We are one nation, one blood,
In times of sorrow, we calm each other,
In moments of horror, we cluddle together,
When we slip on the way, we hold each other,
When terror strikes, we defend together,
We are one nation, one blood.
We shed it for each other.
(Dedicated to my beloved Kenya in memory of Westgate attack. In times of difficult we have proved our unit and boundaryless love - God bless Kenya)
Copyright © Alfonce Choi | Year Posted 2013
America has another name
her name is Freedom
hidden behind political, racial, medical
economical, educational, social
all fixed corporations
means extra banks
we the people protest our freedom
we’re calling for freedom
America show us our freedom
life requires no credits to score
we are enlightened beings
so much more
so much more than rich man, poor man
Groundhog-----going in circles
working 15 hours a day man
we’re calling for freedom
liberty is our birthright
to roam the earth at will is our birthright
we are freedom
we say freedom
America live up to your name
your name is Freedom
freedom is the word
word is law
America follow the law
the law says freedom
we demand truth
we demand mental freedom
Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2015
~Veteran's Day Tribute~
It's Veteran's day
Today we honour all the
Living military veterans
For they do
And their sacrifice
We're so proud of all
American Veterans from all wars
They keep us safe, free.
Dorian Petersen Potter
~On November, 11, 2015... here in the USA, we celebrate "Veteran's Day"
Please remember and pay honor to all our American men and women in the Military, the Air force, the Navy etc...from the very long past, to the present and future generations. They sacrifice a lot and some have sacrificed it all ...they give it all they have... and too many have given it their all....their own very lives.
Please support all our American troops in any way you can not just this day, today, but everyday.
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2015
He is an old Vet now, weighed down by the years.
He walks slowly with a limp, and has grey hair, eye glasses and hearing aids.
Ah, but there once was a day when he was young and strong.
A day when he raised his hand and swore to support the Constitution and protect
A day he stood erect, proudly wore his uniform and gave crisp salutes.
A day he shook his fathers hand, kissed his mother goodbye and went off to war.
A day he stood firmly and bravely against aggressive foes and did not falter.
A day he saw things a young man should not have to see.
A day he did things a young man should not have to do.
And day he wept over the graves of his fallen comrades.
Yes he remembers all these things.
He stands as the flag passes by in the parade and he salutes it as he has done many times before...
And he remembers.
Copyright © Ralph Bruzzichesi | Year Posted 2014
Tattle cries are just as loud as battle cries,
but the difference is
tears from mannequins dry on untouchable skin.
You may have a purpose, but your attempt at a movement
is motionless because your passion
is a carefully constructed image
replicated in a false ideology
that manifests into something specific
obtaining a manual manipulation.
A self servant visibility is indicative
of an egocentric personality and everything insinuated
to be perceptually believed as sacred
usually doesn't leave further than the tapping of your fingers.
You proselytize by regurgitating the ways
of a preferred deity and establish yourself
by turning your mirror to reflect the angle
of how you want to be seen and adjust your thoughts
for a higher seat in your vanity
in order to possess everything in your hypocrisy.
The feedback you get initiates a sedimentary mask
you proudly wear and give a name to because
as a statuesque representative in an upscale consumption
of physical and mindful gluttony,
it is the exemplary rock to inscribe your identity.
You disguise it as spirituality, enlightenment, or awareness
labeling it as politics, religion, parenting, racism,
abortion, extortion, activism, or sexism.
It does not, in anyway, alleviate
the struggling strong minded from with holding their weeps
on garments bled by friends in unsung tongues and private sin,
in time well spent where the secrets
of the heart are kept for keeps rather than exposed and disposed of
in a widespread generic documentary
for the world to see the effects of their warfare.
Where words of vulnerability and exposed nerves
are perceived as nothing but memes and black sheep
trying to be shepherds making lists of things
to better humanity in articles utilized by a machine.
As if the top ten life hacks will take neglcted children
out of the slums of a poor shack
and stop the hateful attacks on those who need welfare.
The bandaging by labeling and over medicating
will not eradicate the urgent need for eye to eye,
flesh to flesh, heart to heart
laughing, kind, grateful, melting of this
Copyright © Mindy Clay | Year Posted 2016
We celebrate our veterans,
on November the eleventh.
In honor of their great service,
we show our appreciation.
On November the eleventh,
a memorial will be held
at Arlington, to place a wreath,
to honor our fallen heroes.
In honor of their great service,
flags will fly and anthems will play.
