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Valenciennes

By Corporal Tullidge. See "The Trumpet-Major"
In Memory of S. C. (Pensioner). Died 184-

WE trenched, we trumpeted and drummed,
And from our mortars tons of iron hummed
Ath'art the ditch, the month we bombed
The Town o' Valencieën.

'Twas in the June o' Ninety-dree
(The Duke o' Yark our then Commander beën)
The German Legion, Guards, and we
Laid siege to Valencieën.

This was the first time in the war
That French and English spilled each other's gore;
--God knows what year will end the roar
Begun at Valencieën!

'Twas said that we'd no business there
A-topperèn the French for disagreën;

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poem by Thomas Hardy
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Destiny... Begine... Destiny

destiny...
begine...
destiny...
life...
destiny...
suffer....
destiny...
ways ...
destiny...
pains...
destiny...
de ath....
......again
......destiny
......begine

poem by Aidin Azarkerdar
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Death Can Come In Many Ways

Death by murder
Death by chance
Death by secert night romance
Death by number
paint the liner
Death in color or in black and white
accidental
planned
prolonged
De ath by always doin wrong
Death by slef
and timeless art
Death by one last broken heart

poem by Miranda Shaffer
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Baby i love you!

Baby i love the way you call me baby boo.
Baby i love your tough.
Baby i love your smell.
Baby i love your kisses.
i just love you.
Baby it's so real.
Baby it's not a dream.
Baby it's true i love you.
Baby i do anything for you.
i just love you.
Baby i love when you care.
Baby i love when you have no fears.
Baby i love when your all about courage.

i love you ATH! !

poem by Alicia Miller
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The Windhover

To Christ our Lord
I caught this morning morning's minion, king{\-}
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-d{'a}wn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the r{'o}lling level {'u}ndern{'e}ath him steady {'a}ir, |&|
str{'i}ding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl |&| gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, -- the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty |&| valour |&| act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, o my chevalier!
No w{'o}nder of it: sh{'e}er pl{'o}d makes pl{'o}ugh down s{'i}llion
Shine, |&| blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, g{'a}ll thems{'e}lves, |&| g{'a}sh g{'o}ld-verm{'i}lion.

poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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One Illusion (Revised)

A change of perspective is the best way
to deal with depression due to tastefully
wrapped Christmas gifts with allergy-
causing honey, chocolate and cheese

Delicious shivers when I read the Pre-
Cambrian era lasted 300 million years
as an ice age - 800 million years ago:
if we humans exist on a planet

That survived such disasters, why worry
about anything - if a sudden catastrophe
plunged Siberia overnight into sub-zero
temperatures for 15 thousand years

Why should I worry about losing my mind
when I eat - the Beresovka mammoth was
found frozen, half-standing, buttercups in
its mouth, still edible, ivory intact

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Sestina Of The Tramp-Royal

Speakin' in general, I 'ave tried 'em all,
The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world.
Speakin' in general, I 'ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get 'ence, the same as I 'ave done,
An' go observin' matters till they die.

What do it matter where or 'ow we die,
So long as we've our 'ealth to watch it all --
The different ways that different things are done,
An' men an' women lovin' in this world --
Takin' our chances as they come along,
An' when they ain't, pretendin' they are good?

In cash or credit -- no, it aren't no good;
You 'ave to 'ave the 'abit or you'd die,
Unless you lived your life but one day long,
Nor didn't prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some'ow from the world,
An' never bothered what you might ha' done.

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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An Expostulation to Lord King

How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all
The Peers of realm about cheapening their corn,
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental,
'Tis hardly worth while being very high born?

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life,
On a question, my Lord, there's so much to abhor in?
A question - like asking one, "How is your wife?" --
At once so confounded domestic and foreign.

As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast;
But Peers, and such animals, fed up for show,
(Like the well-physick'd elephant, lately deceas'd,)
Take wonderful quantum of cramming, you know.

You might see, my dear Baron, how bor'd and distrest
Were their high noble hearts by your merciless tale,
When the force of the agony wrung even a jest
From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord L-d-d-le!

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poem by Thomas Moore
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 5)

Mr D took off his glasses,
and raised his white cane.
He struck the dark figure,
hard with the crook of the handle
in the middle of the back.
The dark figure bends backwards
revealing his mask of death.
Quickly he recovered and twisted around.
He went to strike out at Mr D,
who hooked the white cane
around one leg and pulled.
The dark figure with the mask of death
fell upon the ground.
He pulled a blade from his pocket
that glinted under the moonlight.
Mr D used the cane again
to knock the blade from his hand
into the dark waters of the lake.

The sound of sirens and blue lights filled the air.

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poem by David Harris
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The Mother-Lodge

There was Rundle, Station Master,
An' Beazeley of the Rail,
An' 'Ackman, Commissariat,
An' Donkin' o' the Jail;
An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent,
Our Master twice was 'e,
With 'im that kept the Europe-shop,
Old Framjee Eduljee.

Outside -- "Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!"
Inside -- "Brother", an' it doesn't do no 'arm.
We met upon the Level an' we parted on the Square,
An' I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!

We'd Bola Nath, Accountant,
An' Saul the Aden Jew,
An' Din Mohammed, draughtsman
Of the Survey Office too;
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,
An' Amir Singh the Sikh,

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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