions of people--O bard! in life and death supreme,
We, even we, henceforth flaunt out masterful, high up above,
Not for the present alone, for a thousand years, chanting through
you,
This song to the soul of one poor little child.

CHILD.

O my father, I like not the houses;
They will never to me be anything--nor do I like money;
But to mount up there I would like, O father dear--that banner I
like; 80
That pennant I would be, and must be.

FATHER.

Child of mine, you fill me with anguish;
To be that pennant would be too fearful;
Little you know what it is this day, and after this day, forever;
It is to gain nothing, but risk and defy everything;
Forward to stand in front of wars--and O, such wars!--what have you
to do with them?
With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death?

POET.

Demons and death then I sing;
Put in all, aye all, will I--sword-shaped pennant for war, and banner
so broad and blue,
And a pleasure new and extatic, and the prattled yearning of
children, 90
Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land, and the liquid wash of
the sea;
And the black ships, fighting on the sea, enveloped in smoke;
And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and
pines;
And the whirr of drums, and the sound of soldiers marching, and the
hot sun shining south;
And the beech-waves combing over the beach on my eastern shore, and
my western shore the same;
And all between those shores, and my ever running Mississippi, with
bends and chutes;
And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of
Missouri;
The CONTINENT--devoting the whole identity, without reserving an
atom,
Pour in! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all, and the yield
of all.

BANNER AND PENNANT.

Aye all! for ever, for all! 100
From sea to sea, north and south, east and west,
(The war is completed, the price is paid, the title is settled beyond
recall;)
Fusing and holding, claiming, devouring the whole;
No more with tender lip, nor musical labial sound,
But, out of the night emerging for good, our voice persuasive no
more,
Croaking like crows here in the wind.

POET.
(Finale.)

My limbs, my veins dilate;
The blood of the world has fill'd me full--my theme is clear at last:
--Banner so broad, advancing out of the night, I sing you haughty and
resolute;
I burst through where I waited long, too long, deafen'd and
blinded; 110
My sight, my hearing and tongue, are come to me, (a little child
taught me;)
I hear from above, O pennant of war, your ironical call and demand;
Insensate! insensate! (yet I at any rate chant you,) O banner!
Not houses of peace indeed are you, nor any nor all their prosperity,
(if need be, you shall again have every one of those houses to
destroy them;
You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing fast, full
of comfort, built with money;
May they stand fast, then? Not an hour, except you, above them and
all, stand fast;)
--O banner! not money so precious are you, not farm produce you, nor
the material good nutriment,
Nor excellent stores, nor landed on wharves from the ships;
Not the superb ships, with sail-power or steam-power, fetching and
carrying cargoes,
Nor machinery, vehicles, trade, nor revenues,--But you, as henceforth
I see you, 120
Running up out of the night, bringing your cluster of stars, (ever-
enlarging stars;)
Divider of day-break you, cutting the air, touch'd by the sun,
measuring the sky,
(Passionately seen and yearn'd for by one poor little child,
While others remain busy, or smartly talking, forever teaching
thrift, thrift;)
O you up there! O pennant! where you undulate like a snake, hissing
so curious,
Out of reach--an idea only--yet furiously fought for, risking bloody
death--loved by me!
So loved! O you banner leading the day, with stars brought from the
night!
Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all--(absolute
owner of ALL)--O banner and pennant!
I too leave the rest--great as it is, it is nothing--houses, machines
are nothing--I see them not;
I see but you, O warlike pennant! O banner so broad, with stripes, I
sing you only, 130
Flapping up there in the wind.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To Vittoria Colonna. (Sonnet V.)

Lady, how can it chance--yet this we see
In long experience--that will longer last
A living image carved from quarries vast
Than its own maker, who dies presently?
Cause yieldeth to effect if this so be,
And even Nature is by Art at surpassed;
This know I, who to Art have given the past,
But see that Time is breaking faith with me.
Perhaps on both of us long life can I
Either in color or in stone bestow,
By now portraying each in look and mien;
So that a thousand years after we die,
How fair thou wast, and I how full of woe,
And wherefore I so loved thee, may be seen.

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Guardians Of The Breath

They were guardians of the breath
Trusted with those precious chances
Keeping gaia from the fear of death
Balances must be defended
To take only what they must
(borrowed from the future)
Live in lovers of a global home
(our children will remember)
Guardians slept while comfort came
The vapours poison, the acid rain fell
The spirit cut from earthly bounds
The creature stirred the pain
How much abuse can she take
(awake from your dreamtime)
The lines are drawn our justice awaits
(will the guardians surrender)
The forest bare, a desert born
The life pushed out
They sold her cheaply
All for a shilling for next weeks treat
A marvel that had taken ten thousand years
To take only what they must
(borrowed from the future)
Live in lovers of a global home
(our children will remember)
They are guardians of the breath
Trusted with those precious chances
They are guardians of the breath
Balances must be defended

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