Patriotism rules the day,
to laud the bravest of the brave.
We show our appreciation,
for the sacrifices they made,
with free restaurant meals for Vets,
and numerous hometown parades.
For Debbie Guzzi's Holiday Retourne contest
Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2015
The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.
A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.
When patriotism was not just a word
by what men lived and judged the worth of each,
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend.
An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station,
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet.
Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.
What greater honor, that when a man moves forward,
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was.
A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior,
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.
The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now.
Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember,
because he now resides forever in our hearts.
As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye,
as he draws upon his pipe,
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
Which nation of the world
Do I belong?
I belong to the nation
And freedom for all.
I belong to the nation
Proletariat and aristocracy
Disabled and abled
Woman and man
Young and old
Black and colored
People and nation
Right and rule...
I belong to the nation of peace
Across the land, the sea and the sky.
And peaceful stretch to the arboreal.
And Peace of souls,
Is my strength-
The rhythm that keeps me growing.
Though I was born a Nigerian.
Not I neglects being call
American, Ghanaian, Portuguese
Chinese, Korean, Indian...
Though I'm by virtue
Of land mass
Not do I dismiss
In unison unit
That type me Asian,
I belong to
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013
From out of the west and the flaming Sun, an entrance he did make.
There’s none like this one, an American Eagle, make no mistake!
He’d served in all the Western wars… and cleaned up many a town.
What he was doing here in ours… Totally, held the breath of all.
It seemed the West had gone tame to him, all of a sudden, you know.
He was heading East on an updraft of Freedom, and Justice, for all…
To find just the right fight… where they needed him, to serve each night.
He’d gaze upon the Liberty Bell, stand where Washington had done right.
Still that would never be enough, when somewhere injustice struck.
Here, he was just passing thru… His shadow leaving its amazing mark.
None would ever forget, how he stood and flew so straight and tall.
He’s the symbol and shield our men serve under, in this glorious land.
When he flies over, stop and salute, our Flaming Son.
He and all those, who into battle, do steadfastly follow him.
For he is the leader of all those, who will forever steadfastly go.
Dedicated to my Son going into the Army on the Veterans Day.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014
I’m from liberty and justice; kindness and sadness.
I’m from freedom and victory; presidential elections and offices.
I’m from celebration of freedom and fireworks; and a wonderful melting pot.
I’m from an eagle and an anthem, which happily plays on.
I’m from life and death, and of people of different descent.
I’m from the Show-Me State, upholding the motto “Salus populi suprema lex esto:”
The welfare of the people shall be supreme law.
I am of the Missouri Waltz, and of an Algonquian Indian word.
I am of farming and mining; aircraft equipment and cars.
I’m from an annexed Jasper County and Newton County; from Methodist congregation and zinc mining.
(A place I can hardly even remember, as it has been changed)
From Route 66, and historical background knowledge.
I am from devastation and destruction; death and injuries.
I’m from damage and regrowth; repopulation and help.
I’m from family and friends; businesses both small and large.
I am of silence and tears, and of federal disaster.
I’m from strength and dignity; perseverance and trust.
I am of murals and proud historic background.
Artifacts and messages, love and hope.
I’m from comedy and drama; friendship and bonds.
I’m from love and loss; football and cheer.
I’m from an academic and athletic strength; and from the A+ Program.
I am from Junge field, and brick structuring.
I am of theatre and JET-14; show choir, orchestra, and band.
I am of FTC and AP courses.
I am of loss and damage; devastation and irreparability.
I am from a temporary and split campus, and renovation.
I am from commencement, and uncommon maturity.
I am from a battered and bruised community, and a slowly growing voice.
I’m from experience and pain, hardworking and strong people.
I am of economic setback, and of pain and heartache.
I am of faith and trust, influence and beliefs.
I am of love and pain, sarcastic and snide remarks.
I am from life and death; adoption and birth.
I am from old and young; wrong and right.
I am from values and morals; beliefs and brief moments of laughter.
I am from tinkling of bells and the sound of dropped frying pans.
I’m from happiness and sadness; from the moon and stars.
I’m from Christianity; particularly of Pentecostal belief.
I am from the tinkle of a baby’s laugh and tears; of nieces and nephews.
I'm of friendship and hope..
This is where I'm from.
Copyright © Allié-Marie Smith | Year Posted 2013
An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war
A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying
Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
long life, his number one ambition
As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed
The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late
Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right
Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right
Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight
Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010
Are migrants proud Australians?
