Quotes about 8 march, page 10
Ode To The Old
As a premature spring rain is born to an early March wind, a heavy heart carries unfulfilled dreams within my soul.
Rain falls steadily never to cease or console, as if only to circumvent my actions for a short while, contorting and adding more difficulty as the March wind howls and blows.
The mind wanders and reaches for a tiny fragment of youth as wrought iron rusts and a March wind swirls paying tribute to the Ode to the old.
Nearby trees yield to and fro, struggling to stand tall as the unforgiving wrath carries on.
Once supple hands are now crippled by an unforgiving touch of an ode to the old.
poem by Ron Pate
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Beeny Cliff
I
O the opal and the sapphire of that wandering western sea,
And the woman riding high above with bright hair flapping free-
The woman whom I loved so, and who loyally loved me.
I I
The pale mews plained below us, and the waves seemed far away
In a nether sky, engrossed in saying their ceaseless babbling say,
As we laughed light-heartedly aloft on that clear-sunned March day.
III
A little cloud then cloaked us, and there flew an irised rain,
And the Atlantic dyed its levels with a dull misfeatured stain,
And then the sun burst out again, and purples prinked the main.
IV
-Still in all its chasmal beauty bulks old Beeny to the sky,
And shall she and I not go there once again now March is nigh,
And the sweet things said in that March say anew there by and by?
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Spartans
Militated orders invoke his presence,
stressed actions, but not of vengeance,
serving a cause to polemics referent;
joining a service to patriotism adherent.
He is a mercenary; inviolable soldier,
tending guard in his country's corners,
on Earth's crepuscular void bleeding,
twines engagement to twilight receding.
A Mountain Raids Squadron Sergeant,
carries an M16A4 rifle, an M9 handgun,
an MK2 knife, rounds. apt tools in a fight,
perceptual experience, technical might;
Coarse, wild animal's thinking tracking,
reading signs on any ground, attacking,
to finish a combat in seconds at onset,
or in martial lightning of a cool mindset.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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My Little March Girl
Come to the pane, draw the curtain apart,
There she is passing, the girl of my heart;
See where she walks like a queen in the street,
Weather-defying, calm, placid and sweet.
Tripping along with impetuous grace,
Joy of her life beaming out of her face,
Tresses all truant-like, curl upon curl,
Wind-blown and rosy, my little March girl.
Hint of the violet's delicate bloom,
Hint of the rose's pervading perfume!
How can the wind help from kissing her face,--
Wrapping her round in his stormy embrace?
But still serenely she laughs at his rout,
She is the victor who wins in the bout.
So may life's passions about her soul swirl,
Leaving it placid,--my little March girl.
What self-possession looks out of her eyes!
What are the wild winds, and what are the skies,
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poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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March Flies
Now comes the time when we douse flies
With various kinds of sprays
The sand flies, and the house flies,
And the flies with furtive ways.
But I keep my hate for the large flies
That come for the tree-lined creek
Those arch flies, the March flies
With a crosscut saw for a beak.
Now, most flies rouse in the autumn
From the summer's drowsy daze,
And they bite as nature taught 'em,
In various styles and ways.
They nip, or they stab or they burrow;
But the fly that knocks me out
Is the March fly, with the dull, dead eye
And a crosscut saw for a snout.
Now the house flies come to the table
Or busily play on the pane;
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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All birds
The world has remained same
Never ending crusade and game
Daily new routes and adventurous quest
March in all the direction to achieve the best
Today we have all means to reach at any end
Posts and messages to reach by fast means to friends
Even self images on the desk within short notice
To keep word and fulfill the task with promises
The trend has changed and so the zeal
The thrust for new avenues has posed great deal
It has been always a dream and not looked real
No rest with full stop until put with final seal
It is untiring and long mission
Human beings have learnt it with lapses and admissions
The road always posed hazardous situation
Yet the march has witness no slump but only continuation
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Crusade and game
The world has remained same
Never ending crusade and game
Daily new routes and adventurous quest
March in all the direction to achieve the best
Today we have all means to reach at any end
Posts and messages to reach by fast means to friends
Even self images on the desk within short notice
To keep word and fulfill the task with promises
The trend has changed and so the zeal
The thrust for new avenues has posed great deal
It has been always a dream and not looked real
No rest with full stop until put with final seal
It is untiring and long mission
Human beings have learnt it with lapses and admissions
The road always posed hazardous situation
Yet the march has witness no slump but only continuation
[...] Read more
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Praise Of Creation
Creation fires my tongue!
Nature thy anthems raise;
And spread the universal song
Of thy Creator's praise!
Heaven's chief delight was Man
Before Creation's birth--
Ordained with joy to lead the van,
And reign the lord of earth.
When Sin was quite unknown,
And all the woes it brought,
He hailed the morn without a groan
Or one corroding thought.
When each revolving wheel
Assumed its sphere sublime,
Submissive Earth then heard the peal,
And struck the march of time.
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poem by George Moses Horton
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Troop Train
It stops the town we come through. Workers raise
Their oily arms in good salute and grin.
Kids scream as at a circus. Business men
Glance hopefully and go their measured way.
And women standing at their dumbstruck door
More slowly wave and seem to warn us back,
As if a tear blinding the course of war
Might once dissolve our iron in their sweet wish.
Fruit of the world, O clustered on ourselves
We hang as from a cornucopia
In total friendliness, with faces bunched
To spray the streets with catcalls and with leers.
A bottle smashes on the moving ties
And eyes fixed on a lady smiling pink
Stretch like a rubber-band and snap and sting
The mouth that wants the drink-of-water kiss.
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poem by Karl Shapiro
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Birds Of Prey March
March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies.
Front! -- eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip.
Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses
Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship.
Cheer! An' we'll never march to victory.
Cheer! An' we'll never live to 'ear the cannon roar!
The Large Birds o' Prey
They will carry us away,
An' you'll never see your soldiers any more!
Wheel! Oh, keep your touch; we're goin' round a corner.
Time! -- mark time, an' let the men be'ind us close.
Lord! the transport's full, an' 'alf our lot not on 'er --
Cheer, O cheer! We're going off where no one knows.
March! The Devil's none so black as 'e is painted!
Cheer! We'll 'ave some fun before we're put away.
'Alt, an' 'and 'er out -- a woman's gone and fainted!
Cheer! Get on -- Gawd 'elp the married men to-day!
[...] Read more
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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