Our nation based on immigration,
One polyglot meld of humanity,
To Australia, show fidelity.
Our nation of peaceful tolerance,
People from Earth's shifting sands,
Living here in Great Southern Land,
Deployment should not be our dance,
Nothing wrong with loyalty,
Patriotism our children's legacy,
--Great Southern Land,
All welcome to be Australians!
Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2015
Salutations to Tiranga (Indian National Flag)
Mother India was freed from the British shackles...
To tyranny we bid adieu, new freedom welcomed!
'Tiranga' with due honour, replaced the 'Union jack'
Fluttered in the blue sky in the glory of victory!
Orchestra of happy moods had finally arrived,
Calling for celebrations with full pomp and joy!
Our National Anthem sung and Trumphets blown
All Indians joined festivity forgetting all woes!
Adding wings to this happiness,the Tricolour fluttered!!
Breeze of bloodbath and fetters all disappeared
Flew with resplendence this khadi splendour!
Three stripes horizontal with a central wheel
Top is the saffron for selflessness and valour,
Also marks vibrant hue of Ego absolution!
White in the middle stands for peace and purity
Also Knowledge and honesty attribute to it
The dark green in the third stripe is for faith and fertility,
Happiness and prosperity for a greener globe!
The wheel of dharma adopted from the Lion capital,
That once sung heroism of Asoka, the Emperor!
In navy blue is this wheel placed in the centre,
Progress it represents with spokes twenty-four
Ignites a spark of deep patriotism as it flutters
Wrapped around cadaver of the martyrs of this mother
Glory to Tiranga, Glory to the Nation,
World's largest democracy salutes this symbol
Let our flag soar high and keep our spirits boosted
Long live Tiranga till the sky is above!
For the contest: The State/ Country Flag - sponsored by: Judy Konos
By: Anulaxmi Nayak,
Flag: TIRANGA - Indian National Flag
THEME: Salutations and admiration to our national symbol!
Copyright © Anulaxmi Nayak | Year Posted 2015
From the past days of old.
At Seventh Street & Florence Avenue.
Vehicles in pristine finished.
Bragging Rights Mint Condition.
Proudly rolled by in a yearly tribute.
Very close behind did the present.
Spanking brand new, Virgilina's, VA.
Town's first responders debut their life-
saving vehicles of rescue.
Summer Fest proudly displayed.
Awesomely colored painted fine cars.
Including trucks and plowing tractors.
The drivers and passengers.
Cheerfully waived tossing smiles and candy.
I watched so many of the children laughing.
Enjoying themselves while playfully.
Scrambling to grab all and as many.
Of the tossed free candies.
So very comforting it was to see.
Neighbors, visitors, friends and family.
Standing side by side
In such a loving comradely.
History and our future.
Embracing one another.
In supreme harmony.
Refreshing the supportive celebration.
Veterans from old world wars of our past.
Keeping close in step were our gallant;
soldiers of wars in our present time.
Today's events were also in celebration.
Of the soldiers whom honorably.
Transitioned to a much peaceful home.
This was a very lovely quick get away.
Cotton candy, home made ice cream.
Scenie's Old-fashioned Peanut Brittle.
Freshly squeezed lemonade.
How fortunate to meet Ms Marion Woods.
Author of Uncle Jerdon's Farm Children' Book.
Thanks to my cousin Natarsha.
I am experiencing a very lovely.
Memorial Weekend Holiday.
My Uncle Joe Lassiter our beloved Veteran.
His daughter and my cousin Andrea Miller.
Stood in the longest line waiting patiently.
For what I learned was the town's best.
It's evening now I sit here as one.
Within this blissful time in nature.
Pleasantly at peace.
Relaxed taking in the beauty.
Of this picturesque piece of land.
On on this lovely day.
I joyfully have a writing instrument.
Very close at hand.
Copyright © Cheryl Chandler | Year Posted 2014
Normally civil amongst ourselves.
Knowing the alternative benefits no one.
Accepting of other people and willing to try and understand them.
This, the glue that binds us.
Grateful for the peace we enjoy.
Remembering it came with a price.
Aware we are generally decent people.
An ideal the world aspires to.
Oh, this is our spirit.
Marsee/ Merci/ Thank you Canada!
Copyright © Carmine Rossi | Year Posted 2015
the existence of known solubles
be they spiritual, molecular or imaginary
derivations, vain or divine
By chance, plot or plan
take maternity shops for example
bill of rights?
looking up from our handheld
electronic god to greet passersbys
purge our souls
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © James Marshall Goff | Year Posted 2013
He celebrated his enlistment
And proudly showed the pictures of his plane,
A screaming bird emblazoned with the stars
And stripes. He joked about our home fried chicken
And kissed his baby sister, promising
To bring back toys and treats from foreign lands.
He believed in freedom, said that all
The people of the world should have that chance;
The Viet Cong would rue the day
The soldiers of America marched across their land.
They brought him home in pieces,
Shielded in a casket closed, draped
With the flag he bravely served.
We take the roses to his grave,
Red and white and bound with ribbons blue;
We weep, not alone for him,
But for the “huddled masses yearning to breath free,”
And for the valiant efforts that may have been in vain.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
Open your eyes to the ever turning skies
I want to here with me through the night
My heart yearns into your soul
Burning as if newly lit coal
I bravely submerg the embers
That the time I have can be spent with you
And I remember each kiss every moment
I was caught in your love that for just this day I remember
So what happened was a chance for your love
A time that I kept in a locket tied with a kiss
I wanted you to feel, to love, to slumber
And to awake in my arms with that times kept bliss
I lay silient in an umber
Copyright © Courtney Courtney | Year Posted 2013
My precious son, welcome home
Let me hold you, embrace you, for you are not alone
My how you’ve changed, what battle has done
From serving your country, my soldier son
Your shoulders are broader, your face is like stone
Your hands are all battered, ankles worn to bone
You’ve shed lots of blood, and flood many tears
For you are a man, who’s truly faced fears
You’ve done the unthinkable, and have taken a life
And prayed for the courage, to do it in strife
You’ve lost many brothers, in battle abroad
And know that they rest, in a place next to God
I know who you are, because Im the same man
Now sit back and listen, while I hold your hand
I’ll tell you a tale, of freedom and pride
For I am God’s son, like you I have died
You see I’ve been a soldier, since the beginning of time
Fighting for good, my mission divine
I’ve died for Gods children, which you too have done
Your master is thankful, my soldier son
You were not blessed, with riches or gold
But with gifts much greater, than can ever be sold
You see god made you, with one mission in mind
To protect his creation, your mission divine
I know you have scars, that run deep inside
That man cannot see, but from me they can’t hide
Now hand me those burdens, in me you confide
Lay them at my feet, I’ll wear them with pride
Your mission is over, so lets take you home
To meet our great father, the man on the throne
He loves you so much, for what you have done
I welcome you home, my soldier son
Rhett Connolly, Author>
Copyright © rhett connolly | Year Posted 2014
This expanse of land has seen things.
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.
This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand.
It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon.
This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.
Copyright © Tyler Kisner | Year Posted 2013
(Veterans Day 2009)
Side by side, they stood at attention,
facing the American flag,
former Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines.
Not one muscle twitched, nor eye blinked
as the 3rd Grader stepped to the microphone.
"Because of you, I am free," she said.
In a clear voice, she continued to express
her appreciation and gratitude,
for their service to their country,
their sacrifice for freedom.
Though his legs trembled like Jell-O
beneath the knife-edge crease of his uniform,
Grandpa's pride filled his throat
as the little blond resumed her seat.
She had recited the entire speech
from memory, and later received
a note from her school principal--
Awesome job today!--
which now decorates the front
of his refrigerator.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
urban leaves turned
Autumn, sniffing around
for a place to settle
no Farmer's Market
in San Francisco today.
Copyright © Jen Franks | Year Posted 2013
Some of us are watching the skies for works of fire
While some of us are quietly catching it.
Which are you?
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013
Memorial Day 2000
Those Left Standing
Written: by Tom Wright
Fashioned of assorted granite stone,
As if in manicured rows;
To friends and loved one's gone,
Their numbers uncontrollable,
For each year it always grows.
Oft times from deep in solitude,
In sadness, I'm reminded,
And at mere sight
Of one small flag;
I swell with pride
And oft by tears am blinded.
Desperately trying in my spirit,
Not to brag.
I, in deepest thought,
On this 2000 Memorial Day,
Am silently taken back
To the place of Flanders Field,
Where neat white crosses
Stand by the way,
As if cloned, among red poppies,
It's only living yield.
I see a Moving Wall
Meticulously chiseled in granite black;
Bearing Viet Nam casualties,
Each, remembered by name;
I think of those yet living,
And about their lack;
As for their treatment,
We all must share some blame.
Once forced to fight a war.
Said by many,
To have been unjust;.
But duty bound to country,
In that land afar,
In God's hands,
Put their lives and trust.
To those of Desert Storm
Having experienced combat days,
I shall endeavor to remember
Those who fell,
Yet baring scars of war in another way;
Those haunted by tormented faces,
Scud Missiles and deaths smell.
Hero's who served,
And gallantly died;
To those I cannot express,
The trappings of my heart;
To those who served,
And returned with pride
Let thanks, gratitude and prayers,
Be my humble start.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2015
The Band Concert
It was not a typical musical concert on an indoor stage,
but a marching band concert—and a very special one to me.
I sat with family on bleachers that sunny day as
the glorious band’s thunderous sounds filled my ears,
and my chest vibrated wildly with the powerful music
from brass, woodwinds, percussion and resounding drums.
As my heart beat in sync with the strong pounding rhythm,
such deep patriotic emotion fully engulfed me, and I
could feel my heart fill up with pride as it beat with
the thrill of that music and with the vision of those great
young men and women in huge formations, marching
on their way to receive diplomas and off to serve our country.
Then I saw him, our dear son, marching within that "Long Gray Line",
stepping in unison with fellow classmates to that awesome music.
The wondrous relentless rhythm from those drums and horns,
together with the artistic and intricate merging formations,
engulfed my whole being as tears filled my eyes with pride and joy—
on that special day—at that one-time special event—in May 1981.
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
Contest: The Concert
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
They pledged their lives, their fortunes
And their sacred honor.
With courage born of God and love
Of freedom, they stood against
The evil of the day. Nor would their lives
Have been preserved had they failed in their cause.
Today we cower in our comfort zones
Afraid to disobey the unjust laws,
The mandates of corrupted men
Who will control, who grasp for power,
Who deny they are the servants and
Betray the unearned trust of those they’ve fooled.
Where will we find the patriots of today,
Those who treasure freedom over life,
Who stand apart from unearned beneficence,
Who aren’t afraid to say, “I built this,
I own my own rewards and I reject
The socialist fraud of government.”
We the People hold our Freedom
In our hands. No secret patriots will arise
To re-declare the Independence sacrificed
To welfare gods or to Big Brother’s lies.
If we seek fortune over honor, Liberty will not be saved.
The Founders bones raise dust clouds in the grave.
Copyright © Karen Ruff | Year Posted 2014
Refreshing drink – there’s nothing finer,
When you’re parched and really gasping –
Darjeeling tea in fine bone china,
Mark the subtle, fresh aroma
Spiralling up in wisps of steam.
It wakes the brain, assists with thinking
At breakfast time when spirits flag,
It equals good champagne for drinking,
Just when you need a morning lift.
So sip the amber liquid, slow
And feel the warmth of Asian suns.
That tannin bite will make you glow,
Awakening sleepy spirits, fast.
It’s full of life and constancy,
This British institution, TEA.
Copyright © Mike Jones | Year Posted 2014
by first the Chinese
and the Unites States...
or guerrilla warfare
supported by regular units...
Dien Bien Phu
Bernard B. Fall
"Hell in a very small place"
soon after 1954
America walked the "Street without joy"
The Viet Minh
attacking satellite positions
seven in all
such names as
former school teacher
later besieged Khe Sanh
saved only by B-52 air strikes...
What men will die for
makes less sense
as time goes by...
Perhaps it is
the unspoken honor
Still they soldiered on
60 years has passed
and around the world
the madness has grown...
~ ~ ~ ~
Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2014
I came here only but once
And that was not long ago
Hunger had brought me here
And I went my way satisfied
And fully determined to return
When I walked up the stairs
From the parking lot below
I was hungry and I was thirsty
And it seemed to me a long
Long walk to the Food Cafe
Today I flew up to the third floor
And hid myself behind litter bins
For the devil, nay, for the devils
Had struck! And struck and struck
Mercilessly, recklessly, violently
And turned this man-made haven
Of happy, chatty, and even noisy
Citizens- children and old included
Into a brazen God-forsaken hell
With brazen Godforsaken devils!
For Shots rung from everywhere
And people fell, or crept or cowered
While others jumped to their swift end
Or broke limbs, screaming and shouting
As they sought to flee the assassins’ rage
Many lives have been lost, dear friend
Much blood has been shed, dear friend
Much pain has been inflicted, my friend
Much fear has been instilled, my friend
Much loss has been incurred, my friend
These lives, this blood, pain, fear and loss
Visited, as it was, on innocent peaceful people
On a day which the whole world had set aside
To celebrate the International Day of Peace
Was meant to do what to the people of Kenya?
If it was to divide us, please know
That we are more united than ever
If it was to instill fear and sow panic
We are more courageous and calm
Than you and your lot will ever be
For the God of this land and nation is a universal God
Who loves little children like those whose brains
You wantonly scattered to the four winds
Who cares for life which you took
In your murderous adventure
Which I know will come
To a close in the
You will face in
In the not so
©2013 Gerald Kithinji
Copyright © Gerald Kithinji | Year Posted 2013
'We have a future king to make,'
Said the deep, resounding voice.
'But it is not a proper fit for everyone.
For a king must know first how to obey than to command,
And to abide rather than reign.'
'And thus, I need a volunteer.'
The eager little voices swiftly gathered ‘round.
'To have a throne and my own crown,' said a little voice with delight.
'A great palace for my home,' cried another, 'or a castle with tall ramparts.'
'I’d be above all others,' said yet another, 'that would surely ease one’s comparing mind;'
'And best of all, to be revered by everyone and through all time!'
'Don’t fool yourselves with thrones and crowns,' said a little voice from the side,
'Do not haste into a choice you may regret for all your life!
I’d rather risk oblivion and even want, but be free to choose my fate,
What is precious life for but to discover one’s gift and thirst?
You take that crown and throne, and you forever renounce the greatest prize you own!'
There were no volunteers at hand for that grand, distinguished life.
The once lively little voices now stood silent, with cautious glances in their eyes.
Yet they began to move a little, but not to volunteer their fates;
Someone was slowly coming forward all the way from far behind.
Soon, one single little voice stood ahead of all the others, and with a thoughtful stare, it spoke:
'I overheard a story once
Of a vast and balmy river
That braves across cold, stormy seas
So it can meet a fabled shore
And become one with it.
'Wearied from its long voyage,
It crashes beneath the sheer cliffs.
And as its froth caresses the jagged rocks,
It echoes the green, velvety meadows above
Which gently cuddle the harsh precipice.
'The wee, babe-in-arms coming king
Will hold that fabled shore in him.
For he, though one sole man
Will stand for an entire land.
And in choosing this destiny
Of that fabled shore I also shall be,
For it will be a part of me,
And I, humbly, of it.
'And then, there is the brave lad who in sheer fright,
Gathered all his nerve and leaped into the dark night
Over the unknown enemy’s laird.
Oh, how I would leap into the dark along with thee!
Though he is now long gone, he will live in me,
And I, humbly, in him.
'And the family who huddled deep beneath the ground
Through the terrifying shudder of the enemy’s raging rounds.
Then, to rise again, and not concede.
I was in that shelter along with them,
And so were a million others who were yet to be!
'Such as the young boy now walking to school on a quiet country lane,
To learn his Scott, his Shakespeare, his Milton, and his Keats.
I will follow him close behind, and my own feet shall grow within his footprints.
It takes no less than each of them to make a king,
And not more than lacking one to lessen him.
For a king, though one sole self, stands for all,
And all do stand for him.
'I know that in choosing this path,
I’ll forever relinquish command of my compass,
And may never find out what I could’ve become on my own,
Or what my true talent may be.
I will follow, instead, a course that has long been set,
By others, and not by me.
'But I have a strong hunch
That if I don’t put myself first,
Or what I feel I’m entitled to do and to have,
And choose, instead, to be fair, as best as I possibly can,
To those for whom I’ll be honored to stand,
I’ll eventually know who I really am;
And will meet, one day, the man I am meant to become.'
'Thus, I volunteer
To be the child who’s one day to be king.'
A newborn day blazed in the distance,
And a transformation was about to take place,
As momentous as the invasion of spring,
The rising of the harvest, or a mighty winter gale.
Nearly two thousand babies were coming to life on that land,
From that land, to that land, for that land,
And a single one amongst them exalted all.
Half a world away, a vast and balmy river
Was setting out on its long voyage to a fabled shore,
And nearby, radiant sunlight battled gray, stormy clouds,
So as to break through and paint in brilliant and broad brushstrokes
The lofty Highlands below,
And thus, be reborn as shimmering glens and moors.
Copyright © Sergio Silveira | Year Posted 2013